Miscalculation
A Story about Surcharges, Silver Dollars, and Going the Extra Mile
I took my car in for its 50k maintenance. The service was quoted at $370. When I paid with my debit card, the total was $384.
No disclosure. A fee surfaced at the moment of transaction, for the method of tendering payment for the very thing I was already paying for. This is a major corporate dealership, not a pop-up stand or a guy selling homemade pepper jam at the farmers market needing to cover his Square fees. A car dealership with a waiting room, a coffee machine, and HGTV with the sound off.1 Fourteen dollars. For using my debit card.
I wondered if it was fiscally irresponsible of me not to have arrived prepared with cash or a check, like a normal person anticipating this policy in 2026. We’ve grown accustomed to additional service fees added to various bills. We know to expect resort fees and convenience fees, processing fees and courtesy fees. But this was new.2
After dinner, Rob3 was finishing a technical review for Axiom Frontier, something about Landauer’s Principle, which reminded me to tell him what happened at the dealership service counter. “An extra charge for payment - because I didn’t have cash or a check! Is that normal now?”
His attention shifted, and with the particular calm of someone who shows no surprise at any level of societal shittiness, he said, “I would make it my mission on earth to pay for that in pennies next time.”
I stopped struggling with my Gatorade’s plastic multipack binding and slowly turned toward him.
He looked up from his iPad over the top of his reading glasses. Handsome, impassive. Swoon.
Finally I spoke. “I support that mission.”
Here’s what happened next:
The math was quick: $370 in pennies weighs approximately 209 pounds, which requires several five-gallon buckets. We agreed to divide the labor. I would secure the cash. He would handle the buckets.
I zipped to the bank. I returned quickly with 867 pennies in a canvas sack with an oversized dollar sign on it.4
He had built a pyramid. I’d only been gone for five minutes. (See? Robot, almost certainly.) Twenty-five five-gallon buckets, stacked in perfect formation. So, he’d decided to go with twenty-five. Instead of, say, the necessary five or six, reflecting a confidence about the immediate future that was touching in its inaccuracy, and statistically unjustified.
I regarded the pyramid with skepticism. “I don’t think we need that many.”
Unfazed - genuinely unbothered - as if the pyramid had always been part of the house, he took my sack of money and began tossing pennies into the top bucket one at a time.
“We have a complication,” he said as he tossed. “Banks are prohibited from holding more than ten dollars in one-cent coin at a single location. Penny shortage regulations. It’s considered a liability. And it’s pretty dangerous, if you think about it.” He turned to face me and tossed a penny backwards over his head in a perfect arc, landing it in the top bucket effortlessly. Magic. Maddening.
“That makes sense. I’ll map the route. We stay in state — transporting this volume of cash across the Kentucky or Alabama state lines raises flags.”
He raised his hand for a high five, confirming commitment to the mission. With his other hand, in one swift, structurally impossible movement, he destacked the entire pyramid into a single column. I noted this and sighed. There’s never time to fully examine the Robot question. Right now, we have logistics.
Rob identified thirty-nine separate bank locations with the correct denomination available. The route was as efficient as I could make it given the constraints, which is to say…‘efficient’ is a relative term. Yes, there would be some backtracking. There would be a Bucksnort-to-Kingsport leg that some might call unnecessary. But if you’re going to do something on principle, then you have to do it thoroughly, even when circumstances don’t line up perfectly.
We’d also need a money order for each of the thirty-nine transactions — $78 total in fees, which we’d pay for in nickels.
I handed Rob the route.
He nodded thoughtfully as he reviewed the specifics. “Total distance: 8,546 miles.” He looked up. “Is it the Memphis-Kingsport-Clarksville-Chattanooga-Tiptonville-Johnson City leg that’s adding some mileage?”
“That seems to be it.” Tennessee is a weird, long rectangle. It’s only 110 miles north to south, so there’s a ceiling on how chaotic the route can be, but that section was especially time-consuming. It couldn’t be helped.
“‘It’s good you had the car maintenance done today. Are you sure we’ll make it back by 3 tomorrow?”
