Hut, hut, hut. First they hire ya', then they fire ya', then by golly, I quit.

I am tired of being excoriated for my inability to count change in my head!

I can’t count change. Cannot do it. Correction: I can count change very easily I have a working cash register or calculator. I can’t do it off the top of my head.

My 11^th grade math teacher told me that he’d pass me with a “D” if I didn’t take math as a senior. In college, Professor Sagan (I won’t kick you out of my bed for eating crackers) allowed me to do extra credit and I memorized the formulas.

“Understand them,” he would emphatically say.

“I can memorize them,” I said. I got A’s in both classes because I worked my ass off.

5 B’s in college. Two my freshman year and two when I had mono. Jazz dance was one of my freshman B’s. I can’t do a fucking pirouette! I tried and practiced in my dorm room. Nope, can’t do it. At St. Mary’s we didn’t pick our freshman classes, we were put in them, hence Jazz Dance and World and Food (a history/nutrition class for nutrition majors). The one nun who taught was racist against white people, she herself being white. She also told me that I was wrong about Alzheimer’s—people get Alzheimer’s because they don’t use their brains. Yup. Oh, and one B my senior year because my partner was a psychopath. We did a film together and I provided my hunting knife as a prop. She actually stabbed the actor for real. Yeah.

I digress.

$16.95 + 6.95 +52.95 + 7.25% tax= whatever my calculator says it is. Not for boss lady. She does it in her head. Bing, bang, boom. While she is playing Euclid in her head, she is also writing out a receipt, and wrapping the gift/purchase in the appropriate box and bag of which there are many. Boss Lady has been doing this all her life. I admire Boss Lady. Bravo. I am grateful for the job. So grateful.

Get a working cash register! Or let me use a calculator! Other choices: give me time to get a rhythm down, keep me away from the counter, fire me. Her choice.

She and a customer, Belinda, were talking about how so few people can count change anymore…huge eye roll and superior sigh included…young people just don’t think today. They were taught right in school. I chimed in that I did have seven years of college. I can do grades by hand—using a calculator. But not change.

What the fuck?

I am not a fucking Millennial who is tied to her phone and tablet and feels the “Bern.” I remember rotary phones and typewriters. I remember before: the internet, cable, cell phones, microwaves, remotes, answering machines, video games, the 24 news cycle. I remember cassette tapes, TV antennas, pay phones, calling cards, ringing the phone twice when you got home and hanging up to let your family know you were home without paying the long distance fee, busy signals, a pack of cigarettes costing $1.90.

I am in awe of my phone, and iPhone 6. (Cult of Mac!) I can use one 6 inch by 3 inch (not good at measuring) phone for: a phone; a flashlight; an alarm clock; email; internet; games; in-home security, yeah, I can see my house on camera!; GPS; a credit card; a coupon; a calculator; music; newspapers; skyping; TV shows; video recording; stock updates…and oh yeah, it reads my fucking fingerprint. I HAVE A PHONE THAT READS MY FUCKING FINGERPRINT!

I am still fascinated how a fax machine can do its thing. Technology today is barrier breaking.

Yes, I depend on technology. Do not take away my laptop, Kindle, or iPhone—I will be unhappy. Yeah, I play games, but I also keep my life one these machines. It is more efficient. Really. It is. Imagine all that stuff mentioned in the second paragraph above individually fitting into a purse.

I digress.

Forty or so years ago—when Boss lady and Belinda were “young” and being taught correctly—you had to learn to drive a stick. Most people don’t know how to drive stick today. Oh the horror! You used to have to know how to milk a cow, kill a chicken, and make a fire to live. Now you don’t. Oh, the horror! Wait, technology also got rid of polio, chicken pox, and small pox amongst other fatal diseases? Oh, the horror.

Why carry cash that can be stolen when one swipe of a card will work. Cards, if stolen or lost, can be cancelled. And they are way less germy. 17 days germs can live on a dollar bill.  Yeah. Really. Gross.

So, Boss Lady and Belinda, can you put up a working Facebook or web page? Do you know how to use Twitter? Can you DVR a show? Can you find your way wherever using no map or telephone book, but just a phone? Can you find the answer to virtually any question or get any product you need online? I can. Huh. That crazy new technology that will never stick around. Just like the television. The microwave. The indoor bathroom. Touch-tone phones.

Don’t you dare excoriate me for not being able to tell you off the top of my head the change count for $26.32 out of $50. 35.

My New Jersey Grandfather saw transportation go from a horse and buggy to a rocket to the moon. Life moves fast and today faster than ever before. I can’t “thumb text” the way Cinderella (an extra-ordinary 15 year-old I have the honor of knowing). I cannot use snap chat.

She prefers to not use analog clocks. Do people wear watches anymore? Are analog clocks as good as digital? She is not learning how to diagram a sentence or that Russia is the Big Bad. Oh, wait a minute. It is the Big Bad again, along with Iran, Syria—thanks Obama and Hillary—I digress. She is not learning that stuff. (Note: diagramming sentences is really not necessary to being a good writer or reader.)

The world changes. Skill sets for every day living change. I don’t fear being eaten by a wild animal or dying from a UTI. HIV/AIDS is no longer a death sentence.

Let’s embrace change.

Fuck. Did I say that? Yeah, I guess I did.

There is a whole lot of stuff that shouldn’t have changed: morality; values; traditions; cultures; manners; etc. But, there are a whole lot of good changes too.

Like when I have my period, I don’t need to use rags. Thanks Playtex.

I can go one-on-one and win on the educational/academia front with Boss Lady and Belinda. But, that’s not the point. I have skills that she doesn’t have and she has skills I don’t have. Our crosses aren’t the same either. But we both fit into the Body of Christ.

I’m not sure where or why I do—but God had his chance and threw me back—so any fuck-ups I do from now on are on him.

Just let me using a mother-fucking calculator.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: Shame on you Kindle! Shame, shame, shame! You sold me on e-books. You had May-Day. You were Mac-esque in your OS. Then you fucking break two weeks after warranty and now you are fully Android-based. Shame on you. And shame on you for out-sourcing jobs to people in countries where English is not their first or even second language.

PPS: Remember the water and my toes? The water didn't freak out. But don't mess with my coffee and cigarette time or you will find that it works out badly for you.