I swung through Dairy Queen the other day with the intention of rewarding myself for . . . existing. The total for my small chocolate extreme blizzard came to $5.34. I fished out a five-dollar bill, a quarter, and a dime. It wasn’t worth fishing out a quarter, a nickel, and four pennies, even though I knew that with the penny retired, I would get shortchanged by $.01. I rolled up to the window, deposited my coins in the cashier’s hand, and waited for my blizzard.

“It’s $5.34,” she said.

I gave her a “look.” Many young people today don’t understand basic math. “Yes. I gave you thirty-FIVE cents,” I pointed out. I wanted to add, “I’m generously letting you keep the penny you technically owe me.”

I’m not sure what to think about the new accounting system businesses have implemented since the beloved penny has been kicked to the curb. The first time I received a nickel back in change instead of three pennies, I felt like I’d won the lottery. Hah! I purchased my item for two whole cents less! Somehow, I felt like I’d beaten the system. Plus, I could now give someone my “two-cents’ worth.”

But the first time I got cheated out of my two cents change, I felt robbed. How dare the establishment take advantage of me by rounding up what I owed? If the clerk does this transaction 1000 times over the course of the day, that’s . . . well, a lot of money. Over time, I’ll bet someone could retire on the number of pennies the business actually steals from customers.

The cash register has now become an emotional roller coaster for me, depending on whether I gain or lose two cents. I walk away thinking, “This is how it starts. First, they take the pennies. Then they come for the nickels.” Of course, the problem is that I never know which version of me will show up at the register. Will I be the victim of rounding injustice today? Or will I be the beneficiary of retail generosity?

The truth is, pennies have trained us poorly for this new world of rounding. We spent our whole lives being told, “A penny saved is a penny earned.” And now the system has quietly responded, “Actually, we don’t do pennies anymore. Good luck.” So, I find myself in this strange financial limbo where I am either being slowly robbed in micro-increments or occasionally rewarded for no discernible reason. And I can’t tell which is worse: losing three cents or feeling excited about gaining two.

To me, the phasing out of the penny is rather sad. Yes, I know it costs more than a penny to make a penny, and the government is literally losing money to make money, but pennies have been faithful little companions my entire life. They’re in the bottom of my purse, where they gather with old receipts, lip balm without a cap, and ballpoint pens I can never find. They’re in my change jars, multiplying like little metallic rabbits, which accumulate until they weigh about as much as a bowling ball. So what if it takes me an hour to roll $4.50 cents worth of pennies, not counting the time I spend fishing through the couch cushions to find four pennies to make up my fifty-cent roll. $4.50 will buy you . . . okay, not much in today’s economy. But I’m old enough to remember real “penny” candy. So, it’s difficult for me to just dismiss my little copper friends—okay, my little 2.5% copper-plated zinc friends—as if they were worthless. Even if they basically are.

What’s going to happen to all those penny-press machines at tourist attractions? The ones where you deposit a penny and fifty cents, crank a handle, and receive a flattened souvenir worth . . . well, probably not even one cent, since the penny won’t fit in any slot anymore. I have a whole collection of elongated pennies with pictures I can’t identify from vacations I barely remember. And what will people throw into wishing wells? And how will children ever learn math without having to count seventeen pennies?

Back to Dairy Queen. “You gave me thirty-five cents, ma’am,” the cashier said.

I flattened my lips. “Yes, I know.” What was her problem? Did I need to take back the nickel and root around in my wallet for four pennies so I didn’t confuse her by making her add one cent?

“It’s FIVE DOLLARS and thirty-four cents,” she said.

I looked over to my cup holder, where my five-dollar bill rested. Oh! I sheepishly handed it over, let her keep the extra penny, and drove off with my blizzard.

I didn’t even want her thoughts for that extra penny.

What are your thoughts on the retirement of the penny? I won’t send you a penny, but I’d love to hear your thoughts. Send me your comments.