Even more than time, where does plastic go? Encoded, identity stamped, service providing pkastic. I hit a double Tuesday. First I got to an aerobics class and the small tab type card for that chain was not in my wallet. Where had I last used it? Monday, I was on my bicycle and usually put it back in the foremost flap; there had been no problems.

So what happened? I stopped at the self serve market on the way out and the checkstands were not issuing cash change so I used that other magic piece of plastic which, who would guess, is also up front. Darn, I bet the fitness card was pulled out and I never have any luck when I call a given place.

But here it was at home in a trouser pocket. Okay, it maybe hadn't been snug but it fell out "under the street lamp", to quote a well traveled punch line. The next day off to work I made a stop at another market for "lunch makings". Oh, by the way, I plan well, don't I? But I was on my ten speed the day before and the back pack holds so much. Male excuse secure. Once back at work I missed my clip-on employee identification badge. It seemed I was reflecting on buying work friendly items, always, with it on and two colleagues said it wasn't there when I saw them at shift's start.

A check of the car and my path to and from same turned up nothing, so after work at 11 p.m. I drove the ripe half a mile the other direction from home to the store parking lot and without stopping looked over the few pieces of debris. Check into the store? That has never revealed anything, maybe it was at home---not! I called the store number and while the menu featured departments and directions there was no manager. Luckily, that's what the Operator button is for and, what do you know, it was there. And ititially the man on the other end wondered aloud if it had been thrown out.

It hadn't been and I made the seven mile round trip, the store closing at midnight, to ensure I could finish my career witth a cracked lime green card which has had its fair share of succumbing to gravity. And in stories not told here, clutter! The bad part is living in a fashion you know not which.