I take great pleasure in the finality of unloading coins from my pockets when I return home. Since college I've quietly judged my progress in life by the growth of the stockpile, watching my coins move like a hermit crab from cup to pasta jar to large, canvas bag. This morning I finally gave up hope of one day swimming in coins like Scrooge McDuck and brought my bag to the bank.

Horrible decision. My bank has no coin-counting machine, so the teller kindly directs me to a basket of empty coin rolls. A nice man even shows me how to count and load coins. Suddenly forced to choose between the indignity of spending my day in a bank lobby and the injustice of Coinstar's 15% surcharge, I grab my 50lb bag and leave in a huff. Outside, I hike past a homeless man selling Spare Change newspapers, frown slightly, and move on.