penny for your thoughts. no really.

Okay, I have a gripe. (I know, big surprise, right?)

This morning, like most, I wanted to go get a can of juice out of the vending machine. For this, I must locate 75¢. So I opened my bag and started fishing through the various pockets of change. I found, like always, that I had a ridiculously excessive amount of pennies.

Now, if I'm not mistaken, there was a movement a few years ago to eliminate pennies from the national currency system. I was all for this movement. But nothing seemed to happen. I still have a bag full of pennies. And why? Why? What do I need 6 lbs. worth of pennies for? And really, how did I end up with 6 lbs. of pennies in the first place??

Okay, let's back up. As kids, pennies are very exciting. Our value-instilling parents give us little porcelain figurines with slits in their foreheads and impossible-to-budge rubber plugs shoved up their asses in which to store our very cherished copper coins. When we bought a piece of candy for 10¢, we were proud to lay out each penny with a tiny metallic click upon the counter. We always felt rich, especially my sister who disregarded the actual value of coins and believed possessing 27 pennies made you richer than owning a lowsy pair of quarters.

During my early adolescent years (big hair and red eyeglass frames), I found a new use for pennies. We'd gather them and spread them along the top surface of a train track, then hide behind the trees and wait for the train to go by and flatten them smooth. The end result was very cool, but the fun ended when my Responsible Adult Community told me that a) it was illegal to destroy government property and b) the pennies could cause the train to derail and crush me. To this I say a) Dad, you have a fun-ending rule for everything and b) Dennis, I am now terrified of trains. Thanks so much. Moving on.

Later, we grow up and reality bursts our blissful little penny-acceptance bubble. Pants pockets and change purses become weighed down with the obnoxious coins until we eventually develop a slight limp and begin listing to one side like a shopping cart with a week-old piece of romaine lettuce in one wheel. It is this point in our lives in which we try to get RID of our copper coins in favor of more useful, shiner ones.

For example, you go into a store and buy something that comes out to $4.53. You fish out a 5-dollar bill, but not wanting to be the loser in the situation, you also dig out three pennies. You either give three, or gain two--and you do NOT need more pennies. Now, the obvious (albeit secondary) problem here is that you've completely confused the cashier, who is either accustomed to dealing only in rupees or is one of those hopeless teenagers who can't make change or tell time on analog clocks. The computation is seemingly simple, wherein you should now receive two shiny silver quarters, but because the cashier saw only the 5-dollar bill and not your pennies, the number displayed on the electronic register says 47¢, so you get the quarter, two dimes, and two pennies, PLUS the three pennies you just handed over because the cashier just really didn't know what to make of it. Now you have five more pennies that you never wanted.

Is the cashier really this stupid? Or did their manager tell them to play dumb and keep the pennies out? Hard to say. Occham's Razor tells me that it's not likely a conspiracy theory, but just a matter of stupidity. But really, NO ONE wants the pennies. Even banks limit the amount that they'll take. BANKS!!!

Regardless, at the end of the day, you wind up with a shitload of pennies. I, for one, have no idea what to do with these pennies, and no where to put them. At my last apartment, I started a coin jar from a washed out jar of Paul Newman's Marinara sauce. It was at least halfway full, and getting a bit heavy. On moving day, I left it on the counter for someone else to deal with, attaching a note that said "Go buy yourself a stick of gum, or something, loser." I'm just happy to unload all my pennies and start from scratch.

So now I have a new coin jar, this time smaller--a former Mott's Applesauce container. It fills so fast and easy and I despise it. When I have pennies to put in it, I throw them from across the room. If they make it, fine. If they don't, and land in the trash can behind the jar, fine. Good riddance.

Same sentiment applies when I spill my coins all over the sidewalk. "Oh lady, you dropped some--oh nevermind. They're just pennies," says the homeless man as he walks away.