Obama May Want Change, But I Sure As Hell Don't

I would like to take the opportunity in tonight's blog to discuss the various merits of petty change in the United States currency system. There are none. Here's why:

Every few days (generally only when I am working), the two most clinically annoying children wander their way into my place of employment. I know you're probably thinking "Wander? Really? Is that really the best choice of word here or is this person just trying to sound intelligent?" First of all, suck it, and secondly, I kid you not-- these two kids walk around like they are in some sort of functional coma and suffer from perpetual loss of purpose.

Anyway, these two kids always come in together and stand in front of the menu for about 15 minutes, which is coincidentally just about as long as it takes to accumulate a pretty decent number of lucid customers. After they decide on 64 different combinations of food, the two walk up to the counter and proceed to ask me the most asinine questions, such as: "How much is a cheesesteak and a soda?". Because clearly the prices are not printed on the fucking MENU YOU JUST STARED AT FOR 15 MINUTES! At first, I will humor their ridiculous incompetence, type the items into the computer and, in the most sardonic attitude I can muster, tell them that it would be "$7.25".

Here comes the second part of the daily charade: Now kid 1 must converse with kid 2, and naturally neither of them remembered to bring enough money, so then they proceed to ask me "How much are two slices and a soda?". Meanwhile actual paying customers that aren't illiterate (but are in fact quite impatient) are lining up behind Beavis and Butthead fiending for their pizza fix. At this point, I just point the ignorant doofi (plural of doofus) to the 4 very clearly printed menus hanging directly above my head, while praying silently that one may swing loose from its hinges and knock some sense (or out cold and unconscious-- both outcomes are interchangeable in preference) into these kids.

Another 10 minutes goes by and the concussed nerd herd re-approaches the counter after finally deciding to order two sodas and an order of fries...the same thing they get EVERY TIME they come in. I total their check up and tell the kids the total. In response, Beavis whips out a coffee can full of change and proceeds to dump it on the counter. At this point, the steam is starting to come out of my ears and I'm becoming fearful for any living thing in a 2-mile radius.

"You're joking me, right?" I ask. Apparently the joke's on me. Both Beavis and Butthead begin to count what could only be all the change they've accumulated over the past 2.5 years so slowly that I begin to wonder if I'm on that MTV show "Boiling Points". I half expect Ashton Kutcher to yell "YOU'VE BEEN PUNKED" and pop his goofy head out from behind the walk-in fridge. But no.

Finally, I reach over the counter, swipe the money out of their barely-penetrable cloud of stupidity and tell them to PLEASE take a seat. As in, "Kindly go fuck yourselves, please."

And that's how I learned that $4.60 was 92 nickels.

They don't pay me enough for this.