A Fair Trade?

I've been thinking a lot about money in exchange for things-mainly because I never have any because I like to exchange my coins for gallons of espresso/milk/chocolate combinations-commonly referred to as a mocha. But the whole process of cash for stuff is so complicated, especially with the penny.  I mean come on USA! The only thing time a penny ever brings me joy is when I go to the St. Louis Zoo and they smash penny and put a picture of a gorilla on it. But even then, I have to dig around for TWO whole quarters to pay the machine to turn my penny into something better. What the frigging-frack is the penny still hanging around for?!  Anyway, I digress, back to mulah.  I suggest we go back to a simpler time of bartering. You know like I'll give you some bread for this potatoe.  However, I am NOT suggesting the feudal system which was more like "Here I'll give you this land for a your whole life of underpaid labor and food."   At one point in every individuals life they experienced first hand the joy of the bartering system.

I mean if you want to see that system in it's prime, watch two kids under the age of 8 with literally anything in their hands.

"Hey, I'll trade you this leaf and my right shoe for that marble."
"Okay!"

Seriously, that's a trade that I saw go down once.  But I also have some experience with bartering.  There is one in particular that really stood out.

When I was about seven or eight, I was cruising the streets of my neighborhood in a top-of-the-line candy red tricycle.  This bike was probably built for a four or five year old and brakes were non-existent but With my knee slightly grazing the edge of the handlebars everytime I propelled myself forward...I wasn't really worried about stopping anyway.

Anyway, I used to pull that sucker out in the morning time like I had someplace to be and throw a creepy rag doll on the small back step and we'd be off.  We only had two options.  A) ride to the street corner where there was a pretty awesome fire hydrant and a stop sign-check out the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood and ride back roughly 321 per day.  B).  Ride around my back yard in circles.  Do you know how hard it is to ride a tricycle that you are pushing about 10pds over the weight limit in grass?! Impossible.  B, as a result, was never chosen.

Now, I had received a pink and purple bike with stickers you can put on yourself a year before but my mom never put the training wheels on, so that was NOT going to happen.   I was the weird kid who accidentally swallowed a quarter when trying to hide it from my mom and my grandma FREAKED out and sent me to the emergency room mumbling about how she "Hoped I would make it" as I walked to the car. Basically, with my accident-prone lifestyle and over-reactive family there was no way I was getting on that two wheel trap of death.  

But one day, my grandma's friend and local preacher came over and he brought his son over.  So, they were all chatting and this kid was eyeing my tricycle.  It was hard not to, that candy red paint called to the children like the pied-piper of the Midwest. So, as the good  child I was I let him ride around a couple of times.  Watching other kids rid on your tricycle is sort of like hearing about other people's vacations. It sucks.  At first you think it might be interesting, but you secretly just wish it was you.  So I eventually wandered into the house to watch some powerangers and try to sneak a push-pop.  This is when the whole thing went down.  

As I was enjoying my afternoon show, my grandma strolls in like a mob boss and say "Brittney, I have a proposition for you.  I want you to give your tricycle to the preachers son and bring respect to our family" (Okay maybe those aren't the exact words but the memory has gotten a little foggy over the years.)

So, I simply say "No! Come on grandma, I need that tricycle to do stuff!" 

And then my grandma pulls out the big guns.  She say's the five words that brought me to my knees, broke down any opposition I had and ultimately defeated me.  Those words were: "I'll give you a doughnut."

A doughnut. One doughnut. In case you think this word has been lost in translation please look below for the well crafted flow chart.

This is a doughnut.  For anyone who had an absurd amount of faith in me and thought the word doughnut was street slang for money or season passes to six flags, no such luck.  It wasn't even a FANCY doughnut. Just a regular, glazed , basic doughnut.








This shinny red fella is a tricycle. So, there really isn't much to say about this guy-I'm pretty sure there is no street translation for tricycle. (DISCLAIMER: Do NOT type tricycle in to urban dictionary to discover if there is in fact an alternative definition .)


So, back to this trade.  Obviously, I did in fact give my tricycle away for a glazed doughnut. This situation taught me a few things about myself:

1) I don't understand trade values at all.  You know that great metaphor of learning to fish or getting a bag of fish.  I would be the person who takes just one fish if it was ready to eat and trade a boat for it.
           a. I also might not really completely understand metaphors-or that one at least.

2) I'm not really concerned with long term concequences.  Do you know how much slower it was to get to my street corner on foot.  Me and that creepy rag doll would solomly drag ourselves to the corner and I swear she used to look at me accusingly.  Those little button eyes screamed "ONE DONUT? REALLY!?!"

3) Maybe my grandma though I was too big and looked ridiculous on that little tricycle but do you have any idea how ridiculous I looked after I traded it for one regular glazed donut? Come on! This leads me to believe my grandma hated me...not really... but maybe.

4) Patience is a virtue I will never posses. The best (and worst) part about this story is that it wasn't like I did not already have a doughnut that day.  In fact, my Grandma and I got up and went to Dunkin Donuts and bought a dozen doughnuts.  Before this whole situation went down, I was already guaranteed SIX DOUGHNUTS!

Luckily, it's been roughly 16 years since then and I've acquired a few more critical thinking skills but this situation taught me something about myself.  I would love to say that situation taught me a sea of knowledge about trading things and the value of some items over others but honestly I'd probably trade a lot of things for a donut right now. The one thing I did learn is that remembering stories like these make others laugh and me questions my grandmothers parenting skills.  But that's what life is all about really.

Anyways, thanks for checking out my post.  I will be going back through my life and picking out other painful memories to share but until then don't let your friends trade things for doughnuts.

Ps. I'm dedicating this post to Willie H.  Despite my very long breaks between posts, he is really supporting me sharing my ridiculous life via blog. Haha thanks W.