Wallet Contest

Went back to the barber today.  I honestly can not figure out why the hair that rings my growing bald spot refuses to just fall out of my head the way the rest of my unruly hair has done.  The stuff just keeps growing longer by the minute.  That means I must have it cut by the month.

I walked in, waited a while and then took the empty chair when it was my turn.  The guy in the other chair finished up and paid for his trim.  Then he looked at his bulging wallet and asked if he could trade a bunch of ones in it for a larger bill.  Of course it was OK with the barber so he counted out twenty of them.  "Thanks - My wallet was getting pretty fat." he said, and then he walked out.

Now, you folks know me pretty well  - I couldn't just let that go without comment.  I've never learned to keep my comments to myself.   "Say, Bill," I said, "My wallets pretty fat too.  OK if I trade you a bunch of pieces of paper with stuff written on it that I can't read anymore for a twenty?" 

That started it.  Everybody in the place just had to complain about how fat their wallets were.  One guy took the complaining to the next level; he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and showed it to us.

"You think yours is fat?  Take a look at mine."   He then started to pull out all kinds of paper, the usual phone numbers, random dimensions of things he was going to build someday but had forgotten what the item was, business cards and combinations to locks that had long ago been misplaced.  No one could stand to just let that go unchallenged.

Soon all the guys in the shop, except Bill and I - we were busy - had their wallet out on public display, airing the assorted junk guys pick up all the time and stuff into them.  There were small screws and washers, a lock of hair from one of the guys daughter, some .22 ammunition and all kinds of foil wrapped pills of every size and shape. 

Notes were compared, evaluations made and they were starting to vote on just who's wallet contained the most unusual crap.  I don't think a prize of any sort was to be given, but for sure this was a contest that HAD to have a winner.  About that time a guy sitting across the room from all the action finally spoke up. 

He had not yet joined the fun, but when mention was made of a contest and an actual vote, he pulled out his wallet.  "Mine's not as fat as all you guy's, but I think I can win the most unusual item.  Wanna see?"

I almost booed.  The nerve of this character.  His wallet was one of those skinny trifold business and credit card organizers some girleymen carry.  Not a real, honest to goodness bifold wallet.  The manly kind with the hidden compartment for larger bills, ya know, like a couple of twenties, a place for pictures and little pockets designed for one credit card, but large enough to jam four into. 

The kind that when properly filled guarantees it's owner will suffer permanent damage to the spinal cord because it makes ones butt uneven in any type of chair.  Every time one sits down with a completely packed wallet in his back pocket he leans to one side or the other depending which pocket the wallet's in.  And, it's no fair changing sides to try to keep the spine from always being bent the same way.  It feels funny if it's in the wrong pocket.  Ask any guy - he'll tell you. 

No, unlike all ours, his appeared to be a marvel of modern design, capable of allowing the owner to find anything located within any of it's many compartments in a jiffy.  What could possibly be in that thing that could win the contest?  He pulled it out and showed us.

It was some sort of folding x-ray of a piece of metal plate that had been implanted in his head.  He said he always sets off the machines at the airport, and hated to have the TSA wand guys wave those things around his head.  "Can't stand to have much more of it damaged," is what we were told.  He shows the security guys the x-ray, lets them wand the rest of his body, and they'll let him through.

He won.