Class Warfare

My son collects my change--the random coins that come from little daily transactions, the pennies, nickels and dimes that build up in my pockets. Every few months, when his piggy bank is full, we take it to a real bank, run it through the coin sorter, change the total into bills. Sometimes he puts the money into his school savings account; more often he spends it on foolish pleasures like Yu-Gi-Oh! cards.

This has been a ritual since he could count--at least until last Wednesday: When I showed up at the bank with a quart freezer-bag of coins, the clerk refused to change it into bills. She said I was not a client of the bank, which was true: My own bank is a very small local branch and doesn't have a coin sorter. "I've been changing coins here for years," I protested. "I've usually just paid a fee for use of the machine..."

"Homeland security," was the response. "It's a new policy to prevent money laundering."

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