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My Superpower Would Be “Having Correct Change”

Screw being impervious to bullets.

In fact, while you’re tossing the ‘ol “bullets don’t harm me” thing into the fire, you might as well toss in faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, being able to see in pitch black rooms, being able to fly, possessing an invisible plane, having a “sidekick” with skin-tight pants, being able to freeze anything that comes in my path, having claws protrude from my fingers and a bunch of other useless powers.

My superpower would be having exact change.

There was a moment the other day when I was at my local supermarket. I had just slid my items onto the moving rubber tread. The checkout lady, Suzie, was quietly and methodically pricing out and bagging all my items. My bread, my ice-pops, my deoderant, etc etc etc. When all was said and done, she rang up the total.

Her: That’ll be twenty-eight, sixteen.

I reached into my pocket and placed the exact change in front of her.

Her: Is that exact change?

Me: Why, yes. It is.

She sighed a big SIGH of relief and looked to me with a smile so wide it was infectious. It was as if she was saying to me in a high-pitched Olive Oil sort of way, “My hero.”

Instead, she said: How nice to be able to tell you how much it is, have you just give it to me and then all I do is just put it in the cash register and that’s the end of the transaction.

No checks. No ATM cards. No PIN numbers. No credit cards. Nothing to sign. Nothing to approve. Nothing at all.

My superpower would be having exact change.

I would travel throughout the local Los Angeles area (as I could not fly and am damn well not going to pay for the gas to travel all over the place when in the end I’m the guy with exact change) and buy stuff from markets and stores all over. And in every instance, I would have exact change.

I would be fitted with the most advanced change-maker ever. It would have my initials on it and be spraypainted in black and gold. And when I needed that extra penny or those two dimes, I would just push button one (near my right pelvic bone) and button four (right above my you know what) and out would come twenty-one cents.

“That’ll be ten twenty-one,” the checker would say.

“I have exact change,” would say I.

Smiles would permeate the entire city limits of Los Angeles. And at every corner, at every mini-mall, at every single business within walking distance of my townhouse, people would look at stare at me as the sun reflected off of my black and gold-spray painted change maker and say something like:

“There he goes!”

“Oh my God!”

“He’s got to be the craziest, most amazing, exact change making man in the history of the civilized world!”

Things would be better around here. Oh yes they would.

Things would definitely be better.

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