Put It On My Credit Card
“Go ahead and put it on my credit card,” Vince said to the cashier, then turned to Amanda, smiled, and winked.
Amanda did a severe eye roll. It was this routine again, probably the lamest of all her dad’s lame jokes.
A few years ago, Vince bought a new wallet, and tucked into one of the wallet’s card-holding slots was a laminated paper card, the size and shape of a credit card, with the words CREDIT CARD printed on it–you know, in case you were too dumb to figure out where credit cards go in a wallet.
Vince had kept the fake credit card, and thought it was a laugh riot to pull it out from time to time when making a purchase, hand it to the cashier, and say to him or her, “Go ahead and put in on my credit card.”
He was at it again, and Amanda just waited patiently for the cashier’s usual reaction of a polite smile that seemed to barely mask the real reaction of “Why do I always get the idiots in my line?”
So they were both surprised when the cashier took the card, swiped it, and handed the card back to Vince, along with the receipt and a pen and said, “Just sign here and you’re all set.”
Vince started to meekly protest both the fact that his “credit card” wasn’t an actual credit card as well as the fact that a fake credit card shouldn’t work in a real card reader and cause a real receipt to print out, which came out in the form of him muttering, “But…I…that…”
The cashier put up a hand to stop him. She looked around, and in a hushed, conspiratorial tone, said, “You think I don’t know that’s not a real credit card? I rigged this thing up to print out receipts without actually charging anyone anything.” She then leaned over the counter and whispered, “I’m taking this place down from the inside.”
Vince looked at the bag of work shirts he’d “bought”, looked at the cashier, looked at Amanda, and back at the cashier.
Then he grabbed the bag off the counter, raised a fist, and stage whispered “Fight the power!” to the cashier, and sprinted away down the aisle towards the exit, bursting through the doors at aisle’s end.
Amanda and the cashier gave each other quick knowing nods and Amanda turned and left to catch up with her dad.
She was a little disappointed that they apparently weren’t going to have lunch at the Food Court as her dad had promised for tagging along and keeping him company on his errands.
But they were fugitives from justice now, fighting to bring down a corrupt capitalist system, so that kind of made up for it.