Three Dollars, Sixty-Seven Cents, and a Goat

Hack to Self: Cash is over

The other day I went into Safeway to return a can of store-brand French-fried onion rings. Nothing wrong with the onion rings — how far wrong can you go when it’s barely even food? — but the can is lethal. Sliced my finger opening it. Well, scratched.

Significantly.

Drawing blood.

Far worse than a paper cut.

I whimpered.

Exhibit A: Crunchy, but deadly

The threat is real, folks. If emergency rooms fill up this Thanksgiving with casserole-related can-lid injuries, I saw it coming. In fact, I plan to retire when the class-action suit payout rolls in.

Safeway cared. Slightly. When I returned the can to the store, the assistant manager looked at it, sighed, and slapped a $3.67 cash refund into my bandaged hand.

I stared, baffled. What the hell do I do with this? I have a life-changing injury — a multi-hour owie — and Safeway gives me cash? Is cash still legal tender? Is there anything left to buy — other than store-brand French-fried onion rings — that even costs $3.67? What a passive-aggressive refund.

I retreated to Starbucks to dump the cash and contemplate my pain. Bad move. Turns out Starbucks doesn’t sell anything I actually like for $3.67. I might have noticed that if I’d ever used real money there instead of their self-replenishing app. (Well played, Starbucks.)

Then I thought, I’ll buy a lottery ticket. Sure, it’s a sucker game — your odds of throwing a dart into a certain square meter on I-95 somewhere between Maine and Florida are about four times better than winning the Mega Millions — but I’d already beaten the odds by surviving a harrowing can-lid incident, so I thought I’d press my luck.

That’s when I discovered Mega Millions tickets now cost $5. My pathetic refund wasn’t even enough to buy one.

I had to get rid of this jangling mess. My bank has a branch next door, so I thought I might as well deposit it.

Me: Hi, I’m a customer here, and I’d like to make a very small cash deposit.

Bank Bitch: I’m sorry, but we don’t take cash.

Me: You’re a bank. I’m your customer. Take my money.

Bank Bitch: Yes, well… We give cash, but we don’t take it.

Me: But I want to put cash money into my account.

Bank Bitch: Mmm… Sorry.

Me: How do I put money into my account?

Bank Bitch: You have to convert it to another kind of payment.

Me: Like what? Goats? Poker chips? Gold bullion?

Bank Bitch did not feel my pain, so I left with the cash still burning a hole in my pocket.

When I got home I examined my fortune. I hadn’t seen cash in a long time, but it looked vaguely familiar — except for the quarters, which appeared to show Maya Angelou hang-gliding.

Maya Angelou, in flight. Image: U.S. Mint

I admired the two pennies for a long time. They may not be around much longer — the U.S. Mint says they cost more than they’re worth. Of course, that’s been true of Congress for years, and it’s still here.

I learned a lot from this excruciating episode. First, don’t mess with store-brand French-fried onion rings — they’re killer. And, second, don’t rob a bank — you won’t be able to get rid of your haul.

P.S. If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be checking under my couch cushions to see if I have enough rogue cash hiding out to work up to a $5 purchase.