Two bits...

Two bits...

Every morning that I ride the bus, when I get dressed I dump over my change jar and count out my fare. I put $1 in one pocket and $1 in the other to make it easy to dump it in the little change box when I climb on the bus. I use whatever change is handy, sometimes including pennies or nickels if that is what comes out first.

So last week after my ride home I found a penny stuck down in the corner of my pocket. Not wanting to cheat the Michiana Council of Governments out of even one penny, I set it out on my dresser and resolved to add it back in the next day.

So the next morning I went through my counting routine, and added the penny back in for good measure.

Now I have to introduce you to one of my morning drivers. The first morning I rode Scrooge's bus and put my change in, he very carefully scrutinized my offering and challenged me. I light-heartedly (although slightly annoyed) pointed out that there was a dime that had fallen underneath one of the quarters. He very carefully tipped the door at the bottom of the box so that he could see that the money was indeed all there, and then let me on the bus.

Since that day he has never trusted my payment. I've almost gotten used to his look - I think you might call it 'Stink Eye' - but I was amazed when I got on Scrooge's bus that fateful morning he put his hand out palm up over the box so that I had to give it to him so he could count it! I did, and thought 'This will show you, you old goat, when you find an extra penny in there.'

I went to the back of the bus and, sure enough a minute later he called me up to the front.

I'm a little embarrassed about what happened next because I wasn't very fast on my feet. I was anticipating he'd say 'Here - you put an extra penny in.' and I'd tell him the whole story. Instead he demanded, 'How much money do you see here?'

I was so surprised by his tone, that I stammered something unintelligible. I wish I had said 'Well, I'm pretty sure I gave you a dollar one. Let me count.' My reading glasses were buried under about 3 layers of clothing and I really couldn't see. Which is a poor excuse because anyone who has grown up with nickels and dimes could count out a dollar with their eyes shut. I wondered if I had miscounted my quarters. Rather than challenge him, I fished a quarter out of my pocket and handed it to him apologizing for mis-calculating.

Then I explained about the extra penny, made a protest that I really am an honest person and went back to my seat feeling about two inches tall.

The more I thought about it after the fact, the more sure I was that I had given him the right amount, but there was no way to prove it to myself or to anyone else.

I'm sure some of my readers - the ones who haven't abandoned this story already - are wondering why it mattered so much to me. It really, really bugged me. As I thought about it, I realized that I'm not used to being treated as an untrustworthy person. I told one friend 'It is one of the few times in my life when White Privilege didn't carry me through.'

Believe it or not, I felt so shamed by the whole incident that I didn't really want to ride the bus anymore. The shame was partly because I might have counted wrong, and partly because I caved into Scrooge's aggression so fast. I even managed to avoid the bus for a day or two because the weather was dry and the roads were clear and I rode my bike.

But this week we've had a ton of snow and my daughter needed my car, so I counted out my change (four quarters this time) and got on the bus.

Monday and Tuesday the driver was Shirley. (Probably not her real name, but it should be.)

Today it was Scrooge.

This time when I got on the bus he didn't cover up the box with his hand so I dropped my four quarters in the box. Than he held out his hand and said 'I found this on the floor last week. Must have been yours.' And he handed me a quarter.

Two bits.

I think we have an understanding.