Change / Winifred Swish

Two years and 98 weekend shifts later and it still hasn't been done.

You don't find it all that surprising.  The chances are pretty slim.  In fact there is only one item in the entire store that if bought on it's own and paid for with the right denomination would trigger that satisfying and appreciated combination of bill rips and coin flicks that even the most bitter and clumsy of cashiers could appreciate.  It had taken you the better part of a slow Saturday to find it.  Right below the microwavable burritos ($1.29) and above the oven-ready pie crusts ($3.19) sat the individual sized Tombstone supreme pizzas for $3.59.

The idea first occurred to you two years prior.  You were just about ready to close shop and pull the final drawer when the last customer bought a carton of milk ($3.19) and a pack of Malboro Mediums ($5.25) and paid with a $10 bill.  The man's change ($1.56) conveniently emptied your quarter, nickel, and penny bins and as you expertly ripped the single bill and flicked each of the five coins out of the drawer you briefly considered the concept of the perfect change amount.  You bounced the idea around in your head as you locked the doors, readied the safe, and killed the music.  By the time you hit the lights you had it.  Now someone just had to put the right combination of merchandise and cash on the counter and you could provide them with perfect change.

Since then several folks had come close, tragically, without ever knowing.

There was the dude with who calls everyone "boss" who once bought a Milky Way bar (99 cents) and four single 69 cent rolls of toilet paper and paid with a $20.

There was the girl with the yellow scarf who would've nailed it when she bought a 4-pack of AA batteries ($3.69) but unfortunately sales tax brought to total to $3.89.

There was the crazy woman who wore the jacket with all the butterfly patches that reached the elusive and perfect total after buying a box of mac 'n cheese ($2.59) and a $1 bran muffin but unfortunately she paid with a credit card.

But right now, standing near the beverage coolers, is a guy holding an individual sized Tombstone supreme pizza ($3.59).  He needs to buy that and nothing else.  Your only hope now is that you don't carry the flavor of soda he's looking for.  Hopefully he's looking for grape soda.  You're out of grape.  He walks away from the cooler doors without making a selection and there's still hope.  He's standing in the personal hygiene aisle now looking at either toothpaste or condoms.  You cross your fingers that he's brand loyal to Aquafresh (which you don't carry) or too chickenshit to buy rubbers.  Again, he walks away with only the pizza in his hand.  

He's coming towards you now, toward the registers.  He sets the individual sized Tombstone supreme pizza ($3.59) on the checkout counter without taking a second look at the wide array of affordable candy, gum, and mints besieging him at all angles, all of which threaten to ruin your pristine purchase.

God bless this man.

You try to stay calm as you ring him up and tell him his total.

"That'll be $3.59."

He reaches in his wallet and you realize that while he's come so far, he's still one major step away from completing the ultimate transaction.  He's either going to pay with a $5, $10, $20, or charge it.  So even after chosing the single conducive item in the store, and sticking with only that item, there's still just a 1 in 4 chance that he passes this final test.

Just then he pulls out a $20 bill.  He's done it.  After two long years and countless customers you finally have your chance you bestow the perfect change.

"Out of $20."

You open the register now and allow your hands to momentarily hover over the drawer before you nimbly alternate hands and happily retrieve;

one ten

one five

one one

one quarter

one dime

one nickel

one penny

"$16.41 is your change.  Have a nice day."

Indeed.