Loose Change

It never ceases to amaze me how casual today’s youngsters are about loose change. Take our local bakery, for example. I’m usually out and about with Ted my Lakeland Terrier, when the kids come out of school at lunchtime. We’ve usually taken a couple of turns around the town square by then, so we sit on the seat for a bit of a breather and watch them as they queue up for their midday snacks, which mostly seem to consist of sausage rolls and cakes. All ordered of course without their eyes leaving the screens of mobile phones, as if the world as they know it will end if they dare to look away.

Out they come, stuffing their pale faces with pastry in one hand and swilling it down with a can of fizzy stuff in the other. And, down it tumbles, all the loose coins from their change, hitting the pavement and clattering away, rolling and spinning into the cracks and weeds. Like a waterfall of copper, with the occasional splash of silver added in the mix. I wait until they have wandered off, once again glued to their brightly coloured screens, and then Ted and I stroll over and collect it up. One coin here, three there, all making their way into my hand and from there into the pocket of my old fishing jacket.

It’s become a part of my daily routine now, collecting up those coins. When we get home, I put the kettle on and feed Ted and then we sit down to count up that day’s takings. I’ve even got a little black notebook that I record the amounts in, just out of interest, obviously. A page for each week and then at the end of the month, I add it up. It shows me that in the last six months, I’ve picked $14.93 off that pavement outside the bakery. That would have been a decent week’s wages back when I started work.

Kevin, that’s my lad, well he thinks I’m stupid to be picking up loose change. “Oh come on dad, you’ve got no need to do that,” he said when I told him on the phone. “You’re alright, aren’t you, with your pension? Enough for heating and food, surely?” I said I was. “Well, that’s okay then. You’d say, wouldn’t you, if you were short, tell us and we’d try and help out a bit.” I said I would, although I wouldn’t. And even if I did, he’d only forget. Like he forgets to phone me and forgets to visit. Christmas and birthdays, that’s Kevin. I used to call him but somehow it was never the right time. He was always ‘just on the way out’ or ‘just in from work.’ So I stopped calling and as yet, he hasn’t noticed. His mother, my Maureen, was always making excuses for him, but she’s been gone these five years. Just me and Ted now, having our daily walk, collecting up our loose change.

Today was a bit different though. Not the walk, or the sitting down or even the collecting up of the coins once the kids had left (11 cents in coppers and one of those silver tiddlers). Over by the bin just next to the wall, I picked up a bank bag, one of those plastic ones with the list of money printed on the side, you know, $20 in 20 cents, $10 in 10 cents and so on. I don’t know why I added it to the change in my pocket, but I did. When we got home, I made my cuppa and gave Ted his food and then I fished it out. Nothing inside, just a piece of paper with a location on it, like a map reference. That took me back to when Maureen and I used to go geocaching. Something else that Kevin thought was doolalley. We used to like it though, it gave us something to think about when we were out getting some fresh air.

Anyway, I dug out one of my old maps and looked it up. Not far away, just over by the edge of the old quarry. A good 40 minute walk but after I‘d had a bite of lunch, I got Ted’s lead out and we set off. He was happy enough, and as for me, well it brought back a few memories of the old days. Flask of soup, a packet of sandwiches and Maureen and I were as happy as larks. Maybe a pint on the way home, a sherry for her, if we passed a pub.

I always keep a plastic carrier rolled up in the inside pocket of my jacket and it’s a good job I do because when we got to the spot and looked about a bit, I found a small canvas hold-all, one of those ones with a tick on that I think are for putting boots in. There was no one about, so I whipped out my carrier and popped it in. I felt a bit naughty just taking it like that but I figured that I could always take it down to the police station later.

Not that I am likely to be doing that now I‘ve looked inside. As yet, I’ve only laid it all out on the kitchen table and whilst I drink my coffee, I will count up just how many rolls of notes there are. The ones on the outside are mostly $100 bills although I can see a sprinkling of $50s as well. They’re quite chunky and it will be interesting to see how many are in each roll. I think it might take quite a while to find out. Not that I’ve got anything else much to do tonight. Kevin won’t think to phone. And I think that, come Christmas, I might just happen to be out when he does. Probably treating myself to a new fishing jacket. One with lovely big pockets.