Note: This article is an addendum to Nastay Monay. If you have not read that litany of cash crimes click here Ghetto Grocer #1

This past Saturday morning I received a call from Miss Ezz:

“Do you have a minute?”

“Good, I just have to tell someone who cares—and you care because it will get you a story—about what a crappy day I’m having.

“I come into work this morning and all of the tills are piled up in the cash room. On top of the top till, is a plastic shopping bag wrapped in a paper towel. Stuck to the paper towel is a post-it note which has scrawled in magic marker, ‘poopy money’ ‘handle with gloves.’”

“Yes with a Y. These girls can’t put two vowels together unless they're trying to figure out how to misspell their newborn baby’s name!”

“I almost punched out and went home. I’ve never done that, never been tempted in forty years in retail food.”

“I peeked into the bag. There is a hundred dollar bill and a twenty. They are crinkled up, like it was sweat pants pocket money. There is a lot of drug money in this neighborhood, lots of cash before and after stamps and EBT cash hit. You can see the smeared shit on the bills through the bag. You can smell it from three feet away.”

“At first I was really upset that this cashier accepted money in this condition. Then it occurred to me that the customer most likely did not say, ‘Here, I just wiped my ass with this so you might want to wear gloves!’ They probably found out the hard way. Ooo this makes you so mad.

“I asked the assistant manager what he thought and he just walked away—another man with no balls, incapable of making a decision. His Boss is on vacation and he certainly is not going to accept any shit rolling up hill.

“Here is the plan. I have gloves and tweezers. But even if I can get it flattened out I cannot run this through the Cashnet machine. I will place this money in an envelope, place that in a zip lock back, put that in a cash pouch, and attach a note for the bank indicating that there is fecal contaminated money within.”

I got off the bus after Miss Ezz returned to her grim duties and hit the ATM machine. One of the twenties had been half-soaked in blood, which had thankfully dried, which made me think of Miss Ezz. I stepped away from the ATM and called her voice mail to leave a bloody money message. Then I heard a squeal as the steel-framed glass door began to fall on a lady customer after slipping its pins. I held the door until another man and I could get one pin back in. the woman managing the bank then placed a very large ‘Do Not Use’ sign on the door with an arrow pointing to the twin door. I said, “Miss, I managed a supermarket in this town for four years. And I have to tell you, that based on the local functional literacy rate, only one in three customers will take heed of the sign.”

She looked at me somewhat taken aback, and then rushed inside to get a chair to use as a barricade. One thing you can say about the ghetto is that there are few uneventful days.