It was a dark and wet night. The sun had just fallen below the horizon maybe a half an hour earlier. The night was young when she came into my life.
I knew she was trouble as soon as she walked in. She stood there looking confused for a moment as she scanned the area with those deep brown eyes. Perhaps it was her confused face she wore for too long that gave me the assumption or maybe it was her shirt but I knew in my soul that she didn't do laundry here very often. Or maybe it was because I come here a lot and I have never seen her.
She had a shirt on that said tacocat. Its a palindrome, I noticed that right away. But what did it mean? I couldn't know for sure. I just sat there from the low gloom of the light watching as she scanned the laundromat. Looking every bit as mysterious as her shirt.
It was laundry day for me as well and I had my laundry shirt on. It had salsa stains from the night before because two things. One, I knew I was going to do laundry on this damp gray Tuesday and I had no other shirt to wear on dollar dryer Tuesdays. And two, because last night I wanted salsa with my chips as I watched Must Love Dogs. I had gotten some Juanita's chips at the local grocery and at two bucks a bag, I couldn't resist having some salsa as well. I could eat a whole bag in one seating like a beaver chomping at a log building his home. However, I was not building anything. I didn't change out of my shirt, too lazy, just decided to go to bed after the movie, chip crumbles and all.
Fast forward to now and I'm here watching this mysterious woman in a tacocat shirt lugging a trash bag full of laundry. She stood there like a confused majestic stallion in cargo shorts. Her legs went on for days. All the way down to her socks that had sandals over them. That was curious I thought, as it had been raining maybe for few hours now. Did she not look out her window? How could she leave her place and not think maybe I should put regular shoes on? The questions kept piling up in my head. Mysteries that had no answers. How could this be?
She started throwing heaps of her clothes into the washer. I knew then perhaps she didn't care how her clothes came out of the laundry as long as they were clean because she was mixing her whites with colors.
I too liked to live on the edge but I never mixed my whites with my colors. I couldn't bring myself to do that kind of madness. She was an audacious fig indeed. Perhaps it was what my life was missing. A soul this intrepid and yet soft around the sandals. More questions arose inside my head.
The rain was starting to fall more heavily now. You could hear the soft tapping of water droplets on the front windows. The low gloom of the yellow lights gave the whole place a very surreal feeling. Like a library...no, more like a gas station. Or something like that. In any case, everyone here, you could tell did not want to be here.
That's when I heard it from across the room. A crack. Somebody had opened a redbull. I needed to know who. Somewhere from deep within my soul, a burning curiosity had been born. I leaned over in my chair to try and see around the washers but couldn't see anyone. I knew I was risking my seat by getting up but the curiosity had overcome my every inch and I took the gamble and strolled down to find the solution to this terrestrial mystery.
It was a younger man with a backwards baseball cap. It had some letters on the backside but I knew nothing about sports so they meant next to nothing to me. I watched for a moment as he gulped down that energy drink like it had vodka in it. I knew immediately this was not worth gambling my perfect seat.
I turned back the way I came to return to my seat and the tacocat woman had taken my spot. Oh no, I thought, that was my favorite seat. What was I to do now? I had no choice, I had to ask for my seat back. It gave me the best view of the whole place and was near my dryer.
I walked over to her and she had started fiddling with her phone, typing furiously with her thumbs.
"Uh hi, sorry to bother ya but I was sitting there, I just got up for a moment," I told her.
She looked up from her phone, looked at my face for a moment before looking around to make sure that I was in fact talking to her. Which I was. I gave her a polite smirk as she turned her gaze back to me.
"Oh," she said "there are some chairs over there," she pointed with her free hand. "It's just my stuff is in the washer right here."
Then she just lowered her head again and she was gone into the cyber space of her phone. Never to be heard from again.
I stood there unwilling to give up my seat.
"My clothes are actually right here too," I said putting my hand on the dryer right next to the chair.
"Look man," she said more forcefully, "I had a long day, just grab a seat over there. I already have my stuff here, my bag, a cart, my purse."
I just looked at her as the frustration built up behind my eyes. The fury of the heavens was boiling to the brim. So many things to say were racing through my head and all I could say was, "uh, sure, no prob."
Damn it! I left her at the chair and took a seat from across the way. I just stared at her as she giggled at her phone with blindly rage. I knew next time, if she was ever in here again, I would not give up my seat that easily.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Monday, June 18, 2012
Two Bits
Its funny how many places a simple innocuous thing like a U.S. quarter can see in a lifetime. One forgets how many states, cities, towns, homes there are in the U.S. and you would think a simple thing like a quarter wouldn't see many of those places but in actuality, I have seen too many places to count. I'm an old worn down copper nickel U.S. quarter stamped and pressed in 1984 and in my 28 years of circulation I've seen so many places and listened to so many grown folk it makes me forget the long stretches of obscurity we coins so often face.
