A Fiver Yearning
Fiver, that’s me, I get moved around a lot. Seem to never find some permanent digs. Always end up in a different teller’s cash drawer and my very own five-dollar open casket and some rubber bands scattered about. At least this teller's hands are supple, which after that Neanderthal with ditch-digger hands had thrown me around yesterday, was rewarding.
The teller’s hands were soft, save for a couple of sticky fingers for counting totals her game, keeping an accurate count her fame. That’s how the bank manager had put it anyway.
Did I tell you how boring life is for a five-dollar bill having to kowtow to the ten, genuflect to the twenty, and lay prostrate for the usual crispy one-hundred? As usual, the teller today made sure I was secure back into my everyday exchange among the worn and limp overused in the Fives cash drawer
But..
Oh, boy…
Today was a break from the boredom when the little guy in coveralls reached up to the teller with his bag of pennies and requested a total count.
What to watch? Tthe teller roll her eyes, or the prideful smile of the little guy?
“Savings or checking,” she asked.
“You’re new here aren’t ya, ma’am?”
“Second day. Sounds like you come often”
“Every few days. Haven’t seen you before. I just need a cashier’s check.”
I didn’t know whether she gave him that look because he ordered a cashier’s check
Or whether she was dreading pouring them into the troublesome counting machine
“Uh-huh,” she sarcastically oozed out a reply. “Made out to who?”
“Private James Cooley, ma’am”
“And who might that be, if I might ask”
“He’s my dad. Lost his legs. IED. Afghanistan. It’s summer, so no school. I sit on the sidewalk with him every day at the subway 57th Street subway entrance… just 37 yards away from Trump Tower.”
“Oh, this is rich,” she laughed. “Uh…that sounded disrespectful. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Be careful some blond guy doesn’t rob you one day.”
“Oh, that guy. Yeah, he sends his doorman down with a penny quite often. Private Cooley’s saving up the pennies to contribute to whoever runs against the blond guy.”
“Good cause, but what do you live on… I mean…”.
“This is the penny corner for Dad’s quest to stop Trump.”
“So… where do you get the rest of all these pennies?”
“Steady customers”
Steady customers” she repeated. “Oh boy.”
“Yeah… it’s true. Private Cooley’s got quite a following. Steadies from up and down the street always taking the subway. Mostly plain workin’ people, you know… waiters, janitors… like that. You know? Our little cardboard sign says, “Pennies only. Crazy how well everyone responds.”
The teller poured the pennies in an electric counting machine and quickly the total came out in digital numbers. “Well, young man, you’ve got yourself another three dollars and sixty-one cents. Cashier’s check, right?
“Right”
“To?”
“James Cooley,” ma’am.
She smiled as she made out the check. “Where’d you learn to talk like that. Last time I was addressed as ma’am was when I visited by sister in South Carolina. Up here, I’ve been called a bitch often, but ma’am? Sounds nice. Thank you.” She passes the check over to him.
“My Dad said that ma’am was a word that no lady be offended by So, it’s always ‘thank you ma’am .”
“Anything else today?”
“No. Not today. Tomorrow is Thursday, so I’ll probably come in Friday with the usual nickels, dimes, quarters and a few bills. Friday’s always a good day. Helps with rent and food, you know? You be here then?”
She leaned on the counter and peered at him for a moment. “Yeah… I’ll make it a point to look for you. Ma’am is nice to hear, you know?”
The boy smiled with pride. “Yup. Dad always tells me he learned how to respect things more in the Corp. He once told me that when you lose respect for women, call ’em bitches and other things, well… don’t expect they’ll like you much, son.”
There’s somethin’ about that kid. Damn. I don’t remember ever being in the hands of a person like him. I wonder if Friday he’ll take cash? Wouldn’t that be a kick? Uh-huh. Big kick. I just know he’d pass me on to someone for something he and his dad really needed.
Don’t know where I heard it, but the line of wisdom has stayed with me. Thought I’d take a crack as some storytelling with it in mind. Couldn’t resist some personification as well. “A wealthy person is one who owns what cannot be bought. Money Knows Not Wealth”. Image by Alamy)