| "And Lo, in that time, the Beast shall shew itself, and all its followers shall carry its mark; it shall jingle in their hands, or it shall jingle in their pockets. And saith the Lord: My Followers, They shall nae accept the Mark..." |
- Book of The Line Chapter XX, Verse 13 |
The scene: a dungeon, like, trés medieval, yet at the simultane, something outta Nazi Germ circa late 30's; dark, mossy stone walls, a huge slab o a table, men gathered round in shiny shiny uniforms, these men bein sans race, face or nationality, jest mark "Other", ya ken...
Successful White Male lies upon the slab, all stretched out n tied n twisted like a frog about ta be dissected. Sweat pours from the brow of his Rogaine-maintained hairline, down fat pink cheeks, pooling near his mouth, which has been stuffed full a his Armani tie. His eyes are huge as plates, his body twitching and jerking. The Stock Villains stand in perfect formation round SWM, hands clasped behind their backs.
"Well, well," says SV in Accent of Unknown Origin (Okay, I'll go with Canadian). "Ready to confess?"
SWM shakes head no, and defiantly wee-wees in his boxers.
"Then you asked for it, eh?" SV pulls small, metal object out of his pocket, removes tie from SWM's maw. SWM gulps, but bares teeth.
"I'll never confess," he barks.
"We'll see." SV raises metal object up, holds it above SWM's forehead.
SWM grits teeth, sneers "Never..."
SV drops metal object, which plunks upon SWM's forehead, rolls down onto the table. SWM's sneer falters, his lips tremble. "No... no...."
"Not gonna talk, eh?" SV retrieves small metal object, opens up pocket on front of SWM's shirt. "Sure about that?"
SWM keens, spits. "Nooo... don't...."
SV drops small metal object into SWM's pocket. SWM screams, wails.
"Still not gonna talk, eh?" SV brings out another metal object; the last one wis silver, but this one - oh, the inhumanity! - is copper.
"You... wouldn't...."
"Sure I would, eh?" SV dangles small, round copper object over the pocket, slowly lowers it....
"All right!" SWM cries. "I'll talk! But for God's sake, don't make me take any more small change...."
Next Scene: SWM sitting in front of red light at the corner of Any Street and Whatever Drive. He's boppin along wi the rockin, soulful sounds of Stan White and the Whitebread Blues Boogers, strokin his cell phone, playing with the Turbo Air Climate Controls a his Lexus, and cursing the red light for wasting 1.3 seconds of His Valuable Time. Just as he's about tae run it (after all, SWM's like us, we use our money to buy lawmakers; we dinnae follow the laws), Super Stoner Boy #13,456 approaches his car.
SSB knocks on the windae, smears Crunchy Grunge on the immaculate Paint Job. SWM screams, knowing how hard it is to get a good Paint Job, and so he rolls down his windae and begins shouting at SSB to get the heck away, lest SWM be forced to litigate the SSB intae next Thursday.
Super Stoner Boy smiles; here's the opportunity he's been waiting fer. "Uhh, d(Ud*eE," he puffs, "GIvE M(e yer LeXu$))))))...."
"Excuse me?"
"The Lexus, gimme gimme gimme..."
SWM sneers. "Or what? You'll give me scabies?"
"Nah?" SSB pats his pockets, which jingles. SWM gulps. SSB pulls out a small, round copper object, thrusts it toward SWM. SWM tries tae roll up the windae, but it's too late; on a cloud of green smoke, SSB floats intae the car, the penny gleaming, gleaming, like an evil eye. SWM screams, can't git oot a the car fast enough....
And so, O Brethren Behind the Counter, I ask you: what is it wi Successful White Males and their utter Terror of Small Change? I have noticed, o'er my time at the Inconvenience Store, that given a choice between the Bubonic Plague and having to take 98¢ worth a change, the SWM's would have tae think about it. The lengths tae which they will go to in both avoiding receiving change and getting rid a the change they already got staggers me down tae me bowels. SWM's walk in and ask me "What ya got that costs two cents"; I say "nothing, why"; they have two cents in their pocket, it turns out, and if they dinnae get rid of it within the next 10 secs, the SWM Factory will recall them? So the SWM buys a piece of gum, costing 5 cents; he gives me one dollar and the two pennies, receiving 97¢ change; naturally, he asks me whae costs 97¢; I say nothing; he buys a pack of Cancer Reds, and winds up receiving 26¢ change. This behavior continues; eventually, SWM has to take out six mortgages in order to keep making purchases and rid himself a the change; finally, Inconvenience Store has a new owner, by default (SWM has bought every piece of merchandise in the store), and is proudly displaying his change-free pockets whilst attempting to explain to his children why they nae have nothing in their college funds, nor a house, nor clothing...
On the other end, Us Behind the Counter must deal wi the freaks trying not to get any change after payments. It's six p.m.; the line stretches from the register back to the beer cooler, and standing in front a me is an SWM, screaming "My purchase is $3.02?! Well, your gonna give me the two cents, right; you wouldn't dare make me break another dollar bill for the two cents?!" Needless to say, I tell him Payment in Full is Expected Always (after all, the smegheads at Corporate would fire me if I shorted the drawer by a whopping two cents, so why would I let the SWM get away wi it?). He takes off his jacket, as if about to start a row; begins turning over displays and tossing smokes from the counter. I ask him whae the hell he thinks he's doing; turns out he's searching for a hidden camera; he thinks he's on some hidden video show.
Finally, reality sinks in; the SWM implores me to Hold Everything, and runs outside. At first I think he's mating with the pavement; turns out he's searching the lot in hopes of finding two stray pennies. He doesnae find em; the pennies have long since learned to fear SWM, and while watching the pennies fleeing from the SWM is amusing, the line is getting doss long and doss angry. Finally I step outside and ask him to just pay; through clenched teeth he explains that nae, he's gonna drive home and smash his child's piggy bank in order tae git two cents. Stunned, I go back inside.
Days pass, and the line grows till it spirals out the door, round the building, and intae the streets; we await SWM's return. At first, he phones us occasionally; the SWM's house wis broken intae, the piggy bank stolen, and he and the FBI are in hot pursuit a the culprits. Days turn intae weeks; weeks turn intae years; in the Line, relationships from, babies are born, weddings performed, etc; decades pass, and a Line Civilization evolves, centered around the return of the SWM, our Messiah, who will one day return wi two cents and free us from standing here....
Why are the SWM's so afraid of small change? Having had plenty a time in between my occasional sermons to the Children of the Line about the return of Our Messiah to think about this, I've come up with several unreasonably daft theories:
Prestige. SWM's think they are Very Important Arses; VIA's do nae associate wi small, insignificant people; therefore, they can nae allow small, farthling things like pennies to soil their Immaculate Pockets.
Paranoia. A 20 dollar bill has one picture; that picture has two eyes. But each profile on a penny has one eye; twenty dollars' worth of pennies have 2,000 eyes; think of those two thousand eyes, sitting in yer pocket, staring at your pocket lint and that horrific picture on yer driver's license, and snickering at you.
Phallic. Presumably, each SWM has a Big Ol' Penis; everyone knows they don't drive those big cars as phallic substitutes, right? So SWM needs lots a room in his pants for his Big Stick, and if his pockets are just brimming wi change, then everyone will know that this SWM has Room to Spare in his pants.
Ultimately, I dinnae know why. However, I'd be doss happy if anyone out there wants to donate any Good Ideas Why - and, perhaps, a Spare Change Cup to set on the counter.