A Fistful of Dollars

So I was doing my annual digging out cleaning of my car the other day in preparation for our upcoming roadtrip and found a bunch of change in the dashboard.

I didn't have to count it, as I had already been informed by The Boy that there was $8.37 all told, a fact he had discovered the other weekend when Someone was denied entrance into IKEA for bad behaviour and had to figure out a way to pass the time while having his time-out in the car with The Husband.

The handful of change was a bit grubby (note to self: put the lid on lip balm if you are going to leave it in the car in summertime), but nestled in the middle, bright and beautiful, was a twoonie.

I'm convinced that twoonies are the best pieces of currency that exist. Sure, we all know and love the loonie. But I have a special place in my heart for the twoonie.

Twoonies came out when I was still paying my way through school by waitressing. The impact on my tips was remarkable. People don't like to give bills - they somehow feel that it's something they should put back in their wallet.

So loonies were pretty standard fare until their twice-as-nice cousin showed up. The problem with the loonie was that 10% of two meals at the restaurant where I worked (heaven forbid anyone ever tip 15%) tended to hover somewhere between $1 and $2. It was closer to $2, but when customers were torn between a loonie and a $2 bill, you know they always chose the coin.

(Except when I worked in Steinbach. Then the loonie was oh so carefully pocketed and a shiny quarter - or possibly two for those with some largesse - left parsimoniously-yet-pompously behind.)

But - oh! - when the twoonie came out. Suddenly it was okay to round up to two bucks. It's just a coin...and it's a bit heavy...and it doesn't fit in my wallet very well...I'll just leave it behind.

Back in those days, a twoonie went somewhere, too. It bought Timbits. It bought a cup of coffee. Best of all, it was essentially a slurpee in a convenient little carrying package.

Now, America doesn't have the twoonie. It doesn't even have the loonie. It does have a dollar coin - I found some of those in the car, too - but no one uses them. This I cannot understand. Coins for small denominations = awesomely portable and sah-weet when you discover that what you thought was a paltry quarter is actually eight times that amount.

Dollar bills? Much, much less awesome. In addition to decently-denominated coins, Americans also hate credit cards (despite their love of credit, it would seem). Or, at least, few people use them for everyday sorts of things, presumably just using them to rack up large online purchases. I find myself obliged to carry cash down here, and all too quickly my compact twenties transform into grubby, clumsily folded messes of dollar bills.

My wallet is always too full to close, which in theory would be a sign of wealth, but when what initially appears to be a fortune sums up to a total of $13, it doesn't seem all that wealthy.

Also: while I'm ragging on American currency - this all one colour thing is not my favourite. Especially since they don't have a loonie or a twoonie. I peer into the aforementioned straining-at-the-seams wallet and see a pile of money. It could be anywhere from $13 to $100. Of course, it's not altogether likely that it's $100 - but it could be and I'd never know.

In Canada, a walletful of money means you are rich and a pocketful of change means it's time to head to Sev. In America, it means that you can probably buy a tall coffee at Starbucks, but lunch is a gamble and you won't know until you fumble through all the individually folded bills, dropping them all over the floor, and do some desperate math before you invariably reach for a credit card while praying that it will be accepted.

Although, as an American I know once pointed out helpfully, if it's all one colour no one knows how much you put into the offering plate. Which kinda makes me want to drop a fistful of twoonies into it and see what would happen.