The Parable of Ten Pesos
I went to this small but popular restaurant yesterday morning and ordered some takeout. Food cost 290 pesos, I handed the cashier three hundred pesos and she gave me my change in the form of two coins (which I assumed were two five-peso coins). From there, I went to a milk tea shop and ordered two cups. Price is 260, I handed the store attendant five-hundred peso bill. Off she went to the store to get the milk tea (their store really is inside this huge building but the virus forced them to decide to just take orders from outside the building and not allow customers inside their store).
After a few minutes, she returned to hand me the cups and the change—250 pesos. She said she miscalculated the price and overcharged me with ten pesos, but she realized it in time.
When I went home, as I was emptying the pockets of my shorts, I realized that the two coins that I got as my change from the restaurant, which I assumed to be five-peso coins, were just two one-peso coins. Did the restaurant dupe me? But it’s just ten pesos. What could ten pesos—or eight pesos since they gave me two pesos, to be exact— really buy these days?
Current jeepney fare is nine pesos, so add a peso and it can take you someplace, although it can’t bring you back. But why go back? The place where you’ve been has given you much heartache and there’s no one waiting for you there. So why not let that eight pesos change your life forever and stay in that place and start a new life there?
Well, the cashier handing me two one-peso coins is probably
just an honest mistake since the one-peso coin and five-peso coin (before they
made another design) really look similar. But she should be careful next time, eight pesos can change a life dramatically.
But still, I got a bit disheartened because I have this piggy bank where I put my extra five peso and ten peso coins—and it missed two five-peso coins today. And everyone knows that coins are the only happiness of a piggy bank.
Heartaches really come in all shapes and sizes.
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