Pocket Change

As most men do, I carry a few bills in my wallet, and any loose change I might have would go in my pants pocket. Who knows when I might need a little change – right? Life was good. I was happy until the time came for me to visit my darling daughter and her family in Ottawa. What happens is that the sound of loose change jingling around in my pants pocket used to annoy her. It was a “thing” she had, an irritation, where the sound of loose change seemed to rattle her a bit. She would approach me with a smile on her face with her hand outstretched expecting me to hand over my coins which I did of course because I like to think I was a good Dad. The problem with this, however, was when I needed coins for parking meters; various dispensing machines, the laundry-mat and even when I bought an ice-cream cone I had to change a bill which led to even more change in my pocket for her to claim. The time came when I decided it was time to sit down and discuss with her how we might solve the matter of my pocket change stretching her nerve endings to the limit. She suddenly disappeared upstairs and returned about ten minutes later with the answer to the situation. It was her old change-purse long since discarded.



I wasn't going to carry around an old change purse and have my gender-orientation questioned each time I took it out of my pocket. I was a little embarrassed but for the sake of putting an end to the loose change problem and appeasing my daughter I decided to give it a try. It seemed to be OK especially since I got into the habit of looking over my shoulder before I took it out of my pocket so that no-one would see me. I discovered imperfections in the small change-purse however that began to bother me. Firstly, there were two compartments, each with its own fastener. One of the fasteners was sticky so that when I opened it I would frequently lose one or two coins and I would have to go chasing after them. Nevertheless, I stuck with my promise and I continued using it. After a while I got used to it so that it didn't bother me any more until one fateful afternoon in the crowded hallways of the second largest shopping mall in Canada. The Metrotown Mall in Burnaby BC. 

It was a sunny August afternoon about 4:00pm when the schools were out and the halls were full of young people hurrying about here and there for God-knows what. I got in the mood for a McDonald's ice-cream cone so as I walked down the main hall I dug-out my change purse to get $1:45 without, hopefully, bumping into anyone or losing any coins. My purse was unusually full that afternoon and I had some difficulty releasing the fastener. Suddenly, the entire contents was somehow jettisoned into mid-air and began to fall to the floor. At that exact moment six Chinese students about ten to twelve years old dressed in their school uniforms consisting of black shoes and white knee-high socks; plaid skirts with pure-white blouses and hats to match were on their hands and knees scurrying after the coins rolling around the tile floor in all directions. Toonies and loonies rolled that way; dimes nickels and quarters rolled the other way with the girls in hot pursuit. The engineer had to blow his whistle and bring Thomas the Tank Engine full of little kids to an emergency stop. The kids on the train leaned out of the window to watch the fun. Shoppers were stopping to point out coins rolling in this direction and that to help the schoolgirls catch them. Somebody's pooch got free and joined in the fun. Two security guards scratched their heads in total bewilderment. The crowd of shoppers stopped in their tracks to watch the pandemonium unfold in front of them. The entire main floor was abuzz with excitement. After what seemed like an eternity, the elder of the six girls collected all the coins from the others and cupped them in her hands. She handed them to me with a smile and I said “Thank you!” The shoppers applauded them; the engineer on the train blew his whistle to safely continue on his way and things slowly returned to normal again. I gave each student enough to buy an ice-cream cone. It was the least I could do. How much fun and excitement can you possibly generate with one, old sticky change purse? .....Lots!

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