bus fare

i was talking with terri today about debit cards. about how it took so long for she and i to get used to using them. neither one of us trusted them at first; we preferred writing checks. but then terri observed that "kids today," (she has two millenials), 'that's all they use. they don't know "cash".'

debit cards are much different than our old-fashioned cash cards. those shiny plastic cards don't know if you have cash and frankly, they don't care. if you are who you say you are once you swipe your card, it's all yours. paper or plastic, would you like some help out with that? have a nice day. if it turns out there is no money to back up this purchase, you'll find out later lady. heh heh heh.

remember when we knew cash? real cash - as in green and wrinkled, or inky and crisp? mmmm...real cash made of government manufactured paper. cash. we knew it by name and number, arrival and departure dates. we fanned it and felt it and folded and smelt it. cash. a roomate that came and went in a way we could never count on. the expression "living from paycheck to paycheck" does not describe the fear and frustration of "living by scraping and searching". we needed milk or tampons or both...so in the heat-included basement apartment with the gold shag rugs we scoured and crawled. check all jacket pockets, check the junk drawer. check the laundry room - maybe someone dropped a quarter somewhere.

at 4:45 on a frigid january evening when i was barely 23, i buttoned up my $24 dollar down coat, pulled on my leg warmers, and boots. yanked my fake wool hat over my ears and headed for the cash machine in coffman union on the east bank campus of the university of minnesota. i needed to withdraw $5.00 at my friendly ATM, and exhange if for quarters in order obtain 75 cents for the bus ride home. insert card, boop boop boop...

INSUFFICENT FUNDS

black fireworks swirling around my sweating head. weak knees wrapped in wet polyster knit in the cavern of an 80 degree lounge of young rich upstarts. i am fainting and dying and they are enjoying french fries on mismatched divans. and there i am, me, with barely a cent and no way home.

i found a dime, and called john, who was working the nightshift at a cable tv station in fridley. "wait right there" he said " i made a deposit yesterday and i'll call you right back -- what's the phone number of the pay phone you are on?"

20 minutes later after a clunky, wet and desperate run across the washington avenue bridge and the east bank campus, i stumbled into a recently closed branch office of tcf in dinkytown. most of the lights were turned off and all the staff had gone home. all, but for a nice young woman named trish (my age at the time but much farther ahead in the world than i at 23) was waiting for me. her head was pressed up against the steamy glass door, wating for me. a nine inch ring of keys at the ready to let me in. she gave me $5 worth of quarters and said "you guys still have $37.00 in your account. have a good night."

i made it home on the #5 that night, after transferring from the #4. unwrapped my wrappings in blessed relief and the rest is a blur.


gives paper or plastic a whole new meaning, doesn't it.