The Dimo’s punchcard is formally a marker of time. It’s like a postcard from a museum visit, or the empty hot sauce bottles you rinse out, but can’t bring yourself to throw away. 

A week or two ago we watched a customer rifle through their bag for several minutes, to find a slightly brown punch card that had a totally different layout, from a pre-qr code age. Can you believe that punchcard had made it from however long ago to now? Where were we, what were we thinking, or what was this person in front of us doing or thinking at the moment of the first punch?

Have you ever saved receipts from your favorite coffee shop in your hometown? Bringing them home and putting them in a desk drawer, sorting them by different ways they’d spelled your name? Think of the movie stubs in our drawers and under bed, the back pocket of a pair of jeans, the museum tickets reused as bookmarks. And when we find these physical reminders later on, if we’re lucky, we might remember who we were when we bought that coffee, saw that movie, ate that slice. 

Starting a new punchcard is like buying a new toothbrush. It makes us think of who we were a few months ago, of what was happening in our lives at that moment. Of how much can change over the course of a toothbrush’s lifespan. We like to believe that this is the appeal of the punch card. It’s a souvenir of yourself. 

We also ask you not to underestimate the moment of the punching. The punchcard interrupts a sense of autopilot on both ends of the interaction. We are increasingly hungry for moments of connection with our physical environment. Think of the routines of walking your same loop through the park, doing the crossword each morning, or getting pizza after bowling every Thursday night. Think of how this creates a sense of belonging within our own corners of Chicago. A punchcard reminds us of that. When Austin (We love you Austin from Logan!!) lets a kid punch their own card, happily wrestling against the force of the puncher with their small small hands, this kid is not just passing through their community, but interacting with it. 

The punchcard is grounding! The act of beginning a punchcard affirms that you will back, that you are at least minorly convinced that you will eat 10 slices of Dimo’s pizza. It suggests that I might recognize you next time. It raises the question, when will I be back? Who will I be with? What will I feel? It’s a tiny glimpse into the future, and upon receiving future punches, it will be a small waving into the past.