The Way Things Were (Change, 8)

I never thought of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters as things I wanted to get rid of.  I liked the noise they made in my dad's pocket,  I liked stacking, organizing and counting them and I liked spending them as if they weren't real money, because it meant the bills (real money) were still in my wallet.   So you can imagine the thrill of the euro...a currency that comes with eight coins.  

one cent, two cents, five cents, 10 cents, 20 cents, 50 cents, one euro, two euros

It didn't take long to realize that Italian cashiers fancy the coins, too.  I rarely (if ever) pay for anything in Italy without being asked for something smaller or the right change.  It happened so seldom in the States that when I was asked I knew the cashier was in difficulty and  needed my help because the previous ten customers had also paid with twenties.  And I usually dug through my lint trying to help out.  But every time I'm asked in Italy I say no.  And I say no simply because I'm asked every time.  I don't pretend to check my pockets or change purse and I don't feel the need to apologize when I don't come up with anything  (even though I'm lying).  Keeping their cash registers supplied with coins doesn't seem like my responsibility so I simply say no and happily accept the change that comes from my intentional blunder of having a bill too big to buy a gelato.  

My friends seem embarrassed that I don't even do the fake check.  They start searching their bags for the perfect centessimi (cents) to please the disgruntled cashier.  Then I say, "Don't worry, it's no problem.  I don't mind having a pocket full of change," to make the cashier feel like I think she's really just trying to help me out.

The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."