Posted by: Laura A. H. Elliott | February 6, 2011

Answer: The last time math was my friend

New Mexico

Image by Wolfgang Staudt via Flickr

My dad manufactures toilet seat protectors. He’s obsessed about the thinness of the paper, how to fold it the right way so when people grab one it’s ready to go and cutting the center out just right so it makes sense from a profit standpoint and makes customers happy. There’s a lot of math that goes into those things just so people can well, you-know disease free. I mean it’s an industry that never existed in the 60s, 70s, 80s or even the 90s. It’s a New Millenium Industry. People make fortunes killing germs that have always been around.

Which leads me to the last time math was my friend. I was somewhere between California and New Mexico and I had to make a break from a, let’s say venue, where the po-po were putting two-and-two together and I discovered I was broke. And as I was on the run and the first place I came across was a Shell station, I bolted myself inside the bathroom. I leaned up against the white tile wall trying to catch my breath, trying to figure out what to do. But it turned out I couldn’t think too well with those crazy bright lights blaring and those seat protectors staring. All I could think to do was rifle through my pockets. Which sounds easy but I had tons of them. It’s the first thing you do on the road–acquire pockets. But that’s another story.

Anyway, I’m rifling and in the lowest pocket of my cargo pants, I find it. A five dollar bill. It was like finding a small bottle of Magie Noir. Money and perfume was all I dreamed about once I’d scored my ride which I had to abandon. So I peeked outside the door and when the coast was clear I walked to the Stop & Go and put my $5 down on a $1 half gallon of water, which was so over-the-top expensive but investing twenty percent of my fortune on water was what I had to do as I had the rest of the desert to cross. And just as a police car pulled into the station, that ex-con behind the counter made my change, counting the bills as he placed them in my hand, “That’s five, six, seven, eight, and nine.”

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