I'm sure everyone has little things that bother them. Seemingly harmless things that end up being the bane of their existence. For me, it's going to the Coinstar. If you've never been to a Coinstar, allow me to explain it to you. It's a machine usually found in the front area of grocery stores where you can take all of your useless spare change and turn it into cold, hard cash. You simply dump your ziplock bag of dirty nickels, dimes, pennies, and quarters into the magic little machine and it counts them up for you. Gee, thanks. That's nice of you, Coinstar. But it'd be even nicer of you to do it without being SO FUCKING LOUD.
This is the only part of Coinstar that sucks. Spare change is loud. In my estimation, the sound of spare change is half of the reason most self-respecting people discard it in the first place. It's incredible when you think about it. There are actual people in this world that would rather lose money than carry around coins in their pocket. I've worked in retail and now in food service, and have come across some extremely odd opinions of spare change. Some people will get pissed if you don't give them back their penny or two of change. Some people will get pissed if you do give them a penny or two of change. Funny, those same people don't seem to give two shits about giving you change as part of your tip. Bastards.
I like spare change. I keep all of the change that I get and throw it into a jar in my bedroom. It's so easy. After only a few months and a trip to the Coinstar, you could have a crisp twenty dollar bill making love to the inside of your wallet. All because you kept your loud, jingling, sonofabitch change instead of giving it to your waiter, who would probably murder you if his job didn't depend on it. Now don't get me wrong, it sucks to lug around coins in your pants pocket, constantly worrying about whether or not they have mysteriously vanished under the driver's seat. But still...it's money. Four quarters are worth just as much as that slip of paper with a number "1" printed on it. So are ten dimes. And 20 nickels. Do you know how many pennies are worth just as much as that paper with a "1" on it? Good. It's 100. Now that I'm done patronizing, I'll begin cursing.
SHUT THE FUCK UP, COINSTAR! You are SO fucking loud. As I let all of my hard-earned coinage slip out of the ziplock bag and into the machine, I have to bury my head in my hands. It's that loud. And I know that every person in the general vicinity of the self-service machine is thinking "What the fuck is that racket?!" And God forbid someone gets behind me in line to use the machine. They'd need earplugs. Or at least just a handgun to blow their brains out. The noise is unbearable. You'd think I had just cast fourteen stainless steel salad forks into my garbage disposal. That might literally be the only thing that could rival the noises coming from the Coinstar machine. It sounds like renegade spare change, sure, but it could easily be a five year-old boy crying in the grocery store because he can't find his Mommy or something. Well, she's probably buying cigarettes. Get over it, kid, your parents don't love you anyway. Honestly, if Coinstar was my child, I would give it up for adoption so fast I wouldn't even have time to name it. For real.
While my head is buried in my hands, I am also annoyed. I'm annoyed, but I'm also embarrassed that I am annoying everyone else. It's just an awful cycle of annoyance and embarrassment that I never get to apologize for. I want to start carrying a mega-phone to the grocery store and alerting everyone that "It will all be over soon! Bear with me! I hate it too!" But I'm silent. Each and every time I'm silent. I half-expect to turn around after my all my change has been counted and look into the judging eyes of every customer and employee in the grocery store. But I'm always too afraid to look up, so I keep my eyes on my shoes as I flee the scene. By the time it has counted my change and printed out the voucher that I can exhange for $20.59, I don't even want my money anymore. Just making it out of the store is reward enough for the punishment I've endured. So, next time you see someone at the Coinstar, stand awkwardly near them and wear a disgusted look on your face. I promise that day will be the first time you see a dead body.
So, until we meet again...FUCK YOU, COINSTAR!
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