Everyone has seen THAT money.
You know the money that is so outrageously disgusting that you assume no one would be crazy enough to bend down and pick it up. Well guess what, people do bend down, dig through heroin needle and rat infested sewers, rummage through dumpsters full of 2 weeks worth of rotting meat behind the butchers because the garbage people are on strike or find it dimly glinting through a thick layer of dog feces.
They don’t just bend down and pick it up they think “Gee… it’s my lucky day! I should treat my lucky ass to a Boston Cream donut!”
You know the money that is so outrageously disgusting that you assume no one would be crazy enough to bend down and pick it up. Well guess what, people do bend down, dig through heroin needle and rat infested sewers, rummage through dumpsters full of 2 weeks worth of rotting meat behind the butchers because the garbage people are on strike or find it dimly glinting through a thick layer of dog feces.
They don’t just bend down and pick it up they think “Gee… it’s my lucky day! I should treat my lucky ass to a Boston Cream donut!”
Naturally he’s already ordered so there’s no backing out now. From the revealing on, the world seems to move in slow motion. Your brain is making notes on how to break the news of your upcoming death to your friends and family, what the scientists will name the new mutant germ that took you out and how owning a Blackberry tells you nothing about a person in this day in age.
When the sticky, slimy, breathing change hits your hand you can’t stop yourself from shuddering and thinking that it can’t possibly get any worse. Oh but it does! It can always get worse! The change decides that it likes your hand, your beautiful clean, baby bum soft hand and up until a few seconds ago you liked your hand too. You probably had been admiring it thinking, “Wow… now that’s a hand!”
Now as the money stubbornly holds onto your palm you start freaking out. HOW do you keep your composure, you’ve got to get this man his donut, but there’s 80 cents in dimes and nickels clinging to you and there is no way in hell you’re using your other hand to remove it. Two diseased hands… that’s out of the question you’d have to be insane to pull that move. You could just scrape it into the till but then you contaminate all the, by your new standards, clean money. You look to your right but your co-worker is entertaining a gentlemen coffee caller, you check out your right but no one’s there. You can feel your palms start to sweat which actually get’s you excited. “AHA” you exclaim to yourself as a light bulb bursts forth above your head. “I’ll sweat it off!”
But you know what… whatever biological weapon of mass destruction has coated the money, only gets stickier. You’ve got to do it, make the ultimate sacrifice. You have to use your other hand to scrape it off. You close your eyes as your fingers dig into the sticky mess and the change plops onto the counter in front of you. You can feel that it’s off but you feel even dirtier. 3 months later you still think you’re dying when a new spot appears on your body and people still give you a wide birth at work.
But you know what… whatever biological weapon of mass destruction has coated the money, only gets stickier. You’ve got to do it, make the ultimate sacrifice. You have to use your other hand to scrape it off. You close your eyes as your fingers dig into the sticky mess and the change plops onto the counter in front of you. You can feel that it’s off but you feel even dirtier. 3 months later you still think you’re dying when a new spot appears on your body and people still give you a wide birth at work.
*Illustrations by Ally Mac @http://blogginawkward.blogspot.com/
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