There are times when I’m doing laundry and I long for the days when all you needed was a clean river, a well-shaped rock and time. One thing you didn’t need was money. Public laundromats have largely stayed the same over the years, cornering the market on loose change, namely quarters. I don’t have much use for quarters these days besides my bi-weekly laundry routine.
I don’t flip them for wagers with friends. I don’t shine them to admire the profile of our first president. I hoard them for laundry. They pile up in a coin dish, next to useless nickels, pennies and dimes. I feel for them, since their purpose has been stripped away as society moves cashless.
Parking meters were once a place where all, except maybe pennies had a legitimate function. Pennies are still good for filling a sock and threatening a would-be assailant. But wouldn’t fewer quarters have the same impact? Dropping them off tall buildings is a big recreation for the foolish, at least before the advent of protective glass and thick netting.
Laundry is where I put my quarters. With each one, I take a step back in time. Just twenty-five cents and everything seems to make sense. I don’t know what I’ll do when I have a washer dryer in my home. Perhaps I’ll still collect coins as a touchstone of a simpler era. A reminder of how things were. Because when a laundromat changes to tap to pay, we might as well close the Federal mint.
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