Funny money

Recently, I came into possession of a piece of Molvanian paper currency (1 strubl), and swallowing hard, I went into the local Bank of America to effect an exchange. Because this is a pleasant little town, the teller was not the usual nasty BofA employee, but she couldn't help me, because this is pleasant little town, and no one goes to, or has ever heard of, Molvania. She suggested that I visit The City, a large metropolis well known for its parades and exhibitions.

After a long ride over two toll bridges and through the hoods, I arrived at the Molvanian consulate, a cramped office located upstairs over a tattoo parlor, or a head shop, or a knife emporium, or all of the above. . . I tried not to look.

Amidst a stifling cloud of thick Molvanian cigar smoke, I discovered Simun, the chief consul, who was named for the patron saint of poverty. It turns out he himself has no need for currency, because, of course, he is a volunteer, and his sole reward is being allowed to live in the United States. I believe he sleeps in the back room, and hunts and forages in the adjacent spacious, world famous park.

Simun directed me to a small bank in a nearby alley, whose name was written in a script I don't read, but they welcomed my strubl, valued at 18 cents less the obligatory 10% fee, and they gave me $.16 American.

On my way back to the bus station, I mused that you can't buy anything for 16 cents. You might find a bag of items, one of which may be worth that amount, but they aren't sold separately. Near the 'hound station, I tossed one dime, one nickel and a penny into a Salvation Army bucket. It made me feel good, but not a lot.