I’ve been robbed. Recently, I have had some work done on my house while I was out of town. They stole $130 worth of nickels, dimes and quarters off of my desk. That number is an estimate because, while most of the change was meticulously rolled by hand, they also picked all the quarters and dimes out of my change dish. Now, I know you are asking yourself what kind of a dumb ass leaves cash out in the open when they are out of town knowing strangers will be in their house? This one. In my defense they were under a lot of papers so I didn’t think of hiding them before I left. What makes it worse is that I rolled them myself to avoid the fee at the Coinstar kiosk. So now I’m cheap and screwed.
There is absolutely no way of knowing who took the money. I obviously trust the guy I left in charge of the job. If I didn’t I’d be an even bigger idiot than these pages prove. Besides, if he wanted to steal from me he could simply pad the bill. But, you never know who he has working for him or whether or not they are addicted to Pac-man. So I’ve decided the only way to recoup my losses is to write this blog post, generate lots of buzz from the wonderful fans of “Covered in Beer,” and start hacking away at the gone $130, 57 cents in ad revenue at a time.
It could be a woman. Immediately in instances like this our heads think that the perpetrator is a man. Why? Women steal too. In fact, it makes more sense that this should be a woman because they love change. They have change purses. If you need a quarter, ask a woman because they have it. Men keep their change under sofa cushions. I made my living as a kid collecting the change in Dad’s chair that fell out of his pockets. Nice work if you can get it.
Maybe they live near a toll road? Nothing is more infuriating than not having enough change at a toll road. Well, plenty of things are but they aren’t relevant to this paragraph. Tollbooth workers can be vicious while they watch you dig through the crumbs on your floorboard for that elusive dime. They go from not saying anything to maybe saying, “we haven’t got all day,” even though they do because that’s where they work. I guess this guy was sick of their smug attitude and wanted to just hear them not say thank you as he handed them my change for the toll for the next 20 or so years.
If they are caught, I’d like to be repaid in pennies collected from the take-a-penny dishes in gas stations in seedy neighborhoods across the country. The money came from the center console of my car. It had accumulated over years of drive-thru window visits. I’m no Slim Pickens, but I’m not in “My 600 lb Life” either. It took a lot of Bojangle biscuit visits to get $130 in change. Then I rolled it up like some cheap hoarder, which took hours. So, the punishment should fit the crime. At least it should fit the time of the crime. At least… I just wanted to write take-a-penny dish and seedy neighborhood.
All that change is heavy, so I hope it created a humorous situation while in his pants. I hope they weighed his pants down so they fell around his ankles, exposing his streaky underwear to a group of ladies. I hope that while he was walking, the change pinged one of his testicles, causing pain and breathless cries of “oh dammit.” I hope his wife takes the cash and buys a week’s worth of horrendous dinners, filled with blue cheese and other rancid ingredients, which he will have to endure with a straight face. I hope the weight of the coins pressed against his kidneys, dislodging a jagged calcium deposit, which won’t pass until halftime of a sporting event when the urinals have lines 15 people deep. Karma’s a bitch.
$130 isn’t going to kill me. I hope the guy really needed it and puts it to good use instead of buying scratch-off tickets or blowing it at the bingo parlor (that’s called a “redneck parlay”) But he’s probably just a turd. If I ever solve this case I’ll let you know. In the meantime I’m off to the arcade to look for suspects, specifically dudes that look “handy.” “Here, hold this screwdriver.” If he holds it correctly, he’s on the list.