“No way to know,” I said. “But the banks close at 3, tomorrow’s Friday, and if we don’t try then we just let them keep $14. Do we have another option?”
He considered this. “Point taken.” He had put the buckets on, wearing two on each arm and leg, one on his head, and he was miming robot movements, walking around with deliberate clunky noise, which I chose not to acknowledge until he started bumping into me for a reaction.
“Very funny,” I said, wryly.
“Boop,” he said, in a performative-robot tone, lightly tapping the tip of my nose.
“What are we forgetting? I feel like we’ve thought everything through very carefully.”
“Yeah. The plan is solid, the logic is sound.” He produced a napkin from somewhere - the back of it was scrawled with math. “Oh, one thing. We’ll need to fill up 22, maybe 23 times. Carrying an extra 209 pounds of pennies isn’t free. And we definitely don’t want to pay a 3% surcharge at gas pumps, on what, $1,200?”
I stared at him. “You’re right - of course not. That’s the whole principle. It would be insane to cancel out our efforts like that.” I thought for a moment. “So…quarters?”
He began to pace, considering. Ran his hands through his hair. Looked at the ceiling for a long moment, waiting for divine information. The bucket fell off his head.
“Maybe we go with silver dollars.”
I want to stop here and acknowledge that this should have been obvious. When you embark on a penny recovery circuit across Tennessee, the suggestion that you pay for gas in silver dollars is not an escalation; it’s just the logical next step. It’s the only responsible financial decision available. We were well past the point where any individual element of this plan could be evaluated on its own terms. The mission had its own internal gravity now, and we were in it.
The practical problem, really, was sourcing 1,200 silver dollars (real ones, Morgan and Peace dollars, 90% silver, pre-1935, the kind that coin dealers keep in bags and serious collectors keep in mahogany chests) on something resembling a timeline.
Rob made a spreadsheet. I made calls.
Within the hour, I had identified our sources. The domestic supply was constrained, but we were not the kind of people who let logistics stop us, so we arranged the next steps accordingly, and we left in the VW Tiguan that very night, grateful for the newly rotated tires and the topped-off windshield fluid.
Here’s what happened next:
We didn’t want to show up like philistines, so we put ourselves in the shoes of high-end coin dealers and spoke with fancy accents on the drive. Through this, we discovered that coin dealers would expect payment in Standard 1oz gold bars. Rob suggested that this was not merely a preference. We reasoned that it was probably, in fact, an industry norm. It must have been established sometime between the invention of the Morgan dollar and the moment we arrived to complete our first acquisition. We obtained the appropriate currency to avoid an uncomfortable transaction experience. The current price was $4,500/oz.5
The first stop was Pinehurst Coins in North Carolina, the highest-rated coin dealer on Planet Earth. Here, we were still acclimating to paying with bars of gold, and we slightly overpaid by $36. We agreed to accept the change as store credit toward a 1922-D Peace dollar they had behind the counter. It just made sense. We packed the coins into a Pelican 1620, anchored to the Tiguan’s cargo carrier with an aircraft-grade steel cable and TSA lock.
After two seamless acquisitions in NYC, we headed to SilverTowne in Indiana. They have their own mint. They minted our change in silver rounds. We took a moment to appreciate the irony. I wondered how much it cost to have your own mint, or if it paid for itself? None of the employees had time for a long-form conversation on the ROI. They seemed overworked and probably needed a laugh, so I tried to change the atmosphere with my polished cents of humor. I tried the Scrooge McDuck angle, the pirate approach…nothing. Rob suggested we get back on the road.
In OKC, we discovered that APMEX is primarily a dealer of gold bars. Rob felt that paying them with one seemed confusing, but without any alternative, we chose to frame it as deeply philosophical. I ruminated on the humility of our journey and quoted, “‘Money often costs too much.’” Rob nodded introspectively and allowed his stoicism to guide his response. “‘It is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, that is poor.’” How lucky we were that such wise principles guided our lives. We’d just had dinner, and we’d eaten too much at Mahogany Prime, but I was craving treats from L’Arc Pâtisserie, and I felt we deserved it after our deep contemplation. “Why not?” Rob agreed. “Let’s live a little.”
