Column: Penny roll particulars
Published Aug. 30, 2005
I have a lot of pennies. Quarters, dimes and dollars are in short supply, but I am quite bullish on pennies. Recently, I decided to make some meaningful changes in my life, the first of which was rolling up these goddamned pennies. In order to do so, I needed those little coin tubes.
Naturally, I started the search at my bank. The people at the Mizzou Credit Union were very friendly. They told me they could give me a maximum of four rolls, and it was a matter of policy. Saddened, but far from defeated, I left, forgetting the rolls on the counter. As I drove away, I realized I left the rolls behind, but decided it was not an option to go back after the minor scene I had caused: berating the poor clerk about the ill-conceived "penny-roll policy." I was back to square one.
My next thought was of Wal-mart. They have every fucking thing you could think of, marketable or otherwise. Hair from Lionel Ritchie's ball-sack? "Aisle 21." Pantaloons belonging to a young cabin girl, which have been unceremoniously soiled by Ponce De Lyon? "Aisle 83, but we are out of stock. Should have some in by Tuesday."
I find the rolls with ease and spot an open register. My cashier is a young cove named Sean. Coming in at 16 to 17 years of age, he is sporting that weird "man-child" moustache that young males get when they should shave, but fallaciously think any facial hair is good facial hair. Sean looked like he hated his job, and unbeknownst to him, I was about to make things a lot worse: I intended to pay for my coin rolls in pennies.
I set the 163 pennies on the counter as politely as possible.
"You need to roll those up," Sean tells me.
"I know, that's why I am buying the rolls."
"I can't just take them like this, I'll get in trouble. Don't you have any bills?"
I imagined the nature of the trouble he could get in for accepting unrolled pennies. It probably involves a cat-o-nine-tails or a gimp ball.
"In fact I do, but if I use them, my next move will be to ask you for two bills for these 200 pennies. My way is easier; saves us a step."
"No, it doesn't."
"I think it does."
"Look, bottom-line, I am not taking unrolled pennies."
"Can I open the bag and roll a few of these suckers up? It's clear I have enough to cover the bill."
"That's against our policy."
What do you know? Another penny-roll policy!
At this point, I was tempted to ask to see a manager. However, as proficient as I am at confronting peons, I tend to bend over for anyone with the air of authority.
"So, where do we go from here?" I asked, signaling the beginnings of my submission.
"I suggest you pay in dollars or go to your bank."
Realizing I was holding up the line, and not seeing this work out in my favor, I gathered my pennies. So there I was with 1,427 pennies, unrolled. I guess I could have gone back to my bank and got enough rolls to afford the bag of rolls, but I didn't. It's my subtle protest.
What I really want to drive home is this: fuck you, Sean. Fuck you and all of your kind. You, sir, are worthless. May your head grow in the ground like an onion.
P.S. Since writing this piece, I have found a "change-to-bills" machine at Schnuck's, which is absolute satisfaction. I bet that machine could easily kick Sean's ass in a knife fight.