The Short Change Hustle
Things can get weird fast when you don’t get the right amount of change
I’m not inclined to believe that everyone who short changes you is out to rob you (although some of them most certainly are). Often, people are simply tired, or overworked, or their eyesight isn’t good enough to recognize the coin they are giving you if the light is low. There are also the cases where people simply haven’t had the privilege of being educated in basic mathematics. Don’t scoff, it’s true.
I once witnessed an ice cream salesman on a beach in Mancora who, despite his fifty plus years, had clearly never sat down and memorized what characters went with what numbers. It was interesting to watch as he’d go through a series of stages that culminated in a state of overwhelming panic with every transaction. At first he’d be smiling and charismatic; he was a salesman, building a relationship in order to sell the plastic wrapped ice cream sticks he wheeled around in a cooler on bicycle wheels. Then he’d hand out the product, but already his happiness would start to evaporate in fear of stage three: the payment. When it came time to sum up what was owed, the ice cream man would get sheepish. His smile would change from charming to desperate. It was like he was shrugging his shoulders to say, “please don’t rob me,” because he wasn’t capable of adding up the price of the ice creams or figuring out the correct change. Inevitably he had to turn the transaction over to the customer, even opening up his own little change bag and allowing the client to paw through and take what he needed. I wonder how the guy’s day went when it came time to close the register? Hopefully, at least his boss was honest, because the ice cream man had no recourse if the manager claimed a short count.
It’s always best to have exact change, but one of the quirks of living in Lima, Peru is that breaking large bills can be a nightmare. Small vendors will actually forego sales so as to not use up all their change. If you have a S/. 100 bill, you have to develop a strategy for breaking the bill into something you actually have a hope to spend.
On a Thursday afternoon, I walked into a small cafe called “Mil Encantos” over in the district of La Molina. I was on my way to visit a friend of mine to watch a pre-season football game at his house, but I was two hours early. All I had on me were S/. 100 bills, and I knew I’d need to break them while there was still daylight, or I wouldn’t be able to pay for a taxi home later.
The unwritten rule is that you should spend about S/. 30 if you attempt to pay with a hundred, but I didn’t have the luxury of obeying this custom. Steeling myself up for a protest, I ordered a piece of chocolate cake for S/. 9 and a cup of tea for S/. 5. I handed the lady my hundred and she gestured that I go and sit down.
First came the cake, a delicious, frost covered-sponge cake with chocolate flakes. The tea came next on a big tray that included a cup and a little pot of hot water.
No change.
I wasn’t in any kind of rush, so I decided to eat the cake and kill time. I was about halfway through the generous portion when two things happened simultaneously. The first was that another customer arrived. The second was that the waitress came and put my change on the table, then ran back to attend the customer.
The second the change hit the table, I knew that something was off. My bill was S/. 14, but there were 8 shiny S/. 1 coins sitting on the change tray.
“How did she figure she had to give me S/. 8?” I thought, “It should be S/. 6.”
Confused, I turned my attention to the bills. There was a S/. 20 and four S/. 10 for a total of S/. 60.
By now the server was deep in her conversation with the new customer, which posed another problem. The fact that she’d dropped off the money and run away gave her deniability that the change was incorrect. I could hear the conversation play out in my head.
“Excuse me, the change is wrong.”
“No, it’s correct, you just palmed the extra money when I turned my back.”
I spread the change out on the table and waved at the server.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but you’re short on my change.” I tried not to be impolite, but that’s an impossible statement to make without sounding a little bit like a jerk.
Both the server and the new customer turned to look at me. The customer was a woman in her late forties with wing tipped glasses and frizzy hair. She looked like she wielded some minor and infuriating authority at her workplace which had instilled a hard edge to her eyes. I thought it was odd that she’d swivel to look at me, but I didn’t say anything about it.
“The bill is S/. 14 correct?” I said. “The change should be S/. 86.”
The server came over to the table. I started by giving her two of the S/. 1 coins back. “There,” I said, “now the coins are correct, but you’re still short bills.”
The server took the two coins and went back to the register. A few seconds passed. Eventually I had to wave again. “I’m sorry, but you’re still S/. 20 short.”
The server came back over, and the woman in glasses also turned around and bent over my table to peer down at the bill. To my shock, she reached down to pick up the receipt!
“How much did you pay?” the customer asked in a sharp tone of voice that demanded an answer.
In fact, I almost did answer her before common sense descended upon me and I got haughty instead.
“Excuse me,” I said, “this matter doesn’t concern you.”
The woman looked deeply offended, and just stood there staring at me in judgment like I was the rudest person in the world. Her lips turned into a straight line and her eyes repeated, how dare you, how dare you, how dare you, over and over.
Time slowed and I realized I had to react in order to get things going again. “I’m perfectly capable of handling this situation without your assistance thank you, in fact, you’re just confusing matters.”
The server was now looking from me to the customer in glasses not really comprehending what was going on. The level of tension was absurd. It’s always dangerous to tell a person who thinks they are of a certain social level that their help is unwelcome. The woman stood there with her mouth open like a fish, unmoving. There wouldn’t be any reasoning with her.
“That receipt is my property,” I said, inclining my head to indicate the paper she was still holding, “could you put it back on the table please.”
The woman turned up her nose and shook her head in a way that managed to convey that I was the rudest person in the world, but she put the receipt down. I gestured to the server to look at it.
“S/. 100 minus S/. 14 is S/. 86,” I said. “You’ve only brought me S/. 66, please bring me another S/. 20.”
The server nodded and ran back to the register and quickly returned with S/. 10.
“This is S/. 10. I need another S/. 10.”
“A second ago he said he needed S/. 20,” the woman with glasses muttered under her breath. Somebody chortled in reply. I felt it best to ignore this.
The server came back with the final S/. 10.
“Thank you.”
I pocketed the money and waited for the sphere of tension that had been coalescing around me to dissipate. The woman in glasses finished her order and took her items away, making an overt show of not looking at me on her way out the door.
I looked at my watch, I still had an hour to kill before the game. I went back to attempt to enjoy the rest of my chocolate cake.
The server stood behind the counter working furiously on her calculator. She kept typing numbers into it again and again. After a little while, she looked over at me with a sheepish expression on her face.
“You were right sir, I didn’t give you the correct change, I apologize.”
“It’s alright.”
“I gave you S/. 68 instead of S/. 86.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry.”
I finished my cake and had just started wondering what I was going to do next when my phone buzzed to life. It was my friend who was going to have the game on.
“Hey, I got home early, you can come over now if you want.”
I didn’t even bother to text a reply, I just gathered up my things and sprinted out of there, stopping only to leave a S/. 4 tip for the server. She seemed happy and surprised to get it.