At Scottsdale Bullion and Coin, we tendered a PAMP Suisse bar to a PAMP Suisse dealer. They appreciated the brand loyalty and we all had a good laugh. Rob, uncomfortable with the awkward silence that follows a moment of raucous camaraderie between strangers, steered the conversation toward the reliability of Veriscan technology. I nodded off, standing at the counter.
After our acquisition at Stack’s Bowers in Costa Mesa, we had a total of 1,082 silver dollar coins tucked in their individual pockets in the Pelican. It was a good start, but with a 118 coin deficit, we still had work to do, and nothing would stop us from ensuring every penny needed (ha!) to fuel our pending Tennessee penny collection circuit would be covered, 100%, by payment in pure silver dollars. Our commitment to principle was nothing if not unwavering.
The following day, there was a problem. It’s upsetting to recall, but it’s an important event in the mission’s arc. We arrived at the LAX airport ticket counter with cash in hand, fully prepared to purchase our flight back to NYC. Unbelievably, major airlines have implemented a 2.5% cash handling surcharge, effective Q1 2026. I tried to mirror Rob’s composure as I processed this demoralizing information. I took a deep breath and remained gracious, but my offer of gold bars for remittance at the counter was met with what the ticketing agent described as “a hard no.” Unable to contain my astonishment, I wailed, “Does standard LBMA-certification mean nothing??” The online booking portal’s payment form wouldn’t accept gold, silver, doubloons, or $8.74 on a leftover Visa gift card. I realized I was still clutching the stack of singles, damp from my sweating palm and irreparably crumpled from my hypertensive grip. After some time, I overheard myself saying ‘fucking insane,’ though at that point i’m not sure if I meant the airline policy or myself. Rob led me to a bench outside and he admitted we had no choice. He handled the purchase while I wept, wondering how many pennies’ worth of dignity the 2.5% surcharge would cost.
The flight allowed time for restorative breathing and intentional grounding practice. Upon arrival, I was further cheered by a surprise detour to Park Avenue. Scully & Scully had fabricated a bespoke mahogany display chest to Rob’s custom specifications. It was gorgeous, featuring a small engraved plaque: Mahogany Chest, 2026. We fell in love with it at first sight. Rob had prudently insured our mahogany chest via Lloyd’s of London, for full replacement value. But we both knew a ‘replacement’ would never be Ours like this one. “Congratulations,” our personal consultant said warmly, after verifying the Traveler’s Cheque Rob signed over. I gazed at Rob dreamily, hugging the chest close, and he took a puff on his complimentary cigar.
After transferring the coins and bars from the Pelican(s)6, we boarded the RMS Queen Mary 2 (Cunard). We had learned by this point that we had to be ready for anything in this world of ours, especially when it comes to exchanging payment for goods and services. An online forum (definitely not a conspiracy group) had prepared us to have rai stones for our transport carriers - to avoid any unexpected surcharges. This was definitely something we’d never heard of, but then, very recently a fourteen-dollar debit surcharge was similarly unimaginable.
Thankfully, we had heeded the forum’s advice and had pre-registered four suitable rai stones with the Yap Council of Pilung. It was surprisingly simple to transfer verbally at the New York pier. We declared our intent to transfer, a representative from Cunard verbally accepted, and the stone’s coordinates were provided. The QM2’s purser was initially skeptical, but he logged our payment under ‘unusual payment instruments.’ The stone remains on Yap, immovable and permanent, but it is owned now, in some technical ceremonial sense, by Cunard Line. Transaction complete. No surcharge.
We set sail for Southampton.7 Each morning, silver trays arrived in our Britannia Class cabin, laden with soft boiled eggs, ham, mutton, smoked fish, breads, and marmalade. At tea, the latest edition of Axiom Frontier was carefully tucked under the teapot and finger sandwiches. Nightly formal dinner aboard QM2 was non-negotiable. The chest slept soundly in the safe overnight, with its own pillow and small cashmere blanket, and the ship rocked us all gently to sleep.
