The Wallet
I had a lovely perambulation with samurailuci this evening. It put me an a thoughtful mood.


I smiled meaninglessly at the clerk behind the counter and waved my wallet over the payment sensor. She was pretty. Honestly a little thin for my tastes, but I'd always felt that personality could make up for physical deficiencies. Not that this opinion mattered. She's a clerk, and I'm a customer ringing up a purchase within five minutes of closing. Striking up a conversation would've just been rude.

As the clerk wrapped my package, I paused to regard my wallet. It's a nice wallet, well tended brown leather casing; Vat grown. I know some people think that vat grown leather is crass, fake, and self aggrandizing. I have the same feeling for people who only consider leather legitimate if it comes from killing a large mammal. So at least the feeling is mutual.

I payed a premium for this wallet, and bought all the extra bells and whistles. Literally. If someone attempts use my wallet while more than thirty feet from me, it's designed to give off an ungodly racket.

I disabled the alarm within fifteen minutes of receiving my new wallet in the mail, and wired a series of blasting caps to the circuit instead. If anyone tries to pay for something with my money and without my permission, they'll probably lose their hand.

The irony of being unwilling to kill a cow, but willing to maim a human, is not lost on me. Some would call my little booby trap petty and cruel. A year ago I would've agreed. But this is my fifth wallet since moving, and I've steadily shed my earlier inhibitions.

Philosophy majors hotly debate this sort of thing all the time. Fortunately for my bank account and my peace of mind, I wasn't a philosophy major, merely a mechanical engineer.

I slipped my purchase off the counter and into the bag, nodded to the attendant who nodded back (it's nice to be noticed from time to time), and pocketed my wallet.