Good day to you, my fine friends, and thank you once again for passing by your humble bard's street corner. With the holidays of late, I took the opportunity to indulge the needs of family and fatherhood, but here I stand once again bound and determined to entertain. Pause a few moments, and let me relate to you a tale:
When I am not treading the corner here, or donning the guise of father and husband, I often wear the beer-spattered black tux shirt that the barkeeps in my place of employ are wont to have hanging on their person. While I'm sure it goes without need to comment, the hourly wages are in today's times a pittance, but necessary. The real meat of it, however, comes from those things called tips, such as might be deposited into the tin can there on my corner, just to the right, you see. These tips come most often in the form of quarters and dollar bills, and occasionally in larger and more friendly denominations. Regardless - at the end of an evening, one progresses back towards home with a large styrofoam cup bearing a load of coin at the bottom, with paper bills atop. These one either spends as they are, or converts into more a more convenient form to haul about town, and are dispersed therefore into the local economy to purchase foodstuffs, drink, entertainment, and so on. Occasionally one even is required to pay 'bills' with them. Here is the meat of the tale, my friends.
On this particular occasion, I had a bill to pay. An important one, at that. Having hoarded my coins for a couple of weeks, I needed to see to their conversion into something that would be happily deposited into an ATM machine because while I'm sure I could spend some hours tossing 5-10 quarters at a time into a deposit envelope and feeding it into the machine before repeating the process, I possess the distinct suspicion that those in the financial services industry would be somewhat less than amused at both my activity and the wagering I might be quietly making to see how long I could do it before causing the machine to have apoplexy. This, coupled with a resultant phone call from a gentleman in a black suit with low patience appended, made the option singularly less entertaining. Thus, I need bills. Not the ones I'm paying of course, I already have those. No, the bills with which to pay the bills. The green ones as opposed to the paper ones. Unless those are green as well, and ... well they're also on paper aren't they.
In any event - I needed to melt my coin down into proper paper currency.
Now, normally I would simply take these to the cage window at my local casino (seeing as I work in one) and have them do the deed for me. Neat and simple. However, I was also at the time in the market for a new local bank account as my previous one has simply proven to be unwieldy and not at all what I truly needed. So I thought to simply slay two fowl with one well-placed polished stone, as it were, and shop for financial services whilst attempting to convert my coinage into a more machine-acceptable format.
Now let me paint you a small picture here. As I embark on my journey, I am armed of course with the normal accoutrements of the day, but also with a 10 oz styrofoam cup, brim-full of quarters. That's all, ladies and gents. a 10 oz cup full. Not a massive pickle jar, not an old coffee can, not even a zip-sealed plastic baggie. A 10 oz styrofoam nonbiodegradeable cup. I'm sure you can picture such a thing, yes? Yes.
I place this in my car and drive to the nearest bank in town and step inside. I walk with my cup o' coins (do not add water, hot or otherwise) to the counter and politely set it down in front of the teller. I politely request the conversion of my cup o' coins into something more flat, and somewhat less heavy. She responds to me that she cannot indulge my kind request as such services are only permitted to members of the institution.
Now this struck me as somewhat odd. I had expected perhaps a small fee for the simple transaction. Business is business after all. I had not expected an outright refusal. My eyebrows, my friends, raised somewhat. Truly? Why ever could that be, I inquired?
The response? It was policy. Ah, of course. While inane, I can at least understand that. Until she added that also, it was to prevent money laundering.
... I beg your pardon?
Freeze the tableau with me a moment friends. Let's review our image. Your humble bard stands in a financial services establishment, i.e. a bank. He is dressed casually, but neatly, washed, clean, with only a few hours of growth on the facial hair front. On the whole, entirely presentable for most purposes outside of a black-tie dinner. With me, again, a 10 oz styrofoam cup full of quarters. A cup which, I am now being told, is sending up a red flag for money laundering.
Now I have friends in the financial sector, dear readers. Well, all right, I have a friend in the financial sector. He is acquainted well with the assorted rules and regulations and federal whatnots that dictate the deeds of the banking world and what constitutes danger of money laundering and so on. He cannot tell me the specifics, for simply detailing such things to me, a mere bartender and spinner of words, would apparently endanger the safety of the free world and cause him to be in violation of assorted federal laws. However, he did say that what tale I was told was ludicrous.
It's always nice to have endorsement for one's feelings, is it not?
For truly - it is, even before you get into legalities. Just pass this through a logic filter, my friends. Were I an underhanded individual, seeking to not only gain many ill-gotten gains, but then funnel said ill-gotten gains through legitimate business so that they might then look less ill-gotten and more well-gotten, I would think that operating in quantity would be important from a profit/loss perspective, yes? If there are any criminal elements reading, you're welcome to indicate if I'm off-base with this thought of course. Certainly at least, one would wish to gain the gains in some bulk, to minimize the ill-gotten time required and minimize personal risk. Then one wishes to launder those ill-gotten gains. Now I can see diversification in this respect to be useful certainly as to avoid sending up red flags. Filtering several thousand through one point might cause an eyebrow to lift curiously. Sending a few hundred here or there would cause less wonderment.
Refer again now to our frozen image. I am not wielding hundreds or thousands of dollars. I have in my posession quarters. 1 10oz styrofoam cup full. Perhaps $75-$80 if I've packed well and am truly fortunate. What did I do, knock over an Coca-Cola vending machine that doesn't accept one-dollar bills? Ransack the local Lion's Club quarter gumball machine? Nefariously lop the head off of a parking meter? Perhaps I sat in a darkened corner of the local laundromat and pretended to be a soap dispenser. Yes indeed - I have certainly obtained thousands of dollars from such ill-informed pursuits and am now carefully laundering my coins, one cup at a time, to paraphrase Mr. Johnny Cash. My soap-dispenser costume is in the back of my car. Go look if you like and have a problem detecting the presence of minute traces of raw elemental sarcasm.
My friends, I laughed. I almost evolved into tearful laughter.
So the image progresses forward again. I laughed. I did not get angry, I simply laughed. No - this was certainly not the financial institute I wished to patronize. The teller, looking affronted at my understanding of basic principles of logic, noted that I could speak to the bank Vice President if I so desired. I laughed again, and lifting my precious Cup O' Coins in hand, turned and walked away without a backwards glance, only commenting 'No, that's quite all right.' And so I went.
The rest of the journey passed without overmuch hassle. My second bank featured amenities such as young and nubile tellers, and a widescreen television upon one wall which was broadcasting an UFC or WEC fight, certainly well holding the attention of said nubile tellers. While progressive in their staffing and customer entertainment certainly, they desired not a flat fee for the changing of my coins, but a percentage that was entirely too steep for the task. So away I (regretfully) went. Whether or not you view it as sexist is your take, but I am male, and will always enjoy the sight of young and nubile. I make no apology for that. I like what I like. I also like older and experienced too. It doesn't mean I find them in any capacity diminished or less worthy of anything. I simply like women, and I enjoy looking at them.
Finally, I did find a bank that both changed my coins for a mere percentage that capped at $5, much more agreeable. Also their policies were close enough to my shopping needs that I opted to give them a try. And thus my tale ended altogether happily, with no further implication that my cup of coins was even marginally criminal.
All's well that ends well, as it is said.
Well, my friends, I believe it is time I ceased pulling on your ear for now. Do have yourselves a fine day as you go on about your way, and please - do remember that the tin can always appreciates the company of coinage. Should my ramblings amuse? Do consider tossing a coin in the bucket. Your humble bard always appreciates it.
And in any case - I look forward to your next visit, regardless. Take care, my friends.
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