I Need a Job That Pays in Nickels

I went to the Great Willamette Valley last week to see my mom. She is a very nice lady who lives in Corvallis with the loveliest English bulldog you'd ever want to know. The dog's name is Petula. She is my sister. As you may know from last week's comments... I take relationships seriously.

During my visits to the Great Valley I usually see many people whom I love and this visit was no exception. I got to see my human sisters and had a great time... one is building a new home and this has all of us very excited.

Because I stayed over on a Thursday, I got snookered into that card game my aunts, uncles and cousins play each week. On some visits, I'm not able to stay over for the family card games, which happen every Thursday of the world unless someone is fishing or getting married or in a hospital. We are a forgiving family in the case of these things... or not.

In other words, unless you die before Thursday, you will be expected to join aunts and uncles and cousins to play cards. What kind of card game? Don't ask me. I still don't know what it's called but I know that I lose money and laugh a lot.

Each of us has a stash, readily identified by the person it belongs to. One of my uncles is so dag-nabbed rich that he played out of his pants pockets this week. He has a secret pouch of change that is so heavy that no one can lift it but him. Not to worry... We're all hoping to get into this eventually. The rest of us have some type of container in which we keep our winnings... or our remnants in.

You see what I'm up against. These are some tough cookies. Professionals. All I have to fight back with is my worn, plastic baggy of Mook Money.

From the first time I introduced this special bag of Tillamook coins, my Uncle Bill has wanted all of it. He wanted this money because he's old and funny and the two of us have an unmerciful teasing routine. He gets more teasing than any man I've ever met. Did I forget to say that he's in his 90s? Did I say that he “asks for it”?

Oh no... don't start feeling sad about the "old guy"... He's clever enough to sweep the table and win it all. I know. This week, I came away from the friendly, family card game with five pennies and a .25 debt to my Mom.

After all these years of making it on my own as a real adult person... I finally had to ask my very own mother for a .25 loan. Friends, this is pathetic. I'll soon be 70 years-old. It would seem that I could take care of my own gambling debts by now... but I can't.

This week, I will send .25 to my Mom and hope she puts it in her special card game pouch. Hers is quite beautiful...hand carved leather and worn in to a lovely patina. In the meantime, my plastic bag with MOOK MONEY written in black ink is empty. I dumped the five pennies after they told me that they wouldn't take them as legal tender.

Here's the truth. My Mook Money Bag is empty and I need a job which pays in nickels. Why? Because nickels will bug my Uncle Bill. Early on, he announced that he didn't want nickels. This was the beginning. I've paid him off in nickels every time he won. He got a lot of nickels from this kid... and deserved every one.

I need nickels. In fact, I need a lot of them because the Mook Money bag is empty now. The reputation of our county is at risk... I need real, authentic Tillamook Money in order to go back to this game. On account of the fact that I'm not good at begging... I've decided to work. All of you just stop that laughing. I need a job. All pay must be in nickels.

Odds of me finding a suitable position are slim. If nothing turns up, I'll just rob the Shaffer family change jar of all its nickels. It appears that my family has driven me into debt and and a life of crime. This is tough love.

Creative Commons License

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.