Day 8 - 17-Cent Story

17-Cent Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Russell liked to dine alone.  He took his time, not wanting to be rushed, not wanting to be distracted.  His favorite places to go were local diners with waitresses that were sassy and at least middle-aged.  Russell was only 63, but he had no illusions that when a twenty-something waitress flirted with him, all they were after was gratuity that was better than 15%.  No, if he were going to flirt, he wanted someone who was at least somewhat age appropriate and knew a thing or two about a thing or two.

Not that Russell did much flirting.  For years he had kept wearing a wedding ring from a long lost memory.  He had recently taken it off and put it in a box with a few other mementos to hide away and hopefully not dwell too much upon.  He had no illusions that when a marriage dissolved after twenty-some years that it was highly unlikely that people were going to magically get back together.  Especially if they were 500 miles apart and hardly ever talked.

Russell may have been ready to look, and maybe even speak if the right situation presented itself, but he was in no great rush to go running and leaping into the deep end.

Russell liked to read the morning newspaper with his meal, even though it was usually in the afternoon.  Not quite lunch and not quite dinner.  He liked it that way.  He took his time with the crossword puzzle even though he only ever got half of it finished.  He tried his hand at the word jumble and usually did better.  He never got the cryptoquote.

Today, Russell was thrown a little out of sorts.  He had designs on ordering a French dip sandwich with a side of coleslaw and even thought about splurging for some mac and cheese.  He had his newspaper ready to go and had even brought with him a paperback copy of The Canterbury Tales.  He had started and stopped The Canterbury Tales at least 6 times that he could remember, possibly more.  But he always told himself he would get back around to finishing it.  He planned on sitting for a good long time today and sipping a lot of coffee and taking time to think things out.  He hadn’t exactly retired, but recently his class load had been cut back and he was now only faced with a part time teaching schedule.  He was in no great need of additional income and in no hurry to explore other options.  After close to 40 years of teaching, Russell was okay with taking more time for himself.  It seemed like a perfect day to get back to reading.

It would have been a perfect day for reading, except for the mystery that presented itself when he sat down, and now had him out of sorts. There on the side of the table that was adjoined to the wall, that area of the table where you found your sugar packets or ketchup or salt and pepper shakers, there was a small little stack of pocket change.  17-cents to be precise: two pennies, one nickel, and one dime.

Who had left it and why that amount, wondered Russell.  He didn’t like it.  It wasn’t clean or orderly or exact in any way shape or form.  Was it part of a tip?  If so, had the waitress forgotten it?  Or was it an insult to previous service rendered?  Wasn’t it an insult to leave change?  Did two pennies mean something different than one?  What did the dime or nickel mean?  Russell wasn’t sure. 

Maybe it was just some lost pocket change.  But if that were the case, why was it stacked so neatly?

For a moment he thought about taking it, but then worried that maybe it was part of hidden camera gag.  But if that were the case, why leave such a small amount?  If someone were testing him or pranking him, wouldn’t the amount be more?  Something worth stealing and struggling over?

Annoying.  It was all so annoying and it was ruining his chance to have a peaceful afternoon meal.

Russell left.  He didn’t want the responsibility associated with the mystery money.  He did add a nickel and one penny of his own.  It wasn’t to make the amount make any additional sense.  23-cents made just as little sense as 17.  But he appreciated the ascending sequence that one dime, two nickels, and three pennies made.  1-2-3 easy peasy. 

Now it would be someone else’s job to wonder about the forgotten change and Russell could enjoy his sandwich and newspaper somewhere else.