When I want or have to pay in change, I say so and then stand off to one side and make the little piles.
In some places where they have to clear me before thy can take another customer, I wait until the line is clear behind me.
Most places here won’t take rolled coins, you need to count in their presence.
I had about $200 in rolled coins because I am anal and I thought that would be the best way to store it. I then decided to cash it in instead.
I hauled it into the bank and they just opened it all into one big bucket and then ran it through their machine. Well shit a brick
So now If I am not going to save it, it goes into a big bucket and I keep nuff quarters for newspaper machines. When I feel it is worth it, I haul it to the bank.
If I am trying to be nice and the robot behind the counter becomes an asshat, – I become the customer from hell… Never have to repeat that for them. Bawahahahah
My bank (credit union, actually) won’t even take rolled coins anymore. They have the coin machines right in the lobby for customers to use, and even have a kid’s wagon to use for getting big buckets of change in from your car. There’s no surcharge like with a CoinStar machine - you get the full amount. Makes it very easy.
When you work as a bank teller, you get good with money after a while. I got so I could tell whether a roll was right just by the feel of it. Compare a roll to a roll you know is right. Same weight? Same length? No bumps? It’s good.
Did you read any of the rest of the post?!?!
** I don’t have time because I have 8 or so other customers behind this lady. Not because I don’t feel like helping her.**
Jesus
Anyhoo, I tend to dig out all my change and compulsively sort it by size while waiting my turn in line. If the wait is long enough, I can even figure out which amounts I can pay in exact change. Then the total turns out to be none of these and I have to break a bill, getting back more coins. Sigh.
Sounds all too familiar. While waiting my turn, I try to calculate the total in my head and prepare exact change. Most of the time I get it wrong. I don’t want to be counted among the purse-fumbling grannies, so I just dump it all back in and pay by bill.
There’s got to be a story behind that, please share.
As for change; in my young, broke, and need alcohol age, I often got that 12-pack of cheap beer with change. Having done it often enough, I’d have the change counted out and seperated before I even went in. A dollar worth of quarters between each finger, X amount of dimes in one pocket, Y amounts of nickels and pennies in the other pocket.
I’m currently in Afghanistan. Here, at the base PX/BX, when they give you change, they don’t give you quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies like the Post Office does–they give you AAFES “Gift Certificate” Pogs (little paper-thin plastic discs) worth 25c, 10c, and 5c, and they round it off to the nearest nickel (to their benefit, obviously). So, after pay day and you go buy a pack of smokes and/or a new CD/DVD to watch, from which you have a pocket full of Pogs you can’t use anywhere else. Include that with the fact that all that rounding to their favor just lines their pockets even more. . . Why not just give us regular change we can use anywhere else like the Post Office, or the Coffee Shop? Freakin’ jeez . . . :rolleyes:
So, I have a mutual agreement with some Master Sergeants here that work with me: We’re saving up our Pogs until we get back home, at which time we’ll go buy our first six-pack of beer with all of these damned pogs. We will unabashedly go to the counter, dump these damned things on the counter, and start counting 'em. I’m an expensive drunk, so I plan on buying a $30 bottle of Glenlivet.
It doesn’t really have to be an ‘all or nothing’ thing. If you find you have a lot of change, you don’t really need to get rid of it all at once, do you?
Way long ago, while I was in college, I ‘inherited’ a diaper pail full of change. This was way before the days of public accessible coin machines, and I was too lazy/busy to put hours into counting/rolling the stuff. But I just made a point of carrying a filled up coin purse with me all the time, and always used coins for at least some of every payment.
Not an obnoxiously high part. Like, if the tab at a store came to $17.34, they would get $15 in bills, eight quarters, three dimes and four pennies. 15 coins fewer in my stash (actually, more like 20, considering the change I would have gotten if I’d paid solely in bills) without anyone seeming put out by being hit with some change.
Really small amounts – a twinkie, a fast food meal – I’d pay completely with coins unless there were lines of people. Two dollars or less in coins, assuming they aren’t all pennies or nickels, doesn’t seem like a horrible imposition on anyone.
Repeat throughout the day: snacks, lunch, that new magazine. Ten or twenty bucks worth of coins ‘went away’ every week without any real effort. And then I became known in the dorm as ‘the girl with change’ and the last half of the pail quickly turned into bills so other people could feed the vending machines and do laundry.
A side benefit was that I always had a lot of change on me. If hit on by a particularly aggressive panhander I could drop a entire handful of change into the can and be gone before he realized it was probably only around 25 cents, in pennies and nickels.
Agh, the memories! Make them stop! I recall my first stint in a gas station/convenience store… There I was, fresh faced and unaware of the pitfalls that the unwitting clerk can fall into, just doing my job, when the Stinky Wino came in to purchase a pack of cigarettes. Silly me, I actually turned my cupped hand up to accept his payment, which happened to be a fistful of pennies. Wet, stinking, muddy, slimy, sticky gum festooned pennies that the bastard had just fished out of the sewer using a wad of chewing gum stuck to the end of a stick. I squealed and dropped the disgusting handful of slime onto the pane of glass inset in the countertop, where the mud and other less savory substances promptly splashed and dribbled into every tiny crevice. At this point I decided “fuck customer service!” and took the pack of cigarettes back, shoved the disgusting mess of pennies at the guy and yelled at him to get his filthy mess out of my store. Perhaps my sheer outrage is explained better by the fact that this particular store only had an outside toilet, and I had to make sure there were no open gas pumps before locking up the store and going around the side to be able to wash my hands–no water source in the store area. Add in the fact that said toilet couldn’t be locked from the outside so the bums were always in there shooting up and smoking crack and shitting on the floor and you get the full scope of the horror I was feeling.
The word got around the bum community that I didn’t put up with grotty change and insisted it all be washed and dried before dragging it in for purchases–I guess I must have made my point clear to the guy somewhere in there, not that I remember much… I was pretty much in a fugue state after the initial shock of disgust.
Change I can handle, but that was more than my tolerance could bear. :eek:
