Card shark

It’s a simple matter of order.
Things have a place where they should go. And if they are NOT in said place, they will not be found. Am I right? Finally, some people agree with me.
It all started the other day when I went to the store. When I opened my wallet to pull out my credit card, I was a little miffed to find nothing but a lonely leather pocket. (I assume my wallet is leather. I have no idea, since I bought it some time around the Clinton administration, and let’s be honest – I’m not the most discerning consumer when it comes to buying items, much less something that will spend the bulk of its time in a back pocket or a car console.)
Most people’s first reaction in not finding their credit card would be to assume someone stole it.
My first reaction was to hurriedly move stuff off the counter and apologize to the people behind me, lest I be That Guy, the one who (a) picks his lottery numbers while holding up the line or (b) waits until reaching the counter until even looking at the fast food menu that has barely changed in 20 years or (c) writes a check on the counter right next to the “NO PERSONAL CHECKS” sign. You know, That Guy.
Anyhow, I ended up going to a nearby cash machine to get out money to pay for my purchase, as I knew full well where my credit card was: in my wife’s clutches.
I remembered earlier in the day when we had been at the store with the kids. The kids decided it was a perfect time for freeze tag, so I decided it was time to leave public shopping areas with them. I pitched my wife my wallet to pay for our purchase and took the kids outside to run free as nature intended.
My wife returned my wallet when we got in the van, and I failed to check for my credit card as I should have, but I was distracted (and frozen). So it never occurred to me that the card would not be there. Of course, I planned to address the issue immediately when I got home. Unfortunately, I have the attention span of a hyperactive terrier, so forgot by the time I was home, which was all of about two blocks away.
Just to prove a point side note: I keep index cards in my car visor so that I can jot down things I need to do. On the occasion people have seen them, they think I am, well, off my rocker. They will say something like, “Crazy Brad Pitt; gluttony; popcorn” and I will have to explain that I was listening to the radio and I heard someone talking about Brad Pitt, which made me try and remember the name of the movie where he played the crazy guy, and I’ll need to look it up later. (It was “12 Monkeys.”) And that will then make me think of the movie “Se7en,” which had me trying to name the seven deadly sins and blanking on “wrath” so I had to remind myself to look THAT up. And then all of the movie talk has me thinking popcorn, so I remember that we’re out at home so I start an impromptu shopping list. It’s not a world you want to visit, folks.
OK, anyhow, I did not write down to get my card back, so it floated out of my brain. It occurred to me about two days later when I needed it.
I swung by my wife’s school to get it from her. She insisted that she did not have it, and that she had put it back in my wallet. I told her she was clearly delusional, and I would go find it in her purse. Nothing.
I told her that she must have quite irresponsibly left it sitting in her car. She assured me that she had put it back in my wallet. I told her a search of her car would prove her wrong. Nothing.
Just to humor her, I flipped open my wallet. Nothing.
And then I looked in the middle pocket, the one behind where I normally keep my card, and there I saw what certainly did resemble a Master Card logo. Indeed, my card had been there the whole time. But, as I maintained, it was not where it was supposed to be. Therefore, there was no reason I should have been able to find it.
“If I go to get my mail and open up the box, and you have instead delivered my mail to a neighbor’s tree, I will NOT find my mail!!!” I stated with great confidence that everyone would be on my side.
Unfortunately, they turned on me: “That is true,” offered one of my non-supporters, “but in this case, it’s like your mail is usually on the right side of the mailbox, and one day I put it on the left side. It’s still in the mailbox.”
I refuse to accept their flawed reasoning. I am a change fearin’ habit creature. If it’s supposed to be in the front right pocket, that’s where I’m looking. No more. And you see where that’s getting me.
I know you’re thinking I should have looked a little closer. And perhaps you’re right. Maybe I need to break some of my routine on occasion. It could be good for the soul to get out of my repetitive ways. I’ll write myself a note.