Forty-Five Cents

Forty-Five Cents

So, there I was, in the library about 4 or 5 miles from the comfort of my current fortress of solitude, Room 218 Red Roof Inn, Tampa Fairgrounds. My traveling companion pups, Luke and Leia, were safe and coolly sound as I tried to download the lease papers for the house on Skyloch (Sky-Lock) Ct., located in my supposed new place to live: Dunedin, Florida.

I needed to download, print out, and sign the papers agreeing to the terms of the lease. “$3.00 in nickels, dimes or quarters, please – spoketh the copy machine.” My pocket contained…$2.55 in nickels, dimes and/or quarters. Seriously? Forty-five cents short!? I had already held up one of the printers by not following the obvious written directions. “Shut up, Miss Cowan”; my fourth grade teacher whom, by now has her place in heaven - probably. That, along with the cranky 6-year-old boy sitting at the table behind me, plucking his mom’s nerves...and mine. He needs a hug…or duct tape. When properly applied, both would suffice. But, I left that to his mom. The one with the vein visually pulsating in her forehead.

So, I headed out to the car to hunt for loose change: nickels, dimes, and quarters, please. Oh, of course it’s still raining. “Psst...Anytime you want to toss down a sign about what to do, I’m all eyes and ears.” I sat in the driver’s seat for a moment wondering if this, "jump off a cliff," move from my hometown in Virginia was going to end with me on the rocks below. I pondered the rain and the possibilities of finding 45 cents in…pennies. “No pennies allowed.” Yeah, I got it, thanks. Then I remembered my OCD habits during my food delivery days of picking up the “lesser disgusting” items of trash and recyclables from the sidewalks and streets. I should have painted my car “Recycle Green” with all of the trash collected from the streets. But, this OCD trait had the perk of letting me find change: pennies…. lots of pennies. That, along with the occasional nickel, dime, and quarter. One time I even found a couple of dollar bills. But, I digress. ADD remember?

All of these “monetary sidewalk treasures” were gratifyingly deposited into my Red Solo plastic cup (retired from the bad beverage days). I dug the cup out from my seat side compartment thingy (hey, it’s my first car I have owned from This millennium so don’t judge). Forty-Five cents, NONE copper colored. I looked up to the rainy sky. Thanks, I’ll take it.

Back to my judgmental copying machine I had gleefully renamed, Miss Cowan. Yes, ma’am, exact change. Forty-five cents added to the mix. So, with that, there were the lease documents. Now all I had to do is sign, seal, and deliver, along with the required “healthy” deposit.

As I headed out the library doors, I stopped back by the computer center to pick up my belongings, and to do a quick visual blood pressure check on the “mother of all temper tantrum tots.” Calming forces had seemingly taken over. As I turned to leave, I looked down at the carpet only to spot…a penny. One single penny. Forty-six cents; forty-five plus that penny told me all I needed to hear at that moment. So, I left. I left having deposited the final forty-five cents. I gave the penny to the boy. It’s magic, for luck. He smiled. So did the mom, with a sigh. It all made…cents…