I don't handle change well.

Ya’ know, your Zippo[sup]TM[/sup] lighter can be your best friend.

It’s windproof. Heck, if you blaze that sucker up in a gale you get a three foot flame, which can kinda’ suck if all you’re trying to do is light a cigarette without incinerating your eyebrows. It’s also kinda-sorta water resistant. I mean, if you drop it into your parents’ expensive in-ground swimming pool during a party you’re having while they’re on vacation, and you immediately dive in and get it, it will light right up as soon as you get it to the surface. If you leave it down there, though, you end up with massive problems for both lighter and pool, but that’s another story. Trust me.

Instant fire at any time. That’s the beauty of the Zippo[sup]TM[/sup]. You can be lost in the trackless wilderness with nothing but an axe and your lighter and survive comfortably. Technically, you can do it with just the axe, but I’m not real clear on how to scrounge flints out of streambeds, or what, exactly, to do with them once I have them. The lighter connects a lot of dots for you.

Just about the only way you can possibly screw up with a Zippo[sup]TM[/sup] is to run out of fuel. Well, you could run out of flints too, but bear with me here.

Which pretty much brings me to my point. Those little cans of fuel.

I always felt a sense of reassurance when I saw that bright blue can on the shelf. There it was, in all its majesty, containing the precious fluid of light. It’s bright blue body and white cap (with the little bright red flip-up nozzle) promised that while I carried the Small Firemaker in my pocket at all times, I had All The Fire I Could Possibly Need in reserve. Blessed blue can.

All that has changed.

I ran out of fuel. Not only did I run out of fuel, but I allowed that condition to continue for 28.6 hours. Truly, I am a poor apostle of the Zippo[sup]TM[/sup]. I had to procure more.

Then, my friends, only then, did I discover that I had been betrayed. That friendly blue can, with it’s jaunty white cap (with the little bright red flip-up nozzle) was no more. My friend, nay, my partner, was gone forever.

This new can, this interloper, was black, with a bright red cap (with white flip-up nozzle). This was not my friend. This was a stranger. The naptha inside was the same I guess, but that’s not the point. I filled the Small Firemaker anyway, of course, and changed the flint because it needed it, but things will never be the same.

No longer will the bright blue can greet me with cheer and promise. I must now deal with the drab black can of prosaic necessity. Romance is lost.

I thought to keen my mourning to the stars, but that might irritate the neighbors. I’ll content myself with weeping into my pillow.

Such is Change. And Loss.
What were those jerks thinking?

Have you ever used an Ohio Blue Tip kitchen match? Lately? Of course you haven’t used one lately because THEY DON’T MAKE THEM ANY MORE! (I guess if you had a stockpile of Ohio Blue Tip matches, then you’d be OK.) The Ohio Blue Tip Match Company is now defunct. “Defunct” is the word I use for a company that got bought up by another totally different company, so the original company isn’t around anymore. The Ohio Blue Tip Match Company got all et up by the Diamond Match Company. They make strike-anywhere matches (of which, the Ohio Blue Tip match was the pinacle, the acme match) but they are red, not blue the way God intended.

So I feel your pain Ex. in a roundabout way.

Oh, and about handling your change: At the end of the day put it all in a jar. Then when there’s a bunch of change in your jar, take it to the bank. They’ll give you folding money at the bank for your change. They’re real nice that way, banks.