In what has to be one of the most startling observations of my own capability for patheticism, I just sat down and cleaned out my wallet. It’s been something I’ve been needing to do for years, and thanks to the nudging of a couple bros in recent weeks who noticed that the thing had mutated into the size of a small Los Angeles County telephone book, I’ve finally sat down and gotten it done.
I knew it’s been years, but I’ve lost count of what that means. Here are some of the items I found in my wallet:
- Countless receipts, most of them from gas stations, many of them faded to white.
- At least a dozen(!) business cards from people I don’t remember meeting.
- Photographs of my now-grown baby sisters from when they were about eight.
- My very expired U.S. Chess Federation membership card. I haven’t competed in tournaments since 1996.
- No less than three proof of auto insurance cards, dating back to when Bill Clinton was in office.
- Two credit cards that have been expired for over two years.
- Health and dental cards that I don’t even remember having.
- A crumpled mound of Chinese fortunes so old that I can’t even read ’em.
- An extra key to a door that remains unidentified.
- Post-It notes with phone numbers that mean nothing to me.
And my personal favorite:
- An optometrist’s prescription dated March 19, 1997.
Where the hell have I been? I’ve promised myself to never let my head get that far up my ass again.