6 Dimes

That's what I've got in my pocket right now. Not by choice, mind you. By cashier edict.

You really don't get much say in the change you receive when paying for something with non-exact funding. You are more concerned that the change is 1) actually correct and 2) not sticky. Sure, third on you list would be preference of currencies, but after worrying about the first two, this is asking a lot. Go on, take the money and run. Sitting there examining your bills and coins will only be a detriment to society. Not only does it look like you are questioning the cashier's intelligence, you are also holding up the morning line of people who are holding their cups of hot coffee but can't legally take a sip just yet, since the coffee still belongs to the cafeteria until a transfer of funds takes place. Additionally, it's only change, which you'll most likely trade back in for that lunchtime salad and chips, or even more likely, let it slide out of your pocket sitting shotgun in somebody else's car, therefore making your friend richer and you in need of better pockets.

I'm sure these people are the ones who hand their quarter pounder back through the Drive-thru window because it has a pickle on it. Take it off yourself, man. It's only a pickle.*

Well, I'm not one of those people. Not me. Ever. And this is why I've got 6 lousy dimes in my pocket. Just moments ago, I got my morning bagel and cream cheese for a buck-forty. (Highway robbery, I know.) Picked up the bagel of the counter, held my hand out to the cashier, and WHAM!, You got Dimed. A whole half-dozen of them. Now ruling out on the principle the aforementioned course of action, that leaves me with no other choice but to explain to you fine people why having 6 dimes in your pocket is excruciatingly painful.

First off, six dimes weigh roughly the amount of, let's say, an emu feather. Regardless of the source bird, it's still a feather. So having six dimes in your pocket doesn't even feel like you've got a sizeable amount of change in your pocket. And if I'm going to have change in my pocket, that I want it to carry enough weight that I know I've got it should I need to flip a coin or leave a penny or help the homeless. Secondly, change is the orchestral element of your pocket belongings (since we all know to set the cell phone to silent mode, right? (That goes double for all you reading this in a movie theatre.)) And if jingling quarters represent the forceful crashes of the cymbals (crucial to any good Sousa march), then my stupid 10 pieces are the triangles being played in the back by the kid with no rhythm. Yes, the rest of the stuff in your pocket will laugh at you (even the key on your keyring that you have no idea what is goes to. Trumped by contents without a purpose, so very sad.) And finally, what are the odds all 6 dimes will even make it as a cohesive unit to the next mission...err...meal? With all this sitting I do all day, not very likely. I wonder what's for lunch that costs 30 cents. Milk? From 1987? Not good.

* My deepest apologies if any of you actually produce pickles for a living. Seriously, do something with your life.