No Pennies Please

“The sign said ‘NO PENNIES PLEASE!!!!” You’re probably a Trump supporter, aren’t you?”

                In two days, I will have moved.  Thanks for asking.

                As such, I’m surrounded by dozens of  boxes.  That which was neat and orderly only a few days ago is now a manic disarray of things tossed into that box, things tossed into that other box, and “Eff,  where do I put these things?”
                FULL DISCLOSURE:  “Neat and orderly?”  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

                Even though I’m only moving to the other side of the city, effectively it’s not much different than moving to the other side of the country.  Stuff gotta be put in boxes, yo.

                Anyway, one of the last things to be broken down and packed away is the “Nit Nat Nerve Center.”  I had determined that you, my two faithful readers, deserve the very latest in hard-hitting journalism and quality writing that would cause Ernest Hemingway to weep.

                Or whatever this is.

                I’m not sure when the “lights” will come back on.  Perhaps only a matter of days.  Perhaps a little bit longer.  You see, my son asked me to watch his dog next weekend.  Since he lives a hundred miles away, that may cause some difficulty for me to get another Nit Nat post out.  Maybe I’ll take my computer with me.  After all, it’s a laptop so…

                What does all this mean, you may be asking?  Well, what this all means is that today’s post may be a little shorter than normal (much like me).  Also, I don’t plan on doing a lot of in-depth thinking or make cogent arguments in favor of my position.  Come to think of it, you’re probably wondering if I ever have.

                Whatever, let’s get on with it, shall we?

            During the days when I had brown hair and didn’t need Pepsi to burp, I was a bit of a wise aleck.  Yeah, I know.  Not a lot has changed.  Except the hair.  And I now consider nine o’clock the new midnight.

            Plus, not everything works like it use…THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!

            Most of the youngsters today wouldn’t recognize the 1970s.

            The fashion (dear Lord), music (I’m talking to you, disco), and pop culture (e.g., “Pet Rocks.”) are proof positive that drug use spilled over from the 60s.  Millennials today would scoff at how primitive we seemed back then with our pay phones, rabbit ear antennas, stick shift transmissions, gas shortages, and incompetent boob in the White House.

“Ya’ll miss me, don’t ya?”

            Hmm, come to think of it, kids today may have an inkling of what it was like fifty years ago.

            If the Bee Gees put out a soundtrack for Saturday Night Fever 2, though, I’m outta here.

Wait, I just checked the interwebs. There apparently was a sequel to SNF. The unforgettable Staying Alive had John Travolta and maybe, probably, some disco in it. Who cares? The joke stands.

            Yes, yes, I know.  Maurice Gibb is no longer with us, so a new soundtrack is very unlikely.  I also know there will never be a Beatles reunion tour.  I just didn’t want to bring that up.  You heartless bastard.

“Stayin’ alive, stayin’ aliv…well, this is awkward.”


Too soon?

           One of the countless differences between then and now is that most of us own EZ Passes.  While tolls on the highway still (and always will) exist, most of them require the little transponder on our windshield to use the road.  This makes things easy for us as we laugh at the poor schmucks stuck in the pay line, even though (at least for me), the state could raise tolls and I probably wouldn’t even know it.

            Kids today will never know the panic of digging for change in the (unused. hopefully) ashtray so they could continue on to the Jersey Shore.  Or getting off an exit before the toll so they could drive twenty miles out of our way to avoid tossing a quarter at the booth.

            I’m sure many of us “of an age” remember the little exact change baskets at each toll.  Much like today’s EZ Pass, these little gizmos gave us a chance to laugh at the poor schmucks who had to wait in line to break $50 so they could hand over a quarter.

            Now that I write it…they had a fifty dollar bill?  Rich pukes.

            Anyway, I remember one such group of tolls at the exits/entrances for the Virginia Beach Expressway.  The main toll was a quarter, but if you didn’t go through there, these gave the state a chance to at least grab a dime from you.

            Obviously wanting you to toss a dime into the basket, each was labeled “NO PENNIES PLEASE.”  I’m sure I could have tossed a quarter into the thing and I’d get the green light allowing me on my way. No way was I going to give the Old Dominion twenty-five cents, though.

            But, I wondered…would pennies even work?  After all, the warning said “please.”  It didn’t say ‘NO PENNIES DAMMIT!!!”  So, one late night, after visiting an Oceanfront bar church, I scooped up ten copper discs from my Monza’s ashtray.

            I patiently waited.  Luckily, since it was late, no one was behind me.  I heard the machine go “CHUNK A CHUNK A CHUNK A CHUNK.”  It took a few seconds, but I was eventually rewarded with a green light.  Off I went, warmed by the thought that I wasn’t a compliant sheep.  When confronted by bureaucracy, I just said “NO.”  Virginia got ten cents from me, sure, but they sure didn’t get no dime.

            Incidentally, the main toll also had a similar warning.  But, while I successfully used twenty-five pennies in that one once, I wasn’t willing to wait that long again for the “CHUNK A CHUNK” to finish.  Nor were the line of cars behind me.

            Sure, I’m a rebel.  But, I’m not an asshole.

            What’s my point?

            Well, I’m going to put this quick and simple.  Like I said, I am moving and don’t have a lot of time.  Bad enough I wrote much more than I planned.  

            Fear Porn and sweat pumps are starting up again because now there’s a Delta Variant for the Chinese Virus.  Fretful ninnies are dashing about in a panicked sweat that “OH MY GOD, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” unless we once more return to throwing face diapers on our faces again.  Even those who received the vaccination.  Of course, this causes me to wonder…what was the point of getting the shot then?

            As far as whether I have been vaccinated or not, that’s nunya.  The two of you who are regular readers may recall that as standing for “None Ya Business.”  Actually, it’s short for “I Don’t Believe That’s None Ya Damn Bidness.”

            You’re welcome.

            While it may be more contagious that the regular garden variety Wuhan Flu, hospitalizations and deaths haven’t spiked.  Also, didn’t cases skyrocket when everyone was required to wear a mask? Little logic and critical thought here.

“Uh, excuse me. If you’re serious about ending this pandemic, why are you allowing THOUSANDS of people across the border who haven’t been tested?”

            At this point (and that may change any day), mask use is recommended (unless you are a federal worker and, thus, work for the Idiot-in-Chief), so I take that as “WEAR A MASK PLEASE.”  But, even if it becomes mandatory, I’m willing to suffer any repercussions for a stance I took back in the 1970s.

            I will just say “NO.”

            Wow, come to think of it, this post is just as long as any other post I’ve written for Nit Nats.  I do tend to run my mouth, don’t I?  Oh well, sue me.  I gotta move.

UPDATE:  Interestingly, there are no tolls on the Virginia Beach expressway anymore.  In fact, it’s not even called the Virginia Beach Expressway.  Although, since I have EZ Pass, I have no idea how much it costs in tolls to visit family in New England.  Thank goodness, because my car doesn’t have an ashtray anymore.   

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