Assignment #5
Gum
If the love of money is the root of all evil, then me and my brother Landon are in big trouble. We loved money. We didn't see much of it, but when we did, it was treasured more than anything else. We didn't get an allowance, and Landon and I never would have even considered asking our parents for money. We found other means of collecting our miserly mountains of cash. Scavenging, for example.
Whenever we went to the supermarket, Landon and I used walk up and down the isles, eyes glued to the floor, searching corners and cracks for coins. There were a lot of pennies, and sometimes dimes. Nickels and quarters weren't as common. On any given supermarket trip we could find anywhere from ten cents to half a buck in coins. Then Mom or Dad would find us and we'd go. But not before we checked all the vending machines and newspaper stands for stuff in the coin return slots.
When we got home we would shine up the coins. I loved the way they looked. The new quarters were the best. They were so smooth and shiny. They looked so delicious, sometimes I would pop them in my mouth for a while. Coins taste really really bad. They are also filthy. I knew this from prior experience, but always put them back in again.
Sometimes we would find money in random places. “mine mine!” I would shout when I saw one, and my brother, shouting just as loud, would race me to it. Whoever got there first got to keep it.
Our dad eventually made us wooden treasure chests, smooth and clear coated, with little compartments in them. We would sort our money and clean it, and look at it. We would make stacks of different types of coins, we would arrange them by year, or by the printing location, or by condition. We loved money in and of itself. It was exciting. We would get our money out and count it together, and sometimes trade coins. Landon liked nickels, and I liked the new coins.
The paper money had secret compartments, and almost never saw the light of day except on special occasions. Landon had a five dollar bill for a long time, just about the highest denomination we ever saw. I liked to keep dollar bills, and would change in my fives for ones whenever I could, because I loved to take out all my dollars, and just have a whole handful of them. Just holding a thick wad of money was exciting. I didn't have a five, like Landon, but my money looked more.
One day Landon got a bright idea and exchanged all his money for nickels. Except for the five. Of course. He walked into Great Western with his little wood chest, and pulled out two hundred and five pennies, forty dimes, fourteen quarters, and nine dollar bills, all neatly counted and organized. The teller was patient, and the other people in line weren't annoyed because he was so very cute. The teller had a tolerant smile on. When he finished unloading his stash on the counter in neat little rows, and asked her for change in nickels, her smile went away.
She gave it him in little money rolls. When we got home Landon poured them out one by one: he had a pile of three hundred and seventy one nickels. We know. We counted them. All. Twice. We also scoured each and every one for the famed double stamp printing error, which gave Jefferson two ears, and was worth hundreds of dollars, according to our coin collecting book. After a while, Landon started to notice that I was sneaking nickels into my pile. It was nearly the cause of a huge fight, except that it was pretty easy for him to get back his exact coins, because he realized that I didn't have a nickel pile, since I always traded mine to him for shinier money, so he took my whole stack; except my 1940 nickel, which was my very best coin, besides my fifty cent piece and my Eisenhower Dollar.
We had a wonderful time diving into Landon's huge pile of coins and throwing them in the air over ourselves.
I think the most money I ever had at one time was just short of $20. I had stored up my money for years and years, and I never spent a penny of it. I was only a few coins away from being able to trade it all in for a $20 bill. It would have meant trading in all my favorite coins: my dollar coins and half dollar coins, my wheat pennies and my mint Denver 1959 dime, which my book said was worth a bajillion dollars. But I was willing to trade it all in. Having a $20 bill was like being the richest person in the world. I had seen them before, even held them, but never actually owned one. It was the most elusive and exciting bill known to man at the time.
I started whining to get the coins I needed. I didn't have anything to trade Landon. We never traded money for anything except money. Nothing else was even close in value. Toys came and went, more rocks could be found, and chores were always there again tomorrow. We saved our money voraciously, waiting until the time when we had enough to buy something really big and really great for ourselves with it, and nothing was worth prolonging that day, not even my entire Hot Wheels Car collection was enough to make Landon separate from anything more than a nickel. Then I started bugging my parents, and I brought out all my money, and lined it up in front of them, and asked for exactly one nickel, two dimes, and three pennies from them. They said they would think about it.
Think about it! I wanted that money. I needed it. I needed it today. I said I didn't want any presents for my birthday or Christmas, and I wouldn't eat any food for a month, and I could sleep outside, and I'd promise to keep the refrigerator door closed if only they would give me the money... the response was the same.
Then they did something that completely destroyed the lives of Landon and me forever. Dad came into my room with a brand new twenty dollar bill. He said he had just gotten it from the bank, and that the bank had just gotten it from the government. It was completely smooth, it didn't have a single fold in it, it didn't have a single wrinkle, the corners were in perfect condition. He gave it to me. I held it in the palms of both my hands and looked at it in awe. It was amazing. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Right then and there I dedicated the rest of my life to getting another twenty dollar bill just like it. I carefully placed it in a plastic bag, zipped it shut, made sure there was no air in it, and then put that in an envelope, and sat it in my secret place in my box. I was about to give Dad all my coins, when he told me I could keep them. It was unbelievable. I had all my coins, and I had the twenty dollar bill. I could not believe how lucky I was! Then another thought hit me. I had forty dollars! I just about hit the ceiling. Then Landon ran in with a twenty dollar bill of his own. Our parents were very aware of our rivalry, and made sure to keep things fair. Landon and I were totally mind blown. We had each gotten, in one day, more money than we ever imagined having in our entire lives. We were so grateful. We totally understood the pain and sacrifice our parents had made. It must have taken them a long time to decide, and a lot of preparation, it was living proof to us that our parents loved us more than anything else in the world. Our parents slaved over the laundry, and our food, taking us all manner of places, buying us things every holiday, but none of that counted: What counted was that they had drained the life savings and probably sold all the family heirlooms in order to get us two twenty dollar bills.
After that we completely lost our love of money. Our years and years of collecting had been futile. I got out a calculator with Landon, and we figured that for all the time we spent with our money, we had worked at a wage of about a penny an hour. Then in one second we made $20. Our coins suddenly seemed so valueless. What is a penny, even a wheat head penny, compared to $40? We no longer loved money for its own sake. We were no longer evil. But with this loss of passion, came a new realization. We could buystuff. We were rich. We could buy anything we wanted!
So Landon and I, the next week, each with ten dollars worth of coins, went to Fred Meyers, and walked straight into what was to become our new passion. We were happy to be rid of the root of all evil. Bubble Yum was our all consuming hobby now, and though it wasn't as shiny and beautiful as a brand new quarter, it sure tasted better. With at least four hunks of Bubble Yum each, crammed in our mouthes, we were barely able to squeeze our jaws shut enough to chew, let alone keep all the gum in our mouthes. This was what life was all about. Eating sugary fruity flavored gum, swallowing our flavored spit, and eventually spitting our gum and our money into the trash, only to cram some more in.