Every night I empty my change purse into a large glass vase. I've been doing this for years, and everytime it fills I deposit the money into my bank account. When I woke up this morning and peered over the side of my bed I noticed four pennies trying to escape (they had made a ladder of nickles and were shimmying down the side of the vase towards the door). I figured it was time I used my GPS to find the nearest Chevy Chase (I'm still fairly new to this exact area, and completely directionally challenged).
When I finally (after three u-turns) found the bank I parked and headed inside. My change was in a large Ziploc freezer bag. The coin counter is in the back corner and the bank was deserted. I crossed the floor and somehow, when the tile turned into carpet, I turned into some sort of drunken stuntwoman. I tripped and in slow motion felt myself fall rather ungracefully onto the floor while a hundred dollars in changed rained down on me. A quarter bounced off my eye and two dimes landed near the desk of the branch manager. Squinting through the metallic haze, I saw his look of what can only be described as pity.
"Miss, are you ok?" He asked while giving me his hand to help me up.
Hastily gathering the money off the floor and cramming it back into the bag, I righted my sweatshirt and lopsided ponytail.
"Yes, I'm fine. It was probably that third martini I had for breakfast."
**crickets**
Editors Note: Don't worry. I don't drink martinis in the morning. I prefer mimosas.
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