What's In Your Wallet?

A while back, Capital One would play commercials for their credit card with hordes of vikings charging through the shot to punish those who were stupid enough to own a different credit card than a Capitol One and every commercial ended the same way. A big burly oaf in armor would scream at the screen, "What's in your wallet?!?"

I have no idea if Capital One has been bitten in the ass by our recent economic downturn, but they don't play the commercials anymore. Maybe they had just run their course much like the dufus who continued to inform me that, "Dude, you're getting a Dell!" Regardless, I'm not here to shill for these jackasses.

I was purchasing a charming Russian beer called Baltika last night after pulling my shift at the bakery, and I opened my wallet to get my bankcard out and left it open on the little desk by the cash register where you can write out your check. The cashier looked at my wallet and gave me a quizical smile.

My wallet is unremarkable. It is black and has eight cards in it. One bankcard, two credit cards (niether of them a Capital One), Flannery's business card, driver's license, library card (used twice), Blockbuster video membership card (used twice), and my Union card (never used). There is also proof that my Jeep is in fact insured and a list of important phone numbers that I can't be bothered to remember. The phone number list is so old that several people on it have already died and won't be taking my calls anyway. My wallet does not now, nor has it ever had money in it. If I have money on me, it is in my left front jeans pocket and it is in coins totaling up to less than one dollar.

Like I said, my wallet is unremarkable save for one unusual feature that triggered the cashier's "WTF?" smile. My wallet has a sticker inside. The sticker is of a brawny, scantily clad male fairy with humming bird-like wings in mid-swoop. It is the sort of thing that no middle-aged heterosexual male would be caught dead owning, much like a Chippendale's dancer calender. It just projects the wrong image to the casual observer.

It is however the kind of thing you would expect a six year old little girl to have, which makes sense as that's where it came from. "Here Daddy. Keep this with you always. It will make you think of me. It's a boy fairy, so it's okay," she reassured me.

And every time I open my wallet and see this winged Adonis smiling at me, I do think of her and her sister, and how I'm going to have to pay for two college educations, two weddings, two first cars, two prom dresses, and two training bras, I smile and put the expensive beer back in the cooler and grab some PBR instead.


It's good to be Dad,
Doc