Susie came into my life recently again. It had been several years since I held her. We met at the Post Office as I was buying stamps. She touched my hand. She hadn’t changed a bit (or eight bits). I should have realized that our relationship was not going to change either.
The next day we took the MARC train from Brunswick, MD to Union Station in Washington, DC. It felt nice to have her along though I was a little worried that she wouldn’t be accepted. At Union Station, I needed to catch the Metro to get to work. I asked the man in the kiosk if Susie would be allowed at the ticket machine and my worst fears were realized. He said that she wouldn’t.
I can’t say that I didn’t see it coming. I had a hard time getting rid of her before. And now I’m stuck with her again.
Tonight, when I catch the bus to the Metro, I’m going to try to give her to the driver. But before I do, I’m going to make sure I show her to him and explain. She may look like a quarter, sir, but she’s actually a dollar. I hope he takes her. If he doesn’t, I’ll be walking. Oh well, I should have realized what was going to happen when I saw her that day in the Post Office. A Susan B. Anthony dollar is the Rodney Dangerfield of money. She gets no respect.
In her 1979, deformed, poorly minted way, Susie B was an omen. She let us know just how bad things were going to get in the 80s.