For only being a score and 8 years I've seen probably more places than my older counterparts have before me. Hell, I've probably seen more places than even you. Some of the more mint coins don't get to see much anymore being in a collection and all but for them obscurity is never a worry. They're retired and in some collection for the rest of their days only to gain in value with each passing day. I'm no longer mint myself. My mint days are long behind me but at least now the world is for me to see or that's how I used to view my situation. I've been out of circulation for a few years now, slowly falling into obscurity. It wasn't always that way.
There was a good stretch of years there where I was in and out of pockets and cashier drawers on a daily basis. Good times. Saw lots of folks. You know, there was a time when you needed to carry change and I know you still do these days but its not nearly as much as back then. Now its all debit cards and credit cards or shit, even gift cards. The only folks that carry change these days are the older folk and the young folk, none of the middle folk. The older folk grew up in that time when you needed change. When the bills ruled each transaction and we coins were there to complete the exchange. The younger folk just don't have money and change is their likely alternative. I'll give it to you, its not like that everywhere but I'll tell you this, tell me where there's a stoner college kid and I'll show his stash of Taco Bell money. They might call it something else but I've been to a Taco Bell more than I care to admit.
I was in a couch for a good four months before the grown folk that hung out on it up ended the couch cushion looking for change. They had always talked about Taco Bell and asking each other how much money they were carrying. So I wasn't worried I would spend obscurity underneath that damn old couch cushion. One day, the cushion was pulled up and I was snagged. Simple as that. Went to Taco Bell and back into circulation. Met more quarters in those cashier drawers than probably any other time. Heck, I even met some of the rarer quarters made of silver. Those boys sure are a beaut to see up close. They reflect light differently and even clink against the ground differently. I sure wish I would of had some silver in me. But most those silver quarters in my past are probably in a collection by now or so worn down they're barely recognizable because the silver is a softer metal you see. But for me, I'm probably doomed to end up underneath a bed or car seat or in a couch somewhere to spend obscurity. Its a scary thing for a coin, not knowing where you'll be forgotten. You only get to exist long enough to remind yourself you've been forgotten. Anywhere we lay could be the last place we ever go and we will not know it until that day when we've realized obscurity has not only found us but has become longer than the time of relevance we once had.
I'm not worried though, we quarters always seem to be picked up and find a way to re-enter circulation. The pennies won't however. I've seen it too many times before, I'll get lifted and the grown folk take one look at that dark brown copper bronze color and simply decide they don't need single cents. For the penny, they are perhaps more than any other coin doomed to stay where they lay out of pure negligence. I hold no ill will toward the penny but it does take twenty five of them to equal one of me, so I understand the lack of temptation to carry pennies. They are a different color than most other coins and perhaps the darker hue, the brown bronze copper shimmer of their coating is not pleasing to the eye. I mean, it is a hollow reminder that this coin is worth one. Just one. I don't think myself better than a penny but I just know I'm worth more.
I once met a rare penny who thought himself to be worth more than just one. Hell, he even thought he was worth two quarters. He called himself a 1943 steel cent and prided himself in being silver colored. Being in circulation for 69 years I respected the old timer enough to hear him ramble on about his worth.
"They call me a steel cent . A 1943 steel cent to be exact 8-bits." He used to call me 8 bits because he said my silver shimmer made me look good enough to be worth a dollar. He was a crazy old cent but I sure did like his backward compliments.
"Who does?"
"The grown folk. I've been appraised before you know and now you may think of me rare because of this silver coating of mine but I can assure you my top worth is only 12 to 15 cents 8-bits since I'm no longer in mint condition. On the flip side, if I were still in my prime mint days back when I was younger, hell, I woulda been worth two of you."
"Ha, a penny worth four bits. Now that's something right there."
"You don't believe me? Ah, it doesn't matter I'm no longer worth a damn anyway. I'm stuck here in some bowl as I watch all you quarters get snagged up. I just keep getting scuffed and scuffed. My mint days are long behind me."
"Why are you silver anyway old timer?"
"Ah, you're curious. They always are. I was pressed during the war 8-bits. There was no copper to use so they made me out of steel and coated me in zinc. I'm rare yes but still not worth a damn. Being only a cent, I'm still just one. I don't get to see the world like you quarters do. Being silver colored makes for more opportunities sure, at least more than those regular colored pennies, all dark and bronze colored. But no matter how scuffed they are or how pristine they once were, they will always be one; as close to death a coin can be. The grown folk from time to time mistake me to be a dime but I always end up back here in this here damn bowl. I'm only here because I'm silver colored like you and these grown folk only keep their silver colored coins in this here bowl. High usage here but I'm not grabbed much these days. Ha! I once spent two years in a parking lot in a spot way in the back where no cars would park. And one day some fella driving a BMW parked sideways down two spots and his little one exited out the side. Saw me and grabbed me. He kept saying he had a dime. I aint no damn dime, I'm a 1943 steel cent."
That old timer really like to ramble on about his worth but no matter how much he had seen or where he had been or what year he came from, he would always be one cent. The lowest you can go without being worthless. He was right about one thing, one is as close to death a coin can be. We die a slow, long, lonely death of depreciation and obscurity.
