You may find the above FAIL amusing. As well you should. It is.
I thought I would digress from the norm today, and tell you a story about the above, and/or my experiences with such practices…..
..in the late 90’s I worked at a fantastic record store in Columbia Missouri. The clientele was made up of a very diverse population of music lovers: college students wanting
oblique flavors of the month, middle-aged rock types who kept the re-issue business going, and the purchasers of soul and hip-hop. The last group was always my favorite. Real people who wanted real music. Every week the same faces would come in and buy whatever the hot rap or r’n’b single was that week…..
(This would eventually lead to the “my cuzin got it” syndrome which will be discussed at a later date….)
The male contingency was fairly typical of the era. They were usually dressed in either their work clothes, or in the wife-beater-Dickies combo that was so popular in the
hood. They were always fairly conversational (their presence was near-ritual, and I see them more as neighbors than customers), and often (God Bless) they REEKED of blunt smoke. These young urban pharaohs drove big cars (Delta’88 was a popular model), and kept their money rolled in large bundles in their pockets…..
The “urban” female clientele kept their currency in a much more secure location: The brazier.
I must admit that at first it was an interesting novelty, watching someone dig around the edges of their cleavage bringing forth cash, and sometimes a pack of smokes! The
change was usually left on the counter as it would be far too odd to actually
put coinage back into what we referred to as “the chest wallet”. (Unfortunately, none of these ladies had hipped to these really awesome products!) But, as the summer months dragged on, the novelty quickly wore off…..
Picture a sweltering mid-August Missouri (like Florida but minus the moving air). Now imagine the languid, wetness of the bills brought forth. Like shriveled spinach, moist and shiny, I can still see it….
I had worked out a fairly consistent system to deal with this. I usually knew exactly what the change would be, so I would take the *change* bill and use it to touch the *breast-sweat* bill. I would then take a pen or other instrument and stick the *breast –sweat* bill deep into the cash drawer, praying I wouldn’t be the one to sort it out later. Again the change wasn’t really an issue with these ladies, but there was a time or two I had to make physical contact with the currency. I still cringe at this thought.
Not that I’m judging, it’s your money, put it where you feel it’s safest. I’m sure there was some sound reasoning as to the location. Pockets can only protect so much I guess……
My father once told me that money was the dirtiest thing on the planet. That’s probably true, but for myself, I can only attest to its ability to absorb moisture………..