I am much mocked by friends and family alike for having a George Costanza wallet. I seem to go through wallets quite quickly as a result my abusively overstuffing them. They tend to get filled until they explode in a blizzard of coins, credit cards, and receipts. Afterward, nothing is left but an overstretched leather corpse. My family gifts me new ones for birthdays and Christmas, seemingly out of sympathy. I’m always grateful.
Recently, I made the mistake of leaving my wallet in the bathroom. My full financial cyclone was on display for all to see. There stood the all important Tim Horton’s rewards card and the Air Miles collector card that mysteriously makes air travel more expensive than paying retail. Out spilled coins and receipts detailing my recent comings and goings.
We are an early rising household as my wife works a morning shift. I usually get up with her before she leaves. It usually takes me two coffees before I can utter a coherent sentence and even that’s no guarantee. Despite rising early, I am not a morning person. My wife, however, is just the opposite and functions well at daybreak.
I am just finishing an assignment where I had rotating shifts and my body clock was seriously out of whack as I faced the prospect of returning to a nine to five schedule. The morning in question got off to an awkward start when my wife asked “So, who did you go for lunch with at the Green Papaya?”
“I never went to the Green Papaya.” I replied. “I had breakfast with Greg yesterday.”
Photo by Wengang Zhai on Unsplash
“Well there’s a receipt from the Green Papaya dated yesterday in the bathroom that fell out of your wallet.”
“The Green Papaya’s a Thai place, right? I didn’t go there” I replied.
My wife handed me the receipt. I Google mapped the address. “ I definitely didn’t go there.”
My wife left for work in a huff. An air of accusation hung about the room. It was five thirty in the morning and I felt like I was on murderer’s row.
I gathered myself and braced for the first day back at work in my department of origin after eleven months of Covid-19 related reassignments. I had been dreading this day for weeks not knowing if I and co-workers would be facing a Spanish Inquisition around vaccination status. The day went uneventfully well and I returned home relieved.
As we discussed what to make for dinner for the kids, we revisited the Mystery of the Green Papaya receipt.
“By the way, I went golfing before work that day and had lunch at the driving range. They had a burger and bucket of balls special which I partook of. I noticed a Green Papaya entry on my online bank statement too but I didn’t know what to make of it” I added.
We looked at the receipt again, specifically the date and time. It was from the same day and time I was at the golf course driving range.
I called the driving range and asked if the Green Papaya restaurant owned the food truck that made the burgers.
They said the food truck owner bought the Green Papaya and that’s their debit machine was used for the burger sales at the food truck.
I chided my wife on her investigatory tone stating that this was no way to start a day, at five thirty A.M., no less.
She abruptly changed the subject.
“So where did you and Greg go for breakfast?”
“John’s Kitchen on Wellington. I was waiting for my new tires to be installed at Canadian Tire and called Greg.”
“Did anyone else go with you?”
“Why don’t you check my receipt?”
This post was previously published on medium.com.
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