Loose Change

Here’s something that might surprise you. Until I retired, I don’t think I’d used an automated teller machine for at least twenty years. If I needed to use a credit or debit card, I usually had to spend a significant amount of time locating the AWOL cards. On more than one occasion, I discovered the card was out of date and had to get my wife, Suzie, to complete the transaction. In short, I had a very close relationship with physical cash.

This peculiar state of affairs in the modern world came about by accident. A few of my smaller business customers insisted on settling their monthly bills in cash. My business bankers charged a premium for depositing cash, and I had a stubborn aversion to paying them for the privilege of doing so. I got into the habit of holding onto the bills and conducting my personal spending with them; over the years, it became my default payment.

During my first year of retirement, I’ve moved back into the embrace of the digital payment system and have been reflecting on the small changes this has had on my relationship with money. Talking about “change,” that’s one of the most noticeable differences. I used to be a regular contributor to the numerous charity boxes and collection drives when out and about. It was a great way to offload the piles of coins that built up in my pockets; unfortunately, the charity sector is now worse off because of my lack of coinage.

I also seem to have lost touch with the standard prices of mundane purchases. I really did know the cost of a gallon of milk or the price of a stick of butter. When I had change in my pocket, I took an indecent amount of pleasure in sorting through the coins for the exact amount of the purchase; it made the prices lodge in my mind. Waving my phone in a slightly demented way near a card reader doesn’t fix the price so readily.

Maybe I’m slightly old-fashioned, but I enjoyed the chat with a cashier during the time it took me to retrieve my wallet and gather the correct coins. It was social. Now, if my phone doesn’t “wake up” immediately or demands a fingerprint before opening the payment app, I can feel the palpable frustration from the line behind me—people waiting their turn to “frictionless beep” their way through a digital day.

Looking back, my decades-long cash use was born of a simple desire to keep my hard-earned dollars out of the banker’s profit statement. In that, I succeeded. I lived a life of paper notes and heavy pockets, where the value of a loaf of bread was counted in the specific weight of the silver in my palm. Now, as a reluctant digital convert, I have finally surrendered to the convenience I once shunned. I am lighter, certainly, and I no longer have to rely on Suzie’s card to get through a digital checkout—but I can’t help but feel that in gaining this efficiency, I’ve lost a certain anchor to the real world of dollars and cents.

The cashiers probably enjoyed our chats and the charity boxes certainly made good use of the coins that no longer weigh down my pockets. I miss knowing at a glance whether the milk is a bargain, but I try to look on the bright side — and there are a few. My pockets are considerably lighter, and I now move through the world with the quiet stealth of a trained ninja rather than telegraphing my approach with the jingle of loose change.

I’ve now rejoined the 21st century. It sure was nice being an accidental throwback while it lasted.