I was on the train, and had a very tight schedule. But when I saw that the station we’d temporarily stopped at had a coffee counter, I couldn’t resist hopping off to quickly grab a cup. I had a few minutes, and there was no one in line. I’d easily make it back on board before the train left. This was important. If I missed the train’s departure, I’d be late for my appointment. That would be bad - not end of the world bad, not diagnosed with terminal cancer bad, but bad, nonetheless. Walking up to the counter, I was suprised to see that Dessa, one of my favorite hip hop artists, was working the counter. Not wanting to bother her, I played it cool and just ordered my coffee. I dropped a $50 on the counter and Dessa placed it into the register before counting my change back to me. When I looked at my hand, rather than a $20 bill, there was a portion of a $20 silver certificate! Large portions of the bill, with a distinctive blue seal had been sliced away. I pointed out that a large portion of the bill she had just given me was missing. Dessa was not bothered. Murmuring ‘Sorry.’, she reclaimed the fragment and deposited another partial silver certificate onto my palm. I pointed out the problem and, looking mildly annoyed, she replaced it with a third portion of a different $20 silver certificate. Again I protested, and this time she gave me the irritated look a barrista might give someone who insisted that the white sugar they’d been given was unacceptable because it was clearly manufactured in the West Indies, and they could only use white sugar which had been manufactured in nations that had never been British colonies. I arched forward to look in the cash drawer. Sure enough, it was filled with silver certificates, cut into useless chunks. My brain blanked. What the hell?
