Vocal point : Looking back on Mom’s advice, she was right

A mother’s advice is a funny thing. We may like it or we may hate it, but we never forget it.

When I was a kid, Mom said I should always carry at least two bucks in my wallet. At the time I didn’t understand why this would be important. I thought the reason fit the same category of sage advice as always wearing clean underwear. Except, in this case, rather than impressing the fire department or paparazzi – there were no paramedics in ancient times – it was supposed to be a way to prove I was a serious shopper if I got confronted by a store employee.

Brett Maverick, the lovable 1960’s TV-Western gambler, must have known my mom. Unlike me, he was an overachiever. He didn’t just keep a few dollars in his wallet, he kept a $1,000 bill hidden somewhere in case of emergency.

A thousand dollars. At the time, two bucks was a big deal, and not just to me. We were all impressed one recess when a classmate went around bragging he had $5 – a fortune to someone whose weekly allowance was 25 cents.

You can imagine how tough it was for a 10-year-old to set aside two months’ allowance just to prove to some pimply-faced clerk that he was a “player.” It never occurred to me to ask Mom to loan me the two bucks; I mean it was just for show, so I wasn’t going to spend it, right? Not that anyone ever stopped me and demanded to browse the contents of my wallet.

At least my underwear was clean.

To this day my habit has been to carry small amounts of cash, if any. In fact, my wallet is usually empty. We live in a plastic society, after all. Have you ever tried to pay cash for a rental car? I figure between ATMs and credit cards one hardly needs to carry cash in the postmodern era.

With the steady rise in identity theft, carrying around a checkbook all the time isn’t such a hot idea, either.

And how am I going to hide a thousand dollar bill without my wife knowing about it? Maverick was a hero, not a role model.

One hot day not long ago Deborah and I went to a specialty food store in Richland. When it came time to pay, we discovered the store was not equipped to handle debit or credit cards. So we emptied our collective pockets and coughed up everything but 25 cents—which the shopkeeper graciously waived.

Now literally penniless, we needed some ice to keep our purchases cool for the long trip back to the Valley.

My first thought was that really, really large, always busy and crowded members-only chain-store. You know the one; they have stores on East Sprague and North Division.

I carry their card with me all the time because I like a place that sells 200-pound bags of cat litter.

Certainly, they would have ice.

However, the thought of standing in their famous lines – one to check out and one to get out – was too daunting for something as simple as a bag of frozen water, and I didn’t want the jumbo size, anyway.

So I figured we’d make a quick stop at a grocery store – certainly, they would have ice.

Which they did but, after a long wait at the check stand, we discovered this white-floored, white-walled retailing behemoth, whose name also ends in the letters “C” and “O”, did not accept debit or credit cards.

We left the bag at the register and, out of desperation, purchased “premium” ice at a gas station using a credit card.

I realized Mom and Maverick were on to something important.

On hot days, there’s nothing like cold, hard cash.