the value of a quarter

Last week, I took my car to one of those car washes at the gas station. When I was waiting to pull in, I saw that for the low low price of one dollar more, I could upgrade my wash options from four useless things to seven useless things.

Obviously, I reached into my change box (some of you may know it by its other name: the ashtray) and pulled out four quarters. The instant those quarters hit my hand, nostalgia took over, and those four quarters were much more than a dollar. I held, in my hand, a ticket to the year 2084, a summons to save the galaxy from Space Invaders, a map to an endless dungeon where shots do not hurt other players (yet), and the keys to a car that was one weapons van away from kicking serious ass.

I looked into the change box and counted at least a dozen quarters. There were probably more buried beneath them.

12 year-old me would have wet his pants by now, if he had access to this many quarters at once, I thought. Once again, I resolved to earn The Fuck You Money, so I can one day open my very own classic 80s arcade, where quarters matter and the jukebox doesn't play anything released after 1987.

I couldn't bring myself to drop those four quarters into the car wash. On the way home, I could feel the disdainful looks from other drivers who had put seven usless things into their car wash ... but I didn't care. I'm certainly not going to be judged by someone who doesn't know the value of a quarter.