Dime, Sir?! | Creative Nonfiction

"Do you have a dime, sir?!"

My mother embarrassed me once in WalMart when she was paying at a self-checkout.

She handed me a dollar for some reason, then forgot I was holding it. The computer read that she still owed ten cents. Empty-handed, my mother yelled at an innocent civilian passing by. She had asked for a dime, but because she scared the man so much, he quickly pulled out a quarter and handed it to her. He made haste for the exit.

Beet-cheeked, I stood holding a crisp bill out towards my mother. She turned around and still didn't notice the dollar. The cashier and her coworker's eyes lingered on us, and I could feel the intensity of their judgment in my veins.

My mother finally finished paying, still talking her head off, loud as can be, to me. She suddenly turned away from me and the dollar bill and made for a quick escape, as if she was trying to catch up with that civilian she harassed moments before.

I hurried after my her, and I managed to meet the gaze of the critical kiosk lady; I mouthed a sorry to her. I then explained to my mother we still had the Washington. She didn't understand the significance, and she told me to just keep it.

My mother must have been content with her fifteen cents.