If you are like me, you pay attention to your cash flow. At least during those fiscally challenging times in between paychecks. How much you withdraw, how much you spend, when you spend it, and what you spend it on. I like coupons (hopefully pronounced Q-pons, and not coo-pons), I like grocery store
membership cards, I like things that are free, I like hunting for the bargain
. There is something so delightfully good about finding a bargain is there not? And I do mean the true bargain, not finding something that cost less because it is clearly a piece of shit built to last 5 minutes. Knowing that you saved x-amount of cash on an item over some schmuck who just didn't care to look a bit deeper is a joy that I relish. Especially when that x-amount of cash decides to be there waiting in your wallet, precisely at the time, and in the exact amount it is needed for something else. What follows is an account of a curious amount of money finding its way into my possession in a most unconventional fashion. As that last sentence can be interpreted in many different ways, I will add that nothing unlawful or uncivil transpired.
It costs three dollars to wash and dry one load of clothing. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet to see how much cash I had. Two crisp $20s; Andrew Jackson's stare back caused both a comfort and an annoyance. Nice to have some
cash in the leather bound collection of my immediate life. It was just that the damn change machine would not break bills larger than a $10. As I eased the $20s back into my wallet I noticed a mass of something green in a separate lining, clearly shoved in in a hurry. A closer look reveals that they are $1 bills...exactly three of them. Must be my lucky day, as now I have clothes with that just out of the dryer scent which is priceless. This wonderful scent is important for a real, hairy chested man such as myself, as real men can smell really fiercely after a good 24 hour day of manliness. Fresh scents aside, I found it amusing to ponder the luck or fate if you will, of how those measly three bucks found their way into my wallet.
There I was, wrecking the wholesomeness of a Sunday evening, dancing interpretively at a club named Bar West in Pacific Beach. This trip constituted my second time to the place, and their D.J.s play bangers. Really good rap tunes for white kids like me to wild out to. Apparently, there are a few San Diego Charger football players who agree with me, as they came, and saw, and conquered the VIP section (just a roped off portion of the dance floor). They lived it up with demonstrations of wealth in a couple of ways: every 30 minutes or so, there would be a line of waitresses brandishing lit sparklers and bottles of top shelf alcohol, making their way out to the professional athletes and their cohorts. And secondly, at a feverish point of intensity at the club, one of the young men decided to throw a generous amount of $1 bills into the crowd, turning the dance floor into a globe of green snow. Dollar bills came raining out of the sky turning the club patrons back into children on their first Easter egg hunts. I managed to pluck $3 dollars out of the air, and it was those $3 dollars that I found stuffed in my wallet today when it came time for quarters at the laundromat. Money, or paper, and its course of changing hands, or trail, is an interesting thing to think about. Thanks to #94 for your display of decadence, it turned out to be fateful in a color safe and mountain breeze fresh kind of way.