Remembering my wallet on hitting a payment wall

I want to go back to carrying my wallet again. As of now, I only need it because that is where I keep my subway card, though I know some people use their smartphone for the subway, too.

Since I have not downloaded the subway app yet, it pays to keep the subway card somewhere secure, so I know where to find it when I need it — in my wallet. Yet, so many times I have arrived at a subway station and reached for the lone subway card in my right jacket pocket, and then my left jacket pocket, and then, frantically, my trouser pockets, only to conclude that I must have left it in the different jacket I was wearing the day before.

This dependence on the phone for everything is a bit too much. The other day, I rushed out of office to go to an event and gave my consent to a smartphone upgrade, not realizing it would take ages. As a result, I could not book a cab or ride an e-bike. I had to run to the subway station as it was getting late. Thankfully, I didn't need my phone there. My phone was still upgrading when I reached my destination. Unable to check the phone map to figure out the quickest route to my event, I left by the exit situated farthest away, delaying me further.

I had the same problem when I went to remit money at the bank, and mentally checked every document they would require; I had them all. It was only on reaching the place that I realized I had forgotten the most important thing, my wallet, which houses my bank card.

Another facet of technology that sometimes worries me is the absence of manned payment counters. While I had made peace with flashing the WeChat payment code for a salesperson to scan, I was not comfortable scanning barcodes on goods while making the payment on my own. The first time I did it, I ended up paying 40 yuan ($5.8) more than I should have. I went looking for a salesperson inside the store, but she was unable to explain how to get my money back, despite both of us using translation apps.

I avoided going to that store for two whole years, until a Chinese-speaking friend spoke to the saleswoman and explained to me that the money was still there in an app, which I made use of to pay for goods worth 40 yuan at the store. I went back to buying things from there again. I particularly liked their hot chocolate and had, by now, perfected the art of buying things at the unmanned counter. In fact, the hot chocolate didn't have a barcode, but I knew how to select it on the touch-screen menu. I would pick up a cup from a dispenser before selecting the cup icon worth 3.5 yuan to make the payment. It was a breeze.

I had been doing this for some time until, one day, following a software upgrade, I hit a wall. I was unable to include the hot chocolate after scanning the code of other things I had bought. I again went looking for the salesperson, who helped me find it, tapping an icon that cost 5 yuan. "That's 5 yuan?" I asked using the translation app. "I have been paying 3.5 yuan up until now." I didn't know why I had assumed it cost 3.50 yuan. At least I would have been spared this embarrassment had there been a manned counter. However, I was spared further mortification when the saleswoman said: "Meishi, meishi (doesn't matter)," warmly, before rushing away.