Stuffed to the gills with plastic cards and old receipts it sort of looks like a messy paper sandwich. I barely squeeze it into my jeans and when I sit down it sharply jabs my leg, cutting off all blood supply from my femoral artery.
Every couple of months I get frustrated with the extra baggage and my dead, black leg so I sit down to perform emergency surgery on the kitchen counter. I furrow my brows and snap on some rubber gloves before cracking open its rib cage and digging in with both hands. Tiny folded pockets and little plastic card holders are combed through and shredded receipt guts fly … before I eventually collapse from exhaustion.
The sad part comes next when I try and close the cage back up and realize… it didn’t work. My wallet is still fat. It’s stuffed. It’s packed and I can barely close the thing.
Peering down with sad eyes I’m forced to slowly come to terms the root of my problems: that thick wad of loyalty cards. Hot salty tears drip onto my coffee punchcards and movie theater popcorn passes as I realize I always fall victim to their seductive ways.
I am an extremely cheap person so I sign up for every loyalty card offered to me. Drug store points, gas pump cards, grocery store deals — yes, yes, yes, I say, smiling eagerly and nodding my head with my tongue out like a Cocker Spaniel before stuffing another laminated card into my paper sandwich.
So! Stuffed-purse-and-fat-wallet penny pinchers of the world, heed my call: baggage, back pain, and blocked arteries are no laughing matter so when we finally glance at the cashier with a satisfied smile and toss a card full of stamps on the counter to score a free bran muffin… well just tell me that isn’t all worth it… and just tell me that isn’t all
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