I went up to New Seasons to get some groceries and was whistling along to the classical music coming over the store speakers. The checker looked up at me and said, “Is this Bach?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s Vivaldi,” I said.
He says, “1812.”
“No,” I say, “The 1812 Overture is Tchaikovsky, this is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.”
“No,” he explains, “Your total is $18.12.”
I wish this wasn’t a fairly regular occurrence in my world, my brain is just attuned to music (pun clearly intended). On the walk home I get to thinking that in my own utopia/distopia currency would be replaced with jingles and pop songs. Such a scene would unfold:
“Alright, a six pack of Pepsi, two candles and an avocado. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, that’ll be Cat Scratch Fever and Tomorrow Never Knows.”
“Shit. All I’ve got is a It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes A Train to Cry. Can you make change?”
“I’ll need to get a manager.”
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