Paying By Plastic
“It’ll have to be the card,” I said fumbling the strip of brightly coloured card out of my purse and into the card machine hoping I can remember the right combination of numbers.
Ever careful of the scammers I shield the keypad with my hand. ” Do you want any money back?” asked the young shop assistant with an air of expectation, his hand hovering over the till. I nod eagerly my thoughts already on the sale that is on in Pound Stretcher. “Penny wise, pound foolish” came to mind. But I knew I was going to buy some gadget I could do without before I went home.
Leaving the supermarket and heading for Railway Road I started to think about all the things the stupid plastic card couldn’t do.
I passed the Ally Theatre building where the public toilets used to be; Gents to your right, near the Derry/Letterkenny bus stop with its cafey. If the bus was held up by roadworks or a traffic diversion because there was cattle or ‘something’ on the road, there was the chance of a quick cup of tea and a cream bun. The Ladies toilets were to the left opposite Miss Wrights Department Store – which I loved frequenting to try on the fancy hats in front of the wall of mirrors upstairs.
I thought how useless the plastic would have been back in the day. If I was ‘dying’ for the toilet it wouldn’t let me, ‘spend a penny. I’d need a penny to put in the slot. The best I could hope for was that the eagle eyed woman minding the toilets didn’t usher me out with her mop before somebody came out of a toilet and let you slip in for free.
As I walked on pulling my few bits of shopping in my wee shopping trolley heading for the Library I passed a knot of people waving flags and chorusing something about the cost of living. Tell me about it, I thought. Wait until you have worked all your life and can’t afford to turn on the heating or put an extra bit of coal on the fire. Passing them I amused myself by thinking about the perplexed look that would come over their faces if I stopped, waved my plastic card and announced,” I haven’t two ha’pennies to rub together but a penny for your thoughts on the Election”
Or what if I nudged our Joe in Charlie’s bar in Castle Street opposite the old Strabane Post Office and muttered out of the corner of my mouth,” See that bad penny has turned up again. I’d buy her a drink except it’s only the oul plastic I have with me.”
I took a walk around the charity shops as I am won’t to do. There was room in my shopping trolley for a second hand book or two. I had learned my lesson during Covid. It’s good time filler when you have a good book to read. And I’d be doing my ‘pennysworth’ for charity.
There was a woman there looking at a lovely old clock. “That must’ve have been worth a bob or two in its day, “she said to her companion.
Her friend nodded. “Aye, you’re right. You’d be ‘quids in’ if you could resell that on Strabane Sell It on Facebook.”
“Does it keep the time? And does it still chime, “the first woman asked the woman behind the counter volunteering her services free of charge.
The volunteer confirmed that as far as she knew the clock worked “It’s for charity. You pay your money and take your chance,” she said cheerfully.
The penny dropped. The two women looked at each other. The charity shop didn’t take the plastic cards.
“Ach, well, as my Ma says,” the two friends said in unison,” Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves.”
Gemma Hill May 2022 ©
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