Quarter Hoarder

I did laundry tonight. The prices have gone up, which was an unpleasant surprise, but not to worry. I had plenty of quarters with me, because I’m a quarter hoarder. You read me right, I hoard quarters. Since moving to Manhattan, I’ve become the Silas Marner of the 25-cent piece. I’d rather break a $20 than spend a quarter; in fact, sometimes I over pay to assure some quarters in change and am outraged if they dare pay me in nickels and dimes. Bi-weekly, if not more often, I empty my coin purse out on my bed and pull out all the quarters. Then I get my special Laundromat coin purse and empty that out on the bed as well; quarters co-mingling. I run the quarters through my fingers, I look for any new state quarters (that’s for my official state quarter collection, but that’s another post) and then I pile them up in stacks 4 quarters high, and gloat over my clothes cleaning wealth, estimating just how many loads I can do.

Why this obsession, you ask? Have I suffered the trauma of quarter shortage one too many times? Lugged water-logged clothes home to hang all over the apartment because I’ve run out of change? Been pushed to asking a stranger if they can change a dollar? The answer is no, never. I have at least three months worth of laundry money in my special “quarters only” coin purse at all times. Any less and I would get nervous. And what would happen to me if I did run out? Nothing. They have a change machine right there, in the Laundromat (which I’ll never use because a) it’s behind the counter so I’d have to talk to someone, and b) what if it didn’t work, or was out of change? I couldn’t deal). Logically I know that I can walk into any bank and get myself an entire roll of quarters. But I’ll never do that. It wouldn’t be the same. Those quarters would be cheap imitation of what mine symbolize; daily manipulations of currency to ensure the greatest return on quarters possible. Foregone treats from the vending machine because I don’t have enough nickels and dimes to make it without the help of a quarter. The lying, cheating and stealing to keep my coin purse pleasingly plump (okay, I haven’t cheated or stolen, but I did lie once when asked I could change a dollar. They didn’t need my quarters as much as I did, I’m sure, and they got it from someone else anyway, so no harm done).

Someday I will have a washer and dryer of my own, and the hoarding will stop (I hope). You’ll know that happy day when you see me spending my quarters with wild abandon. Either that, or you’ll find a hole dug under my kitchen table, filled to the brim with my beautiful, silver kind quarter friends.