Coin . Economy
It’s easy to develop the jingle in your pocket even if you start the day out with no chance. By the afternoon my pocket becomes a mixing pot of 1’s, 2’s, 5’s, and occasionally the odd 50 paisa for which I have yet to find a use. They stand out from the larger bills as easy money, easy come easy go. If it weren’t for the plethora of coins exchanged every day for transactions large and small on the street, I believe all the beggars in Calcutta, Delhi, maybe all of India, would starve.
The coin has been systematically devalued, derided, and disused in the states. In the yet-to-be-suburbanized sleepy Northeastern burgs, the faded signs still exist, if they have not been removed to antique shops. Or old pictures of fledgling franchise McDonald’s, or pleasant recollections of old-timers. The 50¢ burger. The 5¢ milkshake. The 10¢ drive-in ticket. The piggy bank filled with pennies and nickels and dimes, redeemable for real value. Fast-forward to the present, when coin currency is almost an anachronism, a relic of our refusal to round off, more of a nuisance at the cash register than anything. Though the absurd practice of rounding all prices to the nearest 99¢ seems very much alive, I don’t think the average consumer even notices the presence or absence of that magician penny anymore. A quarter used to get you a round of pinball or arcade game, or a 5 minute local call. Even these have changed. Arcade games now swallow upwards of $1.50 per play. It becomes ridiculous to exchange bills for coins when the games cost dollars to play, so instead of feeding coins into the machines we feed paper money directly. The one place I still see coins aplenty is in that machine where a metal sweeper is constantly threatening to unleash a rainfall of coins by pushing a precariously stacked pile of other people’s hopeful contributions. The fallacy is that it is easy to be fooled into believing your one or two coins will constitute the tipping point. Thus even in this “game” the quarter is made worthless. It is nothing, your friends will ridicule you if you sigh in disappointment about the loss. Perhaps more infuriating is the new toll phone fee of 35¢. The distribution of coins has surely changed since their usage has diminished. Who can count on having a dime handy at that crucial moment? And how likely will a friendly passerby have two dimes and a nickel to change with your quarter? The catch is a bitch; stated in prissy print on the phones: No Change Provided. I’m sure the telecom companies have run probability models on the likelihood of people having exact change, and found it as profitable to raise the toll to 35¢ as to 40¢ or even 45¢ with the outrageous no-change-returned policy. If the toll were 50¢ even, at least I wouldn’t feel cheated depositing those two quarters. As it is, the communications giants are nickel and dime’ing me.
Coins are easy to spend, but in the US I feel virtually denied of a worthwhile place to spend them. My quarter in Calcutta amounts to about 10 rupees. They don’t even have a 10 rupee valued coin here. When my heart is moved by the pleas of a beggar, my fingers plunge into pockets and swim in easy search of a coin. It is quickly produced and delivered, with a rush of satisfaction at having pressed something so physical, so real, into the other’s hand. Coins in Calcutta pay for popcorn, sweets, newspapers, tea. They are also bread for the ragged children of the streets.