Awhile
back at dinner with friends, the subject came up in conversation of my
membership in an organization devoted to kitties and good cheer. As one friend expressed skepticism as to the
existence of such an organization, I assured him I had a membership card
proving it. As I dug through my wallet
in search of the elusive card, my friend expressed amazement at the number of
cards I possessed. Thinking everyone has
as many cards in his or her wallet as I, I was amazed at my friend's
amazement. Ultimately, I found the
necessary card and conversation moved on.
Several
months later, I received notice from my book club informing me that since I
have been such a devoted member, I had been exalted to Preferred Member
status. To prove my enhanced status, my
book club sent me a card, attached to the bottom of the letter, with their
convenient toll‑free number for Preferred Members, so we could order more books
with less stress. The card, in tasteful
beige, also has my name and account number printed on it. Below the card, I found a warning: "Peel card off letter before
using." Carefully, I tore off the
section of the letter with the card along the perforated lines for that purpose
and tucked the whole assembly in my wallet, amid my myriad of other cards,
pondering when I might actually use the card and thus rip it timely from its
backing, and what would happen if I used the card without peeling it first.
In
contemplating such an action, I reflected on Mojo Nixon's song, "Washing
Dishes." In the song, Mojo lists
several conventional activities in which he will no longer participate. One such activity is carrying an ID. In situations which call for an ID, he claims
he will simply say, "Hey, there, sucker, can't you see it's me, me,
me?" Recalling my earlier conversation
with my friend, I reopened my wallet to see how many cards could testify to my existence.
My
findings amazed me. I have cards
attesting to my social responsibility and indemnification, such as vehicle
insurance cards, my medical insurance card, and my dental insurance card. I have cards attesting to my identity, such
as my social security card and two faculty ID cards. I kept my old faculty ID card when new cards
were issued because my old card identified me as faculty whereas my new card
did not. One never knows when one may be
accused of studenthood.
I
have convenience cards, such as a card allowing me borrowing privileges at a
nearby college library. That card cost
me $20. I have my personal New York
Telephone calling card and an MCI calling card issued by my employer so that I
might make personal long distance phone calls from my office. Never mind that I have a personal calling
card or that I might need to make business calls from my home.
I
have cards from two video rental stores, even though my VCR has been broken for
months. I have an ATM card, which I got
after months of taunting from my husband.
He could not understand why a medievalist technophobe eschewed
interacting with computers rather than people.
The first several times I tried to use that card, either the machine was
broken or some problem necessitated that I go in the bank and interact with
people.
In
addition, I have miscellaneous cards, which are nice to carry but mean very
little, including my kitty organization card and a card indicating membership
in a women's writing organization. I
found a Citibank VISA information card, with appropriate numbers for
emergencies, such as if I lose my wallet.
I found an old Mark Grace baseball card obtained from a box of Post
cereal. I officially renounced the Cubs
a few years ago, even scraping my WGN bumper sticker off my car and replacing
it with an "I 'heart' my basset hound" sticker, after the Cubs front
office paid Ryne Sandberg an obscene salary that even he is not worth (and has
since given up) and traded Andre Dawson to Boston. Finally, I found an assortment of
miscellaneous business cards. I have a
charge card and a credit card, but I keep them separate for ease of access.
After
perusing and sorting all my cards, I gathered them neatly and thoughtfully
tucked them back in my wallet. My wallet
bulged, as if it were full of money.
Then, I remembered my book club card, which I am to peel from the letter
before using. Every month, I receive a
return post card, to mark with my order.
Occasionally I wonder how much time will pass before I finally do peel
the card and use it? Or will I succumb
to temptation, and use the card before peeling it? And if I do, what will be my fate?
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