The Penny Thing

A country store off highway 82 in Somerset, Kentucky, whitewashed and sunworn with a hand-painted sign naming it just what it is. A man of twenty stood at the counter with one hand raised so as to deny the pennies offered him as change for his purchase of a cold drink on a hot day.

“You can put the pennies in the penny thing,” he said.

An old man on the counter’s other side roostered his head. “What penny thing?”

“The thing where you put the pennies you don’t want.”

“The pennies who don’t wont?” said the old man.

“Well, I guess right now it’s the pennies I don’t want.”

“What in tarnation?” said the old man. “You ‘spect me to have a special cup just for the pennies you don’t want? Hell, what else? My daughter’s too old for ya.” He smirked. “Better lookin’ too.”

“Nossir,” said the young man. “It’s for the pennies nobody wants.”

The old man pondered that for a moment.

“Ya see that, young man?” He pointed to a box of candy bars beside the register.

“I do.”

“What is it?”

“Those are Twix,” said the young man.

“Thas right. Ya see, I put the Twix right there because everybody wants the Twix. And now you’re askin’ me to replace the Twix with a cup full of things nobody wants?” The old man smiled.

“Well,” said the young man. “If it matters, I don’t much care for Twix.”

“Well!” The old man smacked his knee and pointed groundward. “‘Member, kid. You can do down there for lyin’ same as ya can for stealin’.” He winked.

“I don’t like caramel,” said the young man.

“Hell fire, kid! Don’t mean much. You don’t like your money either!”

“Fine,” said the young man, extending his hand. “I’ll take the pennies.”

“You cain’t have the pennies!” said the old man.

“What are you going to do with them?”

The old man patted his pocket and change jingled.

“And if somebody else come along don’t want their money, I’ll put that in my pocket too. Hell, I’ll change my sign out front to read, BRING ME YER UNWANTED LINCOLNS. Cordin’ ta you, I might get richer than the man who invented tha Twix.”