Man, my pockets are filling up with nickels, dimes and quarters. What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?
I try and try and try to get rid of it, but no matter what I do, I somehow always wind up with a bunch of unwanted coins.
Sure, I’ll keep one quarter in case I need to make an emergency phone call, but as for the rest, what am I supposed to do with it? Take it out and look at it? I’m dying to just throw it away and be done with it, but that seems like such a waste. Metal is a non-renewable resource and all. No, I’ve got to think of something else to do with all this spare change.
I know: Maybe there’s someone else who would want it. Nah, that’s stupid. Why would anyone want my spare change? I mean, it’s just my dirty old change, the excess coins I don’t have any use for. If it had any use, it wouldn’t be called spare change, would it?
It seems like a shame to throw it out, but I’m sick of looking at the surplus. Unless I find a person to give it all to, I’m just going to end up chucking it in the garbage can, guilt or no guilt. Or throw it in the alley behind my house and hope someone carries it away.
You know what this is like? It’s like those spare rubber bands and paperclips that always clutter up desk drawers. Once in a while, someone will need one, but how often does that happen? Almost never. It’s also like all those ketchup packets and napkins cluttering up my car’s glove compartment. Every time I go through the McDonald’s drive-thru, I get a bunch more. Sure, I’ll need a napkin or some ketchup every once in a while, but what about all the extras?
This spare change is even more frustrating. You can’t dip your fries in a nickel. And you can’t wipe your face with a quarter, or use it to clean off the dash of your car. All they can do is take up space.
This glut of change is driving me insane! I’m this close to walking to the lake and throwing it in. Or burying it under the tree in my backyard. Or putting it all in a bag and dropping it in a ditch at the edge of town. Or I could let the change collect in the cushions of my couch, where at least it would be out of sight. But, no, I’d still know it was there.
Why can’t someone help me? Why isn’t there some sort of organization whose purpose is to address this problem? At this point, I’m so desperate, I’m seriously considering walking down the street and begging complete strangers to take it from me. I’ll put it in a cup and say, “Spare change?” to every person who walks past until someone takes it from me. Sure, they’ll all think I’m weird, but at least I’d finally be rid of all this annoying change.
