Mom on the Run: A cashier’s nightmare come true

Lianne Wilkens/Columnist
Published: July 20, 2008

I wait for a minute outside the bank drive-through, collecting my ID and endorsing the back of the check. It's my son's big, dog-sitting paycheck, long planned to blow on a new cell phone, and tonight's the night.

At the drive-through dock I put the check and my ID into the box, there's a big whoosh and a rattle, and the teller greets us from her window. "Cash it?" "Yes, please." "Any particular denomination?" Before I can answer, my 13-year-old leans over and yells: "Can I have it all in ones?"

"No!" I cry before she starts counting.

"But, Mom!" he wails.

"I can do ones," the teller offers, then sits back while we battle it out. Finally my son and I agree: "One hundred in ones, and the rest in tens." It's a true compromise, neither of us is happy, and I'm sure I should have refused altogether. I'm worried about the attention that wad of money will get, plus I think the bank should save the ones for businesses. But then again, it's the most money my son has ever had and he wants to feel loaded. So I compromise: one hundred dollars in ones.

When the gray box lands again I lift out the bulging envelope. "Wow!" my son breathes as he cradles the stack of crinkled bills. "Wowwww!" My son's whisper is awed, reverent.

We pull over to count his money and take some pictures: my son with the money fanned out, my son unable to refold his wallet, my son pointing, grinning, at the wad of cash.

"This is so cool," he tells me. "I don't know why you didn't want to do this."

I make him hide the wallet under the seat when we make a quick run into the grocery store. It's too thick for my full glove compartment, and I refuse to carry that much cash around. It's only ones, but a thief wouldn't know that until after my purse was stolen.

Before we go into the phone store, we use a piece of paper to cover the open wallet in my handbag. Inside, I grip the purse tightly with my elbow as my son tours the store. Finally he commits, and asks for the cell phone he researched and chose weeks ago.
Our sales rep disappears into the back and returns minutes later with a new phone in a box. We all gather around the cash register, and, "That will be $285.63," he says, shaking open a shopping bag.

I unclasp my purse and hand my son his bulging wallet. He grins, extracts the ones, and thunks them on the counter.

"One hundred bucks!" he proclaims proudly, then prepares to count out the rest in larger bills.

"Oh, God," the clerk says, wiping his face with his hands. "What am I going to do with that? John!" He crosses the store to confer with the manager, pointing back at the pile of cash.

My son's face goes pale.

"I can use it, right? I mean, it's still money!"

Then he whiffs the bills again, and he smiles.

"And it's so cool!"

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at .