Imagine, if you will, standing in a long line at one of the few not-self-checkout registers at Walmart. You finally get your buggy unloaded, with perishable items neatly separated from the others so they can go straight into the refrigerator when you get home (except for a box of popsicles, which will go immediately into the freezer).
Then imagine reaching into your purse, which is closed and buckled into the part of the buggy where toddlers sit if you’re shopping with toddlers (which, thankfully, I wasn’t), and discovering your billfold isn’t in it.
I’ll pause here to say that the missing item was technically a wallet–not a billfold–oblong rather than square so that cash slips into it unfolded, but “billfold” is what I’ve always called it because my mother did. Whatever its correct name, it holds not only my cash but also several five-dollar-off coupons to the pet wash station at Tractor Supply. And my driver’s license, debit card, Medicare card, Medicare supplement card, dental supplement card, PRESS card, library card, voter registration card, Red Cross blood donor card, AAA card, AARP card and my lifetime Senior Pass to America’s national parks.
That’s why my heart skipped a beat when I discovered it missing.
I looked at the young man who’d just finished ringing up my purchases—Cody, his nametag read—and said, “My billfold is missing.” Cody looked at me without emotion, which I took to mean it wasn’t the first time he’d heard a customer say such a thing.
“It was here when I paid for three sacks of mulch at the garden center a few minutes ago and now it’s gone.” Still no change of expression on Cody’s face. “Somebody must have stolen it,” I babbled on. “Though I don’t know how that’s possible. I never leave my buggy unattended. And my purse was zipped up tight and double-buckled in.”
Cody flipped on the REGISTER CLOSED light and called for a manager. Ben soon appeared. I repeated exactly what I’d told Cody. I added that someone should probably return my popsicles to the freezer case so they wouldn’t melt while we figured out what do. Then I pulled my phone, which (thank goodness!) hadn’t been stolen, from my purse and—noting that my bank would be closing in 14 minutes—called and asked that they put a hold on the use of my debit card. After I whispered my social security number and password to prove it was really me, the lady on the other end of the line said she’d do it.
Ben called the garden center. My wallet wasn’t there. “We’ll take a look at the security cameras,” he said, “to see if we can spot someone removing the wallet from the purse. Then we’ll file a report.” Now we were getting somewhere, though I still had the sinking feeling way down deep inside that I was destined to spend a great deal of the rest of my life trying to replace my billfold and everything in it.
Except the cash, of course, which was doubtless long gone.
“Ma’am, could I ask you to do one more thing before we get started on all this?” Ben said. “Would you please go to your car and make sure the wallet isn’t there?”
Though I was certain it wasn’t, I headed for the parking lot. On the floor of my car’s front passenger seat was the billfold, with all of its contents intact. But I knew I must wait to shed tears of relief and embarrassment. The bank would close in just two minutes. I called and once again whispered my social security number and password to the lady who answered. She promised to reactivate the card immediately.
Then I returned to the store, gave Ben and Cody each a high-five and paid for my groceries, including–I’m happy to report–a box of rock-hard popsicles fresh from the freezer case.
(April 26, 2025)