Tunesday : Money

Money

(Lennon-McCartney) Performed by The Beatles

The best things in life are free
But you can keep them for the birds and bees
Now give me money
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
(That's what I want)

You're lovin' gives me a thrill
But you're lovin' don't pay my bills
Now give me money
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
(That's what I want)

Money don't get everything, it's true
What it don't get, I can't use
Now give me money
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
(That's what I want)

Money don't get everything, it's true
What it don't get, I can't use
Now give me money
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
(That's what I want)

Well now give me money
(That's what I want)
A whole lotta money
(That's what I want)
Whoa yeah, I wanna be free
(That's what I want)
Oh, a lotta money
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
(That's what I want)

Well now give me money
(That's what I want)
Whole lotta money
(That's what I want)
Whoa yeah, you know I need money
(That's what I want)
Now, give me money
(That's what I want)
That's what I want
(That's what I want)
That's what I want

Here's another dumb story I'm going to tell on myself:

When I was twelve, near the end of grade seven, the owner of the local variety store asked me if I'd like to work there. I felt uncomfortable about the offer because I knew that I was oddly young and certainly unqualified for such a job, but when I told my mother about it, she figured it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

On my first day, this store owner said, "Ah, there you are. And here's someone who's happy to see you." And he gestured to his son Donny, one of my classmates from school. Donny looked really awkward and I started to think, was I given this job to get me closer to Donny who never even talks to me at school?? Was this his Dad's idea or his? I felt oddly pimped out, but even if that was the case, I was stuck with the job for now.

As it turned out, I never actually worked with Donny, even though it was a family-run store. I was there pretty much to assist either his older brother or sister as they rang through the customers; assisting primarily by fetching cigarettes. There were probably more than twenty brands and every type came in small or large (20 or 25 per pack), regular or king-sized, and some odd brands had a 100mm option; brands like Players came in light, ultra light, and filter; and brands like Craven A or Benson & Hedges had a menthol option. It took a little while to learn the lingo and make grabbing the right packs automatic, but the challenge made the time fly. There was an after-dinner rush every night and I would be kept hopping grabbing down the packs of smokes, and when the stacks would run low, it was my job to open cartons and fill them up. The milk at this store was sold in 4l plastic jugs (and we would collect the empty jugs from customers because there was a deposit on them), and as the cooler was directly behind us at the cash, it would also be my job, after the rush, to go back in the cooler and fill up the racks from milk crates, putting the empty jugs into the now empty crates. Sometimes I would be given a box of items to put on the shelves out in the store -- and the rare times I was allowed to use the price sticker gun was the most fun I ever had -- but for the most part, standing behind the counter and helping the big brother or sister was my whole job.

What was terrible about this job was that neither the older brother or sister would talk to me outside of asking for things. So if there were no customers in the store it would be just the two of us, and we would stand there silently, awkwardly, and the longer this went on -- for days, then weeks and months -- the more entrenched the never-talking-together became. I grew to loathe going to work.

Every week, the Dad-owner would hand me a pay packet in a small manilla envelope, all cash, down to the penny. Of course, this was the best part of this or any job. But having cash money every week also made me a target: this was also the period of my big brother's juvenile delinquency and he would often strongarm my money out of me. I remember once, when I had hidden my pay, Ken came in my room and when I wouldn't hand over my money, he took a music box off my dresser and threw it on the floor. This was just after Christmas, and even though at 13 I was maybe too old for a ceramic skater on a windup music box base, when I opened it my mother said that it was something she had wanted at my age. When I later tried to complain about Ken breaking it -- surely this would be personal enough to Mum for her to intervene on my behalf -- all my mother could do was throw up her hands, once against powerless against my brother's acting out. So, yeah, even the money wasn't exactly worth it.

I remember I was working the evening of Dec. 8th, 1980, and it was over the radio at the store that I heard about the assassination of John Lennon. Of course I was stunned (I don't think I knew Lennon had actually died until the next day) but I was there to do a job and I fetched the cigarettes and restocked the milk and was ignored by Donny's big sister, wanting to be anywhere else in the world just then.

So I pretty much hated this job -- the weirdness about Donny and his father, the uncomfortable silence when there were no customers, losing my wages to a brother with reefer madness, the bad connection to John Lennon's death -- but it doesn't really explain what happened next.

Sometime the next spring, when I was back in the cooler to restock the milk, I wiggled a Cadbury's Fruit and Nut chocolate bar out of an unopened carton, ate it, and shoved the wrapper into an empty milk jug. I can't explain what possessed me: I had money, I wasn't a particular fan of that candy, and I didn't even try very hard to not get caught (I certainly could have at least put the wrapper in my pocket). Of course I was found out, but instead of confronting me, Donny's mother and his sister acted out a little scene in front of me with the Mom describing what "someone" had done and saying that if the money for it was put on the counter, no questions asked, all would be fine. That was way more generous than I deserved, but I stared off into space blankly, and when no repayment appeared on the counter, a week later Donny's Dad had to tell me, with regret, that the store wasn't busy enough to justify my employment anymore (also more generous than I deserved). That was the story I told my mother for why I was let go, and as the job had appeared so mysteriously in the first place, my sudden unemployment was also met with a shrug.

I can't justify what I did and I understand that it somewhat explains Ken's actions, too: something about being a kid leads to impulsive behaviour; to not connecting actions with consequences; even when you know better. I was relieved to have lost that job, but I can't claim to have knowingly plotted my downfall. And, yes, this was the same Donny and the same store that I wrote about before -- an event that happened a couple months after I was let go -- so I suppose this is a story about how we were all criminals in the end. But I can't really explain what caused any of it, and that leads me to my ultimate question: were we products of a particular time and place? Or have my own perfect daughters also been liars, thugs, and thieves and they were just never caught?