For only being a score and 8 years I've seen probably more places than my older counterparts have before me. Hell, I've probably seen more places than even you. Some of the more mint coins don't get to see much anymore being in a collection and all but for them obscurity is never a worry. They're retired and in some collection for the rest of their days only to gain in value with each passing day. I'm no longer mint myself. My mint days are long behind me but at least now the world is for me to see or that's how I used to view my situation. I've been out of circulation for a few years now, slowly falling into obscurity. It wasn't always that way.
There was a good stretch of years there where I was in and out of pockets and cashier drawers on a daily basis. Good times. Saw lots of folks. You know, there was a time when you needed to carry change and I know you still do these days but its not nearly as much as back then. Now its all debit cards and credit cards or shit, even gift cards. The only folks that carry change these days are the older folk and the young folk, none of the middle folk. The older folk grew up in that time when you needed change. When the bills ruled each transaction and we coins were there to complete the exchange. The younger folk just don't have money and change is their likely alternative. I'll give it to you, its not like that everywhere but I'll tell you this, tell me where there's a stoner college kid and I'll show his stash of Taco Bell money. They might call it something else but I've been to a Taco Bell more than I care to admit.
I was in a couch for a good four months before the grown folk that hung out on it up ended the couch cushion looking for change. They had always talked about Taco Bell and asking each other how much money they were carrying. So I wasn't worried I would spend obscurity underneath that damn old couch cushion. One day, the cushion was pulled up and I was snagged. Simple as that. Went to Taco Bell and back into circulation. Met more quarters in those cashier drawers than probably any other time. Heck, I even met some of the rarer quarters made of silver. Those boys sure are a beaut to see up close. They reflect light differently and even clink against the ground differently. I sure wish I would of had some silver in me. But most those silver quarters in my past are probably in a collection by now or so worn down they're barely recognizable because the silver is a softer metal you see. But for me, I'm probably doomed to end up underneath a bed or car seat or in a couch somewhere to spend obscurity. Its a scary thing for a coin, not knowing where you'll be forgotten. You only get to exist long enough to remind yourself you've been forgotten. Anywhere we lay could be the last place we ever go and we will not know it until that day when we've realized obscurity has not only found us but has become longer than the time of relevance we once had.
I'm not worried though, we quarters always seem to be picked up and find a way to re-enter circulation. The pennies won't however. I've seen it too many times before, I'll get lifted and the grown folk take one look at that dark brown copper bronze color and simply decide they don't need single cents. For the penny, they are perhaps more than any other coin doomed to stay where they lay out of pure negligence. I hold no ill will toward the penny but it does take twenty five of them to equal one of me, so I understand the lack of temptation to carry pennies. They are a different color than most other coins and perhaps the darker hue, the brown bronze copper shimmer of their coating is not pleasing to the eye. I mean, it is a hollow reminder that this coin is worth one. Just one. I don't think myself better than a penny but I just know I'm worth more.
I once met a rare penny who thought himself to be worth more than just one. Hell, he even thought he was worth two quarters. He called himself a 1943 steel cent and prided himself in being silver colored. Being in circulation for 69 years I respected the old timer enough to hear him ramble on about his worth.
"They call me a steel cent . A 1943 steel cent to be exact 8-bits." He used to call me 8 bits because he said my silver shimmer made me look good enough to be worth a dollar. He was a crazy old cent but I sure did like his backward compliments.
"Who does?"
"The grown folk. I've been appraised before you know and now you may think of me rare because of this silver coating of mine but I can assure you my top worth is only 12 to 15 cents 8-bits since I'm no longer in mint condition. On the flip side, if I were still in my prime mint days back when I was younger, hell, I woulda been worth two of you."
"Ha, a penny worth four bits. Now that's something right there."
"You don't believe me? Ah, it doesn't matter I'm no longer worth a damn anyway. I'm stuck here in some bowl as I watch all you quarters get snagged up. I just keep getting scuffed and scuffed. My mint days are long behind me."
"Why are you silver anyway old timer?"
"Ah, you're curious. They always are. I was pressed during the war 8-bits. There was no copper to use so they made me out of steel and coated me in zinc. I'm rare yes but still not worth a damn. Being only a cent, I'm still just one. I don't get to see the world like you quarters do. Being silver colored makes for more opportunities sure, at least more than those regular colored pennies, all dark and bronze colored. But no matter how scuffed they are or how pristine they once were, they will always be one; as close to death a coin can be. The grown folk from time to time mistake me to be a dime but I always end up back here in this here damn bowl. I'm only here because I'm silver colored like you and these grown folk only keep their silver colored coins in this here bowl. High usage here but I'm not grabbed much these days. Ha! I once spent two years in a parking lot in a spot way in the back where no cars would park. And one day some fella driving a BMW parked sideways down two spots and his little one exited out the side. Saw me and grabbed me. He kept saying he had a dime. I aint no damn dime, I'm a 1943 steel cent."
That old timer really like to ramble on about his worth but no matter how much he had seen or where he had been or what year he came from, he would always be one cent. The lowest you can go without being worthless. He was right about one thing, one is as close to death a coin can be. We die a slow, long, lonely death of depreciation and obscurity.
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