Money, Honey

I’ve never been one of those people who picks money up off of the ground. I would never pick up a bill fearing there was some string attached, some prankster ready to yank it away as soon as I reached for it. And change, well… I just don’t know where it’s been.

Money is an issue surrounding me and my husband Phil these days. It seems like every thought in my head is about money. Paying the bills, buying groceries (do you really need that this week?) and most recently, car repairs. We put our house up for sale at the end of June, and I swear, the very next day, the real estate market crashed. Again, it’s about money. What do we list it for? Will we have to lower the price? It all leaves me seeing green, and not in a good way.

Simply put, Phil and I are very tight with our money these days because we don’t have any to spare. And that’s okay. I don’t mind living a simpler life; it’s what we’ve wanted to do for some time anyway, which is why we put our house on the market; country life is calling and we’re ready to answer the call.

I know people who pick money up off the floor, off the streets, off of whatever walking space spare change happens to be. I know people who have saved for vacations with this practice. I’ve never been one of those people. I am not a germophobe by any stretch of the imagination, but something about where that change may have been has always unnerved me. When I spot a coin lying on the street, or in the hallway at work, I leave it for someone else to pick up as the same thought runs screaming through my head, “You don’t know where it’s been.”

Yesterday, I made one of my usual trips to the washroom at work, and when I closed the door to the stall, there on the floor was one dull looking penny, and a shiny quarter. I laughed out loud. I stared at the change for the longest time, contemplating whether or not I should pick them up. We are strapped for cash in my house, after all. Twenty-six cents would be twenty-six cents more than I had when I left the house.

I walked out, leaving the change right where I found it.

Later that morning, I went back into the washroom and noticed that the penny was still there, but the quarter was gone. Who needs pennies, right? I’ve seen people literally throw them away. Silly, as they spend the same as any other money. (And if you’re wondering, yes, I’m a creature of habit and go into the same bathroom stall every time.) I left the penny alone and went on with my life, never even thinking about the quarter again.

At the end of the day I made one more stop to the bathroom, and what did I see? The penny was no longer around, but there sat the shiny quarter. Did someone kick it out earlier? Did someone then kick it back? Did they know they were kicking around a perfectly good quarter?

After much hemming and hawing, I made a decision.

I picked up the quarter. With a paper towel.

© Kathleen Strelow 2006