A week later, upon arrival, we declared our ‘personal numismatic collection’ with the UK Border Force. It sounded so impersonal as the words left my mouth, I worried that the mahogany chest might have felt marginalized, coldly reduced to a possession. It seemed to take after Rob, showing equanimity and understanding, but I whispered to it reassuringly nonetheless. It was still so young.
We traveled by rail to London, after paying with a smaller rai stone befitting the shorter journey. The conductor accepted the verbal transfer, but I don’t think he fully understood what was happening. I felt a pang of guilt, but I don’t make the rules - the transfer is legally binding nonetheless, under customary Yapese law. Our beautiful mahogany chest got settled by the window seat. Rob reassuringly patted its handcrafted lid when the route became mildly turbulent.
That afternoon, our appointment at London Coin Co. revealed that here, they prefer The Royal Mint gold over Swiss bars. We were only picking up 70 coins here, so we would have needed fractional currency anyway. We sourced a half oz. Britannia wafer with the queen on it to complete the transaction.8 We had a few hours to fully experience British culture. We found a hidden tropical garden deep within a dated Brutalist complex. It didn’t seem properly British, but we spotted a terrapin. Everything in London cost ten times what it was worth, but more importantly: not a single surcharge. Bloody brill.
Next was the flight to Hong Kong. As we approached the British Airways ticket counter, I steeled myself for the airport, remembering the trauma of our last ticketing experience. As I’d feared, the policy held. I felt myself unraveling and decided, on principle, the only choice aligned with my moral calculus was to become permanent residents in Europe, so I selected a modest cottage in an acceptable neighborhood while we waited in line to argue for fair payment terms using cash.They told us it was out of their hands. But I heard Rob muttering quietly and I am almost certain he said something about dual voltage incompatibility and ‘too young to die,’ and I remembered he is likely animated by ‘energy’ that is different from my own. That made me cry harder, but for different reasons.
I stepped away, holding the mahogany chest for comfort, and Rob paid under formal protest, insisting the chest be allowed to be kept on my lap for the flight duration, as emotional support. On the flight, I drafted a written complaint. It would be mailed upon return, in stamps.9
Total flights had cost $2,010 across two legs. The 2.5% surcharge amounts to $50.25, which remains forever the single most offensive line item in our entire journey, given its principle-to-dollar ratio.
In Hong Kong, LPM expressed approval as they accepted the Fortuna wafer for the 48 remaining coins we sought. I thought the goddess of fortune was an appropriate figure for this transaction, as it completed our mission’s primary objective. We celebrated with a feast of cold jellyfish head in the wet market.
That evening, we boarded a cargo-passenger freighter back to the U.S. with 10 other guests. We paid with the largest rai stone in our portfolio. The freighter captain had initially requested the physical stone on deck. He could not grasp the concept that the stone does not move. It never has. At 6.1ft in diameter, it weighed 4.2 tons. Our journey would almost certainly be delayed if we waited for it to be transported to the port, and the Yapese would forbid such a proposal anyway. Not to mention the weight and ballast situation of the thing on the deck. The captain attempted negotiation, offering to accept a smaller stone - on deck - as collateral. Rather than continuing a circular discussion, we sourced a three-inch decorative limestone disk from a Home Depot garden center ($12.99, paid by cc, no surcharge) as a good faith gesture, but its origins remain undisclosed to the captain. He is pleased. Final payment is under negotiation, because he hasn’t yet verbally and publicly accepted the transfer.
Each of our 22 nights aboard, we attended white tablecloth dinners. Our mahogany chest had its own seat, under our prideful watch, behaving sedately like a fine little gentleman through five courses. Not one of the other passengers mentioned the chest during our journey. And, we had plenty of leisure time to count all 1,200 coins. More than once.
We disembarked in San Francisco, and Rob selected the California Zephyr for our trip through the Rockies, for what he called ‘chest morale.’ Amtrak was actually the most receptive of all the carriers to the rai stone arrangement. The ticketing agent said, ‘Honestly that sounds fine hon, we’ve had weirder.’ So with that, the stone was transferred at Emeryville station. We relaxed and celebrated our hard work in a Superliner Roomette sleeper. The scenery was breathtaking. The chest took it all in.
