A Penny Saved

 

by Pa Rock

Pincher of Pennies

I am not a descendant of Benjamin Franklin, but old Ben and I were cousins - 1st cousins, ten times removed - which means he and I shared a set of grandparents and thus are likely to have some snippets of genetic code in common, even after a couple of centuries.  Ben, who wrote almanacs and was filled to the wig with pithy wisdom, reminded his readers of the virtues of being thrifty and supposedly said unto them:  "Watch the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves."

I have, over the course of almost eight decades, wasted inordinate amounts of cash, but even at the height of those mindless sprees and splurges, I have always kept a watchful eye on the pennies.  I have a balance issue and history of falling which necessitates carefully watching the ground as I walk, an effort that is occasionally compensated when I come upon lost change - which I always pick up and pocket.  (I keep a loose change container in my car for just such occurrences - and occasionally that change makes its way into my savings account.  Ben would no doubt be proud.)

After Don Trump announced a couple of months ago that the US Mint would no longer be producing pennies, many businesses began phasing them out by rounding total sales up or down to the nearest nickel.    Businesses on US military bases on Okinawa were using that exact same system a dozen years ago, and I found it to work well.

Two days ago I made a small purchase at a Casey's Convenience Store in Arkansas, and instead of receiving fifty-one cents in change, the lady at the register handed me only two quarters.   I understood the transaction and the new math, but still was not overly pleased at missing out on my rightful penny.  As I walked carefully out to my car, watching the ground as I went, I spotted a penny lying on the pavement of the driveway.  I picked it up and held it high in the air soe the woman at the counter could see that justice had prevailed.  Then I got in my little car and put fifty-one cents in my change bucket.  

That happened on Thursday.  Earlier in the week, on Monday, I got out of my car in the local hospital parking lot and headed toward cardiac rehab.   It was during the noon hour and many hospital personnel were buzzing in and out of the lot as they dealt with their lunch needs.    As I walked between two cars heading toward the parking lot exit, I came upon some change scattered on the asphalt - which I took the time to bend over and pick up.  It was five coins - three nickels and two pennies - which some hospital employee or patron had dropped while getting out of their car and then not bothered to reclaim. - and Pa Rock was seventeen cents richer.  Hooah!

Why would anyone just walk off from five coins.  They had to have heard them jingling on the hard asphalt, right?  I have a theory on the matter.  Some hospital employee, male or female, was returning from their lunch break and forgotten that the change from the drive-thru was still sitting on their lap.  When the coins hit the pavement, that person, with their highly sculpted and lacquered hundred-dollar nails, perhaps with small paintings of flowers on each and every one - felt they had no choice but to leave them for the first beggar who happened by.  Enter Pa rock, stage right!

I can trace my obsession with lost and discarded change back to my days in elementary school when I was walking from school to town behind a gaggle of noisy teen girls, one of whom dropped a coin on the pavement, and several of whom commented about it.  "It's only a quarter," she laughed, and the whole group walked on leaving the coin behind.  Young Pa Rock knew that a quarter would buy a nice candy bar and a bottle of pop - with a nickel left over.  He went on to have a great afternoon.

And before you consign constantly looking at the ground and snagging occasional pocket change as just some nickel-an-dime crackpot operation, I also found a neatly folded twenty-dollar bill on the floor of the main terminal at the San Diego Airport a few years ago.  After stuffing it in my pocket, I did stand around for a few minutes to see if anyone came by in a panic looking for their money, but when no one did, I decided against yelling in the crowded terminal, "Hey, did anyone lose a twenty?!"

Okay, scouring the roadways looking for loose change is not the most productive and profitable of hobbies, but it is still a step above RFK, Jr's, penchant for scouring the roadways looking for supper!