A Change. No Change.

Our little town––“Town” is part of the name, don’t call us a city––moves ahead of the curve in trendy.  Much of the wealth comes from the computer, electronics, and social media industries, so it figures that residents here are tech-savvy and stay woke to the latest.  I have trouble keeping up with it all.


The other day, I stop by the drycleaners––well, it’s no longer dry, these days, it’s wet and safe-for-the-environment––to drop off a pair of silk pants that have a food spot from the wedding.  The little family-owned cleaners always does a good job and I have been coming here since their daughter sat on the counter in a baby carrier.  She’s now in medical school.

I am on my way to the hairdresser and need small bills for a tip. “Can you do me a favor and change a twenty?”

“No,” Mr. and Mrs. Owner say in unison and with no hesitation, “we can’t change a twenty.”

I’m a little taken aback.  It’s true that I’m rarely here now that I’m retired, but they both know me.

Mister smiles big, “No one pays in cash anymore. See, we even leave our cash drawer open.” IMG_8236

Oh.  “Some of us write checks,” I say.

“Checks are even more rare than cash.”

Wow.  I like to pay with cash; I still write checks.  I guess I’m behind the curve.


One of these days, we might use a thought process and iris-scan to transfer money.  I could drain our bank account with thoughts of travel.  But that’s probably science fiction.  I hope.  (Science fiction scares me––too often comes true.)

When I pick up my garments, I ask which they prefer, cash or plastic.

I pay in cash.  We’re all happy.

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