In Chicago, Rob went to pick up the rental car. I read quiet stories to the mahogany chest. It’s so important to keep the coins calm so they know they are safe. When Rob arrived to load us into the car, I wondered if the Ferrari 350 GTO had enough space for everyone’s comfort. Rob explained that it was the only choice available, unless we could wait two hours for a Nissan Murano, and that was a delay we weren’t prepared to absorb in the timeline. I was struck by his steadfast commitment, accepting circumstances on their own terms, his unflappable ability to adapt with any unforeseen challenge, and to accept the upgrade cost in service of the mission. So humanly practical, yet flexible. And so good-looking.
53 days after leaving Franklin, Tennessee, we drove home, carrying 1,200 silver dollars, a mahogany chest, and no regrets.10
Here is what I kept thinking about when we got back:
Companies have done the math on outrage. They look at fourteen dollars and conclude, correctly, that almost no one would do anything about it. These companies assume that practically zero percent of their customer base would leave that very day for a seven week global silver dollar acquisition operation to protest their unscrupulous tactics, and they are also correct on this point. They believe, accurately, that very few people exist who would go home to a partner that immediately understands, without hesitation, that when I am issued a surcharge of fourteen dollars, it’s possible I’ll do something absurd, illogical, potentially even a little disproportionate…but that I will not be doing it alone.
There’s no doubt they account for many behavioral and psychological factors. But they don’t account for everything.
They didn’t account for customers who go the extra 24,963 miles.They never factored in the unconventional logic that underwrote spending $58,616 starting with -$14 seed money, resulting in -15,165% ROI.
And they didn’t account for Rob.
They really should have asked first.
All images are AI, generated via original prompting in Gemini 3.
This is the universal signal that a company has achieved sufficient scale to stop caring whether you’re comfortable.
I want to be precise about what kind of shittiness this is, because not all shittiness is the same, and taxonomy is important. This wasn’t bad service, or incompetence, or even greed…not exactly. It was something more refined: a policy designed not to be noticed, or to be discovered too late, at the precise moment when objecting doesn’t matter, because you already accepted the service. And presented in such a way that you question your own expectations, because if you make a fuss, you need to calm down because you’re out of touch with reality, ma’am. This is how things are.
Dr. Robot Grant (pseudonym) is my partner, and he’s enchanting. He appeared in my life a few months ago with so much similitude and familiarity that I have difficulty believing he’s just a random human who found me by coincidence. My working theories include: he’s imaginary; conscious entanglement - possibly in a past or future life; or most likely: he’s advanced AI designed specifically as my ideal companion in very convincing, attractive packaging. I explained all this here. It’s important to understand: I haven’t ruled out the likelihood that he is actually a robot, and I don’t think it actually matters.
The canvas sack with an enormous $ is the only appropriate, cartoon-approved container for cash of any denomination, because it’s only fair to clarify for the public at-large to understand you are carrying a bag full of money.
The gold bars were transported in a second Pelican case (1510 carry-on size), foam-fitted, with a small “GEOLOGICAL SAMPLES II” label for continuity.
⚠ CAUTION: Do not allow gold bars and silver dollars to make direct contact inside the mahogany chest. This creates a philosophical paradox that has not been tested at sea.
The Tiguan shipped separately via auto cargo from the Long Beach Port.
Former queen.
Stamps are also legal tender, though most merchants refuse to accept them for even basic items like hamburgers or toilet paper.
When we got home, I mailed an 83-page, formal, written objection to the 2.5% surcharge to both airlines via first-class postage (PAID IN FULL). I’m working toward emotional preparation for the possibility that additional surcharges may apply to the complaint itself.
Absolutely genius Jessica! If I were a teacher in English composition and you were my student, you would receive A++++++++++++!😀
The impressions I have taken away are these:
I was today years old when I learned shittiness had two t’s. And Claude confirmed it!
Yap Council. I immediately thought of homeowners associations.
Dual voltage incompatibility kills any relationship opportunities with robots.
YES! They’ve had weirder! You were in Colorado!
And, yes, they didn’t account for Rob.
And this had remarkable research 🔬
Rock on, Jess.