The Walking Time Capsule

October 20, 2007 at 2:25 pm (Waxing Nostalgic)

I’m killing time, waiting for my cousin to some by. He’s usually prompt, but easly distracted, so I’m doing busy-work around the house. (Laundry is ready to go, and the clean clothes I never wear are shuffled lower into the pile.) Since I’m dressed to go out, I don’t want to get into any major housecleaning.

Hmm, what to do…

I’ll clean my wallet!

It started simply enough. I was looking for quarters to feed the laundromat, and came upon a recent paycheck stub. Better file that.

What’s all this other crap?

I bought my wallet at a gun show, back in 1998 or so. Sounds pretty macho, right? Well… it’s actually one of those teeny-tiny ladies purses, about 4″ x 6″, with a string strap. I cut the string off, and now it’s like a pocket-sized briefcase. All but one of the zippers are broken, and one of the compartments won’t hold change anymore. Maybe because it’s stuffed full of crap?

Let’s investigate.

I pulled the cash out and set it aside. (We know we’re keeping that.) I fished out all but $2 in quarters and filed the rest in my laundry change stash. ATM reciept? Trash. Fry’s gift cards. Definitely saving that, still got $28 to play with. What else?

-A reciept from the liquor store, July 12, 2004. Fifth of gin, three airline bottles of Wild Turkey. That day rings a bell…

-A reciept from the National Fitness Chain, from when I switched clubs. A move I regret. I went from a racially diverse, well-equipped fun-to-work-out gym, to a meat market where pimply guys lurk around the locker room, trying to watch you shower, pee or bend over. (Then they send you a Missed Connection on Craigslist.) I now know what girls mean when they say men look at them like a piece of meat.

-The name and validation number from canceling membership from said club. When I found out my last month’s paid membership wouldn’t count toward the thirty days’ notice, and I would have to pay an extra month, I *almost* lost my near-famous cool. Poor Alicia. I’m usually much nicer to telephone help. But when it cost me an extra $40 to cancel something I haven’t used in months, I snapped. They cetainly made it a lot easier to sign up. I still want to hurt them…

-A reciept from Albertsons on 82nd. July 12, 2004. 12-pack of Steel Reserve malt liquor, and $10 cash back. Hmm…

-More reciepts. Internet service. (I still pay by snail mail. I’m sure that pisses them off.) A co-pay from the hospital. A bank deposit from October 2005.

-An old Subway Club card, full. Along with a dozen or so loose stamps. Damn. I think they switched to electronic cards now, like the Fred Meyer Rewards Card. Bummer. But then, I make subs at home that I like better. I’ll stash it for nostalgia’s sake.

-Along with the Coffee People Passport cards. I used to spend lots of time at the airport, playing Scrabble with Mizelle on her breaks. When not sipping gin out of a water bottle, I would treat her to various chocolatey caffein-overloaded drinks. Since the usual concoction cost about $5, I was livid when I found out the cards were only good for a small latte. I spent about $240 getting those two small lattes. And now Coffee People is no more. Coincidence? I think not!

-Phone numbers and business cards. Three different numbers for the Ex Wife. Two cards from Clairissa, current and Barberama. Phineas’ card, from when he was a barber/stylist. (After twenty years of barbering, he decided to get a sit-down job. He now drives semi trucks.) The home and cell numbers of a bus driver friend. (Hi Sam!) And Wolfie’s phone number. Wolfie was a customer at a previous place of employment, located near a band rehearsal studio. She was a welder by day, and death-metal drummer by night. She had a penchant for playing nude on hot summer nights, and would come visit me during breaks. I’ll have to do a post about her sometime.

-And a final reciept. Econolodge Motel, July 12, 2004. Ohh… yeah… Now I remember. That was the last time I smoked a cigarette. I smoked a whole pack of Winstons that night. Again, a reciept worthy of its own story. A paragraph wouldn’t do it justice.

Most of this stuff will go to the trash, with a few exceptions. I have an old tin matchbox stuffed full of obscure mementos, and there’s room for a couple more things.

How obscure? I have the first pair of panties I took off my ex-wife in there. They don’t take up much room, and I know she’d be charmed.

The only challenge will be getting the new stuff into the box without getting caught up in looking at the old stuff.

At least I’ll have something to look at until Cousin gets here.

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