In want of change. . .

You know how you put your dollar in the change machine at the car wash, etc., and you get out quarters? Those things hate me. Seriously. I used to believe it wasn't me. I thought I just had funny money. (Not THAT kind of funny money!) I thought that keeping my money wadded up made me the enemy of the change machine, but I refused to believe it was personal.

[sigh]

Then, I started noticing things. Someone else, anyone else really, could use my dollar easily. The machine didn't care about the dollar--it was the holder of the money. Those machines could sense my fear of them. They KNEW it was my money. They knew that I needed those quarters, and they knew that I wasn't going to get them. It became a battle, a war. It was a losing war, but one that I refused to surrender. I tried every trick in the book. (Everyone had a tip for me. . .fold it this way, hold it this way, turn it this way. . .) It was hopeless.

Except. . .

You know how I hate going to the Blue Monster? I still do. Except, I've noticed something. I can tell you that the Blue Monster's self-checkout lines do NOT discriminate. Regardless of my dislike of the Blue Monster, he has no qualms about taking my money. . .unlike his uppity car wash friends.