madfranks
24th December 2011, 08:08 AM
I enjoy using them on occasion but I don't use them every day like this guy.
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-lin-20111223,0,675777.column
You can probably hear it when I walk down the hallway: the sound of gold dollar coins jingling in my pocket.
I use them everywhere: the dry cleaner, the store, my favorite diner. No, they are not a heavy burden, I tell skeptics. When brand-new, they're like shimmering drops of sunshine.
It's practical. During a dark time in my life, I used my credit card for almost every purchase.
But at the end of each month, I was confronted by bills that pained me. What was that $4.06 purchase from a vendor called "San Francisco"? Or that $38.38 buy from "Caseys"? Did I really go to Souplantation twice in a day?
This world of credit cards, I felt, was making me lose touch with my money.
Because my credit card gave me frequent flier miles for each purchase, though, I kicked myself any time I used cash.
Then I discovered that the U.S. Mint had a $1 Coin Direct Ship program. I bought $250 worth of coins on my credit card, and a few weeks later, a heavy brick-size cardboard box landed on my doorstep. Inside were 10 rolls of Sacagawea dollar coins.
Oh, how I loved spending them.
The coins were bright. They were easy to use on the bus. A delight to deposit in parking meters.
Their edges had none of the harsh serrations of quarters. They were smooth. Every morning, I grabbed a fistful for lunch money.
The golden coins brought particular joy to some independent shop owners. One restaurateur showed my Thomas Jefferson coins to his customers. My dry cleaner wanted whole rolls.
The reaction in the some corporate chains was a bit different.
At a Subway sandwich shop, an exasperated cashier asked: Why do you use these so much? Where do you get them?
At Costco, I once handed a cashier a bundled roll of $25 in coins. A suspicious cashier asked a supervisor if I should be photographed in case I was using funny money.
My dollar coins are worth the occasional scorn. There is grace in reclaiming tactile control of my money.
Each coin seemed a bit more valuable than a tattered dollar bill, giving me pause before I might spend it. They certainly seemed more valuable than my credit card.
Having a tangible sense of money became a new philosophy. I resisted automatic withdrawals from utility companies and paperless bank statements.
I had learned the hard way about the risk of being too detached. Years ago, I failed for months to detect a $20 monthly checking fee at my bank. And only because I paid my phone bill manually did I discover that AT&T had begun to charge me a $5 fee for not using my land-line long-distance plan.
http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-lin-20111223,0,675777.column
You can probably hear it when I walk down the hallway: the sound of gold dollar coins jingling in my pocket.
I use them everywhere: the dry cleaner, the store, my favorite diner. No, they are not a heavy burden, I tell skeptics. When brand-new, they're like shimmering drops of sunshine.
It's practical. During a dark time in my life, I used my credit card for almost every purchase.
But at the end of each month, I was confronted by bills that pained me. What was that $4.06 purchase from a vendor called "San Francisco"? Or that $38.38 buy from "Caseys"? Did I really go to Souplantation twice in a day?
This world of credit cards, I felt, was making me lose touch with my money.
Because my credit card gave me frequent flier miles for each purchase, though, I kicked myself any time I used cash.
Then I discovered that the U.S. Mint had a $1 Coin Direct Ship program. I bought $250 worth of coins on my credit card, and a few weeks later, a heavy brick-size cardboard box landed on my doorstep. Inside were 10 rolls of Sacagawea dollar coins.
Oh, how I loved spending them.
The coins were bright. They were easy to use on the bus. A delight to deposit in parking meters.
Their edges had none of the harsh serrations of quarters. They were smooth. Every morning, I grabbed a fistful for lunch money.
The golden coins brought particular joy to some independent shop owners. One restaurateur showed my Thomas Jefferson coins to his customers. My dry cleaner wanted whole rolls.
The reaction in the some corporate chains was a bit different.
At a Subway sandwich shop, an exasperated cashier asked: Why do you use these so much? Where do you get them?
At Costco, I once handed a cashier a bundled roll of $25 in coins. A suspicious cashier asked a supervisor if I should be photographed in case I was using funny money.
My dollar coins are worth the occasional scorn. There is grace in reclaiming tactile control of my money.
Each coin seemed a bit more valuable than a tattered dollar bill, giving me pause before I might spend it. They certainly seemed more valuable than my credit card.
Having a tangible sense of money became a new philosophy. I resisted automatic withdrawals from utility companies and paperless bank statements.
I had learned the hard way about the risk of being too detached. Years ago, I failed for months to detect a $20 monthly checking fee at my bank. And only because I paid my phone bill manually did I discover that AT&T had begun to charge me a $5 fee for not using my land-line long-distance plan.