I had a feeling it was no longer with me when I left the house the other day, jean jacket in tow. My suspicions were confirmed an hour later at the till of the Liquor Barn, where my selection of ice-cold micro-brewed IPAs were beginning to sweat on the counter.
My previous wallet was much more of a tome. Three panels of soft green leather and two snap mounts provided it room to swell with receipts or tighten up around a new cash withdrawal. This new wallet is tiny – more of a card sleeve, really, though it does have space for a few crisp bills, my driver’s license and Aeroplan card. Jen at U.N. Luggage recommended it to me prior to this trip, citing the interior aluminum casing, which prevents my signal-emitting easy pay/pay pass/tap & go/wave pay credit cards from blabbing my info to any passers-by with a card reader and a pirate’s sensibility. Airports, train stations, markets – all the places I was once advised to watch out for pickpockets – are now favored haunts for a new generation of thieves, cyber-savvy pickpockets who work invisibly and whose 16-digit loot is distilled from the mash of crashing wireless signals that crowd busy places. The old wallet on a string trick doesn’t work anymore. Now, I pulse with wifi and radio waves. My appendages are receptor and emission.
This little blue Secrid wallet keeps my eager waves bottled up until I need to use them. And oh the satisfaction when I nudge the little black slider to the right and my cards jump to attention in a staggered cascade of alert and accessible credit. I love this little wallet, and have adapted my receipt-collecting habits to accommodate its slim figure. It has become a trusted companion on the road and has found a home next to my heart in the breast pocket of my jean jacket.
You can imagine my despair when a thorough search of my pocket, other pocket, other and other pockets, then my bag pocket and cavitary bag bottom yielded chap stick, bobby pins, used sky train tickets and a napkin, but no wallet. I winced at my boyfriend, behind me at the checkout, and he stepped up to pay. Later on at my parent’s house, I searched all remaining pockets, plus the bedroom and the refrigerator to no avail. I called the last place I remembered using it. No luck. It occurred to me that the wallet’s pretty blue leather and shooting cards might have appealed to my nieces who had visited the day before. Far from cyber-savvy thieves, these little girls have one motive: play. A wallet like this one may have opened up a whole department store worth of role-playing games: “Shopping”, “House”, “Mom”, maybe even “Pickpocket.” I called my sister, who then interrogated her 3- and 4-year old. They weren’t telling what all went down, but one thing, at least, was clear. Something went down.
I searched again, this time thinking like a kid. Toy boxes, drawers, bags, cupboards and shoes each revealed nothing. My sister brought the girls back over to the house and promised them a treat if they could find my little Secrid. Fifteen seconds and one overturned couch pillow later, my wallet – cards and waves intact – was returned, and the little villains rewarded with kisses.