I've now reached the mid-point of my stay here in Korea. I've hit the six month mark and thoughts turn to what will happen when I get back home. In addition to things that I miss, there are things that I don't.Coin exchange is one of those things.
Here, no matter where I go, whenever there's a transaction, coins are ALWAYS placed into my hand if it is outstretched in front of the cashier. I've never had change placed onto the counter.
Back home, it's a crap shoot.
I could have my hand ready to receive the coins and *ca-chink*, *ca-chink*. The clerk drops them on the counter while I stand there dumbfounded. I then have to 180 my open palm, come down onto the change, and swiffer it off the ledge into my left hand.
It takes seconds, but it's annoying.
Why was my hand dismissed I always wonder? Maybe the cashier doubles as a psychic palm reader and saw misfortune in my future. Taken aghast, the clerk accidentally dropped the coins onto the counter and is too speechless over my bad karma to apologize.
I'm reminded of one particular place where the change on the counter scenario happened frequently. It was a lunch spot near my last employment. They had amazing pita sandwiches, which kept me coming back. After getting my hummus pita, I'd sidestep to the cashier, hand her my money, then stand there with an open palm.
*CA-CHINK*, *CA-CHINK*. My hand was invisible.
How could she not see that by cupping my palm, I magically morphed into a change-holding vessel? Instead, heads & tales stared up at me from the glass counter. My brain went to Def-Con 1. If I had any psionic ability, my mind would've flung the cashier backwards into the dressing table, followed by a cool one-liner: "Keep the change!"
It gets worse.
For this particular glass counter, I couldn't sweep the change into my hand. There was a metallic strip at the edge of the counter with a lip that stopped all coins. I could zamboni-palm the change to the edge, but that's it. I'm forced to pluck each coin, one by one, off a sheer, smooth surface with my thick digits.
And as a guy with no elongated nails, this is a trying task.
I considered wrapping my hand with masking tape in reverse so that I could speed up this process. Or bringing a magnet. Instead, I meticulously try to retrieve each individual coin while the line behind me backs up, waiting to pay for their food and be victimized by the change-dropping cashier.
Why did I keep going back? Probably so I could write this story.
*CA-CHINK*, *CA-CHINK*. My hand was invisible.
How could she not see that by cupping my palm, I magically morphed into a change-holding vessel? Instead, heads & tales stared up at me from the glass counter. My brain went to Def-Con 1. If I had any psionic ability, my mind would've flung the cashier backwards into the dressing table, followed by a cool one-liner: "Keep the change!"
It gets worse.
For this particular glass counter, I couldn't sweep the change into my hand. There was a metallic strip at the edge of the counter with a lip that stopped all coins. I could zamboni-palm the change to the edge, but that's it. I'm forced to pluck each coin, one by one, off a sheer, smooth surface with my thick digits.
And as a guy with no elongated nails, this is a trying task.
I considered wrapping my hand with masking tape in reverse so that I could speed up this process. Or bringing a magnet. Instead, I meticulously try to retrieve each individual coin while the line behind me backs up, waiting to pay for their food and be victimized by the change-dropping cashier.
Why did I keep going back? Probably so I could write this story.
