The cashiers at our store are required to swipe each bill of $10 or higher with a special counterfeit detection pen. If the bill is real, the pen mark will be light-to-dark yellow. If it’s fake, the mark will be black; almost like a permanent marker. It’s kind of a pain in the ass, and makes the process of cashing out a customer that much longer, but it’s what we’re supposed to do, so we do it.
Yesterday, a group of hunters from Connecticut came into the store to buy hunting supplies (Bud Light, Jack Daniels, chips…) and paid with a hundred dollar bill. As per company policy, I swiped it with my trusty pen. This elicited a chorus of hearty chuckles.
“What’s so funny?”
“That pen,” said Hunter #1. “As if you’d find any counterfeit bills up here.” Then he laughed some more.
You could say that this comment left me feeling rather indignant. In fact, you could say that it pissed me off. Who did these ignorant pinheads think they were, coming up here, polluting our fair state with their ugly, gas-guzzling Hummer, hunting our deer, and insulting us like that? Did they think Mainers don’t have the know-how to fashion realistic facsimiles of legal tender? Did they think we we’re without computers and printers and ink and internet access? Did they think we have no brains at all?
I felt it necessary to put these Mighty Men of Arrow and Bow in their places.
“I’ll have you know,” I began, drawing myself up to my full five foot three inches and giving him an icy stare, “that Maine sees LOTS of counterfeit bills. Lots! We’ve gotten some in this very store! In fact, last month the cops raided a house just a few miles down the road that turned out to belong to the head of a counterfeiting ring!” Then I gave him a curt nod that said So There! and tossed him his change.
Just imagine my reaction if they had scoffed at our citizens’ newfound commitment to having an increased share in the opiate trade…