Paper money from the U.S. has such a distinctive smell I somehow know what it tastes like even though I have never, to my knowledge, had a dollar bill in my mouth. It’s an unmistakable odor combining mustiness, ink, and sweat. I’m sure the taste is salty and earthy yet also chemical.
Is this grossing you out? I promise you I won’t chew on a wad of dollar bills like it’s spinach. I don’t want hepatitis. I’m just saying it’s a strong smell. And some of us happen to experience sensations in a very mouth-forward way. Now I’m grossing myself out.
In any case, American money is the only type of currency I’ve encountered that has its own aroma profile. Why is that? Do you think it has to do with the type of paper used by the U.S. Mint? Or maybe the ink? Or something?
To test the odor of other countries’ money, all I have to do is open up the keepsake box of foreign petty cash that my husband, Frank, has for some reason. Based on the rectangular shape of the container, I assume it was meant to serve as a pencil case. It’s made of wood and painted red, with a golden dragon and a bird on the outside lid.
Frank bought the box as a souvenir during a trip he took with friends (sans me) to China, Malaysia, and Thailand in 2008. That vacation was unexpectedly extended by a couple weeks after antigovernment protesters seized the airport in Bangkok, prompting the temporary closure of the facility.
Which was unnerving, sure, but Frank was stranded at a beach resort on Phuket, so, in another sense, cry me a river.
Inside the pencil case, Frank stores a roll of pastel-colored notes in small denominations from several international locales he has visited over the years, including Argentina, Egypt, India, Vietnam, and, less interesting from my North American perspective, Mexico and Canada. The box also contains a bunch of coins from various places.
I was along with Frank on most of those journeys, and I have seen him set aside a couple bills for the foreign money box each time we’re overseas. The purpose of this low-value collection, as I understand it, is to recall fond memories.
But wasn’t that the reason for acquiring the box itself in the first place? So now we’re holding onto mementos inside a memento we’re holding onto? Sounds like hoarding behavior to me.
Maybe he gets nostalgic about paper money ‘cause we rarely carry it around anymore when stateside, relying instead on cards and digital payment systems.
The Southern Baptist megachurch I grew up in taught that society going cashless was a sign that we were in the end times. A passage in the nightmarish Book of Revelation was interpreted as prophesying a time of Great Tribulation during which the totalitarian Antichrist will require everyone on Earth to get the Mark of the Beast (666) tattooed on their foreheads, and only those with this mark will be allowed to buy and sell stuff. Sort of like a payment app, but evil. They should call it Sinmo. Or Helle. Or Forbidden Apple Pay.
The preachers and Bible study leaders laying out this vision would suggest that the born-again needn’t fear the Apocalypse because eventually the forces of Heaven will overthrow the Antichrist and co., and everyone who’s not a true believer will be cast into the flames of hell to suffer unthinkable agony for all of eternity.
But believe it or not, I did not find that prospect very reassuring.
So maybe Frank’s onto something and his cash stash is helping to forestall Armageddon. In which case, Godspeed.
Indirect Objects 