I was at the grocery store buying a couple of tall-boys.
$6.48, the cashier said.
I pulled out my wallet and started flipping through my bills. I had just gotten paid and I had more money than usual.
I was peeling back the bills trying to find a five. I had a bunch of twenties, but I didn't want to use a twenty, because I don't like small bills and change.
I usually organize my money. I'll put the twenties on the bottom and the ones on top and the tens and fives in between. The president's heads have to face the same direction, but I hadn't the time to organize, so there I was searching for a small bill. I was peeling back the bills as quickly as possible so not to hold up the line, when it occurred to me that it felt good to have a wad of bills and for a split second I fell in love with my money and started to show it off to the cashier. That's when one of the twenties pulled between my fingers and ripped right in half while I was flipping it. I felt dumb after that. I was holding half a twenty.
"Oh man, I ripped a twenty," I told the cashier.
"Just take it the bank," he said.
For some reason it really bothered me that I ripped a twenty in half. I couldn't stop thinking about, as if somehow I had cheated myself out of some money.
