On my way home from work last night, I stopped by a grocery store to pick up a few items. With my shopping done, the check-out counter I picked was ideal: the line consisted of only a pair of really pretty blonde-haired college-aged girls with just (it appeared) a few items left to be checked out. I didn't realize, of course, that they had bought so much crap that the cashier was running ragged trying to scan and also bag all of it to keep his counter from stacking up. The poor guy was starting to run out of gas. I wasn't really in any hurry, as I was fully enjoying the sight of these very well-designed young ladies, so it took me longer than usual to slip into my slightly-annoyed-with-our-progress-here mode.
However, slip I did. Not really all that much, but I was interested in seeing their huge purchase be completed and moved out of my way. After all, these girls' perfect faces and sleek, manhandlable little bodies with long, luxurious, tuggable heads of hair weren't doing me any good. So, when the shorter of the two little chick-a-dees hands over her money to the poor cashier guy, my heart sank as he began to study ---really study--- the $100 bill she had given him. For a good minute, he held it up to the light and in different positions and, finally, told my imaginary lover (is "object of my erection" too crass?) that the bill was a phoney.
"Please don't be telling me that. I just got that from my bank this morning."
At this point, I butted in and asked the cashier if he was looking for the security thread. He nodded, then got on the horn and called out for his manager.
I noticed from a distance that the bill was pre-1996 (the year of the great makeover) and so I asked the girl what year was printed on the bill.
At that, and without any good reason (other than to appear knowledgeable to this exquisite pair of Tootsie Roll Pops), I casually offered up AN ABSOLUTE LIE:
"Nineteen seventy-five? They didn't start putting security threads into hundreds until the Carter Administration."
Just like that. As matter-of-factly as giving my name, rank, and serial number. I said it with such ease and conviction that the poor cashier's manager, who had shown up to help, nodded his assent. "Yeah, that's a good bill."
"You're so smart," the one girl said to me. I just shrugged, making sure not to make eye contact with my conscience, who was gazing at me with a contempt for balls.
"THE CARTER ADMINISTRATION?! Where the fuck did you get the Carter Administration?"
Anyhow, by the time I had finished up with my own business and was on my way to my car, it started to occur to me that I might just have facilitated a major theft. Then again, I was even more certain that I had done something to move things along and prevent a whole bunch of register-voiding on my time. Still, the whole way home, there was but one question on my mind:
"When did they start putting security threads in our hundreds?"