The Money Machine

We just got back from a week on the road in a rented RV (more on that later). One of our stops was in Olympia WA, where we took a tour of the state capital building. Summary: Big pile of marble, and every other room seemed to be a janitorial closet of some kind, which might be a metaphor. The doors — even the bathroom doors — are made of solid fucking wood that you need two hands to properly open or close.  I’m guessing the massive doors are good for holding private conversations, and possibly doubling as barricades during revolutions.

At the end of the tour was the gift shop (no, you can’t buy politicians there; for the most part their offices are in adjacent buildings built for that purpose). And near the gift shop was an instance of the machine that takes fifty cents and a penny, and with a turn of a crank presses the penny into an embossed souvenir.

A family had just tried to use it; the pre-teen son had put in his coins and turned the crank, but nothing happened.

“Mom, it took my money and I didn’t get anything.”

I piped up, “Welcome to the state capital!”

Chuckles all around. They shook their heads and left.

A few minutes later I guessed something. I went back over to the machine and turned the crank a few more times and down clinked the souvenir. They’d given up too soon, and I got their money. There’s your metaphor.