Sometimes the change machine at the subway terminal drives me crazy.
This was one of those days.
About once a week I’ll use a twenty dollar bill in the machine. The change comes back as dollar coins. Then, I use the dollar coins to pay my fare the following few days.
I put in the twenty.
The fare card spit out.
Coins began to fall.
Quietly. Slowly. With a metallic tinkling sound.
Dimes.
My change came back as dimes.
They fell, one at a time. I could hear them inside the machine. One by one they fell, rattling inside the bin.
The machine must have run out of dimes; it began to spit out quarters after a few moments.
The quarters fell faster. They made more noise.
It took four tries to scoop all of my change out of the bin.
I’m unsure of what to do with the change. It weighs my pockets down. And, as I discovered, the fare machines balk at fares being paid in dimes and quarters.
All I wanted was dollar coins. Not this mass of metal.
Life goes on.