Saturday, January 22, 2005
Cash at the Gas Station
The blizzard was due to arrive within the next couple of hours, so I found myself in a line at a local gas station. Now there are tragic things that happen in life, but some things are just annoying. A good example of "annoying" is when the people in front of you in a gas line pay with a credit card. Then the gas station attendant has to go back in the station, run the card through the machine, find a pen. . . well, you get the idea. Not a huge deal, but. . . annoying.
But there's more to it. I don't think that gas station attendants can be well-paid, but they always have the most extraordinarily thick rolls of currency you can imagine. You give them a bill, and they whip out this roll that's so thick that you can't imagine how they successfully managed to walk to your car.
Think about it a second. We count our money in electrons. A few years ago, when I found myself slogging through an MBA program, one of the profs asked whether we even needed real money any more. I raised my hand and said that of course we do -- you always want to purchase your pornography, illicit sex or illegal drugs with the wonderful anonymity of solid currency. (Well, maybe I didn't exactly say that -- but the desire was present.)
But, aside from the anonymity issue, there's something that's just so satisfying, so inescapably and utterly cool, about whipping out a wad of bills like that -- or even being present when somebody else does. When you give a debit or credit card to the attendant, you miss your opportunity to participate. You've reduced the whole transaction to a feeble shuttling of electrons -- and that's almost as bad as keeping me waiting in the gas line.
But only "almost".
But there's more to it. I don't think that gas station attendants can be well-paid, but they always have the most extraordinarily thick rolls of currency you can imagine. You give them a bill, and they whip out this roll that's so thick that you can't imagine how they successfully managed to walk to your car.
Think about it a second. We count our money in electrons. A few years ago, when I found myself slogging through an MBA program, one of the profs asked whether we even needed real money any more. I raised my hand and said that of course we do -- you always want to purchase your pornography, illicit sex or illegal drugs with the wonderful anonymity of solid currency. (Well, maybe I didn't exactly say that -- but the desire was present.)
But, aside from the anonymity issue, there's something that's just so satisfying, so inescapably and utterly cool, about whipping out a wad of bills like that -- or even being present when somebody else does. When you give a debit or credit card to the attendant, you miss your opportunity to participate. You've reduced the whole transaction to a feeble shuttling of electrons -- and that's almost as bad as keeping me waiting in the gas line.
But only "almost".
