What’s in my Bag? — One Angry Waitress

The other day, my partner called me to say that he’d left the house without his wallet. Again.

“Are you coming home to get it,” I asked him.

“Maybe,” he said, carelessly. “I just found two bucks in my cupholder, so at least I have enough for a coffee.”

He forgets his wallet at least a couple of times a month, and I just don’t understand it. Particularly after the time he dropped my mother off at the airport and was stopped on his way home. He was fined both for speeding, and for not having his licence at the time.

“I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to let you go home and get it,” I told him, assuring him that we could fight the ticket.

“Maybe that’s what cops do in the backwater places like where you’re from,” he said, still testy about the $400 he now owed for an act of kindness, “but here in the real world, there are laws.”

And because I’d heard rumors that back home, the cops wouldn’t fine you if they caught you driving the wrong way on the one-way if it was your birthday, I chose to say nothing to this.

But while he’s forgetting his wallet all over town, I go out each day with a small of luggage under one arm, as if I am ready for a short abduction at any time. Though, admittedly, I need almost nothing that I carry with me. Stuffed in beside the wallet and cellphone and keys, there is a spare sweater despite the July heat as well as a zillion receipts—enough to start a small fire. Also, curiously, there is a spare bra, which I suppose will also come in handy if I’m ever taken somewhere very cold.

It’s not a terribly exciting haul, in fact it closely resembles those women on YouTube who insist on regaling us with what’s in their handbags. The first time I’d come upon one of these videos, I was sorely disappointed by its content. These were not women who were carrying around containers of their ex-boyfriend’s teeth or, at the very least, drugs. These were women bragging about a collection of lipsticks I could never hope to afford. Which, I suppose, is the point.

And yet, they, like I, seem to think that we need all of these things each day, that reassuring weight on one of our shoulders that suggests that we have gum and tissues and at least two pounds of garbage with us at all times.

But in my next life, I want my partner’s confidence. Confidence that allows me to saunter into the daylight, the door slamming shut behind me (unlocked), as I venture out into the word with nothing.