My two cents worth ... plus 18

It was 1:30 p.m., and way past my lunch hour, but I had not managed to eat. I had been talking too much. Time had gotten away from me.

So I searched the street for a fast-food restaurant. Something simple. Something quick. Something …er, nutritious?

There it was. Backyard Burgers. I love their burgers but, more than that, I loved their blackened chicken sandwich.

I coasted to the drive-thru. Yes, m’am. I’ll have a No. 3 with a Coke.

I looked down at the drink menu. They only served Pepsi. Uggghhhh. OK, make that a Pepsi.

The combo was $5.89, plus tax.

That’ll be $6.30, sir. Please drive to the second window.

I looked in my wallet. There was a $1 bill. Oops! Where did that $5 bill go?

I found it. It had slipped into the “hidden compartment” at the back of the billfold.

That added up to $6. Now, how much change do I have in my pockets?

Left pocket. Ballpoint pen and a piece of paper with a telephone number scribbled on it. No nickels, dimes or quarters.

Right pocket. Roll of breath mints. Good for getting rid of French fry breath but no help paying for the meal.

Ah, I remembered the ash tray. I don’t smoke, so I use my ash tray for spare change. It has saved me on many occasions.

I reached into the tray with four fingers and pulled out nothing but copper.

What? Pennies?

No George Washington noses. No side profiles of Dwight D. Eisenhower. No Thomas Jefferson ponytails.

Nothing but a bunch of Abraham Lincolns.

Actually, I did manage to find a dime that had fallen on the floorboard. That left me to come up with 20 cents.

It was time for me to pull up to the window and pay. I hastily counted out 20 pennies.

I gave her the $5 bill and the $1 bill.

“Here is the rest,’’ I said, waiting down her palm with copper. “Sorry about the pennies.’’

She giggled. “No problem,’’ she said.

But I’m sure they were talking about me after I left. Yes, I'm almost certain they were laughing about the poor guy with all the pennies.