The vending machine guy didn't stock any Hostess Chocolate Frosted Donettes today. He stocked a Mrs. Freshley's Carrot Cake and some Mrs. Freshley's Golden Cakes instead. I think I saw some Hostess Suzy-Q's -- acceptable substitutes for the Chocolate Frosted Donettes -- lurking behind the Golden Cakes, but I'll have to wait until somebody buys the Golden Cakes to be sure.

That was all very important background information, because if I had bought Chocolate Frosted Donettes or Suzy-Q's, I would have spent an entire dollar. Instead, I bought a Snickers bar and came home with some change in my pocket. I put the coins in my change jar and squatted until my eyes were level with the top of the jar. I shook the jar to make the coins even on top and squinted, like a B-movie mad scientist frowning at a bubbling beaker of Monster Serum. I saw no daylight between the coins and the lowest screw thread on the jar's neck -- the minimum level at which I'm allowed to take the change jar to the Coinstar machine at Safeway.

I'm excited. I picture myself pushing the change into the Coinstar machine's whirring maw, listening to the coins clink and rattle and watching the total on the counter climb. People will fidget impatiently behind me.

"Sorry," I'll say. "I have a lot of coins to count here, so it's going to be a couple of minutes."

"Geez," some lawyer-type guy with a cell phone will say, "have you been saving that change for two years, or what?" And everyone will laugh.

"Actually, yes," I'll say, and everyone will stop laughing and marvel at the patience and discipline it took to hold off for such a long time.

After the Coinstar machine takes its cut, I'll probably net at least fifty dollars out of that jar -- a lot of money in the tight world of Kilgore Trout. (It would be more, but I don't put quarters in the jar; I need those for laundry, obviously!) I'll take my receipt to the Customer Service desk and hand it to the cashier. Maybe she'll be cute and have red hair.

"Goodness," she'll say, and smile. "That's a lot of change you brought in. What are you going to do with all this money?"

"Oh, I don't know," I'll say, blushing and shuffling my feet. Then: "I suppose I could spend some of it on coffee for us, if you'd care to join me."

Then it will be her turn to blush. She'll giggle and say, "Well, I'd love to, but I don't get off work for another couple of hours."

"That's okay," I'll say. "I'm going to go over to The Tattered Cover, across the street, and look at some books. Why don't you come by when you're done?"

"You got it!" she'll say. And I'll turn and walk out the door and across the street to The Tattered Cover, where I'll browse and wander with the happy knowledge that I have money to buy something. I'll look at the hardcovers, and although I'll end up buying paperbacks, it will have been nice to pretend for a while that I'm the sort of person who can afford hardcover books.

I'll buy my books and an iced mocha and get lost in both. I'll barely notice when the Safeway girl arrives.

"I see you got started without me!" she'll say, with a smile that registers somewhere between brash and coy. "Do you have any money left?"

"Just enough," I'll say, and I'll get her an iced mocha and a blueberry scone for us to share. We'll talk and laugh for a bit, and just after I crack my funniest joke, I'll glance at my watch and say, "Well, I'd better get going," because Leaving 'Em Wanting More is Kilgore Trout's strongest Power Move. She'll write her number on a Tattered Cover bookmark, and after we part ways on the sidewalk, I'll glance back and notice her glancing back at me. That's a good omen, I'll think, but I saw it coming all along, because good things happen when the change jar fills up.

When I get home, I'll dig two dimes, a nickel, and three pennies out of my pocket. I'll drop them one at a time into the empty jar, enjoying the sound of metal clattering on glass.

I don't usually look forward to Thursday. But it's not every Thursday you get to cash in the change jar.

+posted by Lawrence @ 8/11/2004 11:54:00 PM