Skip to main content

Debit This


I thought she was sad. I thought because her head hung down and she was motionless she was in an emotional state. He was equally as still. He just stared across the small table. Said nothing. She remained in the same position. Were they having a breakup conversation? Bad news? Some trauma-stunned revelation? No, she was texting.
I wondered why it took so long to get a simple cup of coffee. With only a couple of people in front of me, why was this small line going so slow? Texting? No, morning coffee on a credit card.
"He's either schizophrenic or has a bluetooth in his ear." How many times lately have I said that or you thought that? These are the new circumstances of our changing age. I watch my niece's 18 month old look at a computer screen, point to and press a button on a CD player, and marvel at the in-car images on the traveling DVD screen. His great grandmother can barely say DVD (it comes out more like VD) yet he knows all about cause and effect.
I wonder what happens to all the card swiping data generated? Supposedly there are profiles and conclusions drawn by credit card companies and financial institutions all the time. I must confess I'm a bit paranoid about my debit choices. All kinds of hypotheses are being formed.
The experts tell us that using cash is emotional, therefore we spend less. Shhsh! Don't tell my bank I said that. It's true though. If you can feel it in your hand, see it going here and there. Feel the wallet diminish. It's bound to have an impact.
Is this a collision course? Fifty years from now we'll have no need for money; just the concept. Just think what that will do to pop culture and music. Maybe there is a new root of all evil on the horizon. All 16 numbers.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...
3 comments
Read more

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...
Post a Comment
Read more