I remember being extremely proud of this essay when I wrote it in 6th grade. The prompt was “Write an essay about a dollar bill that you have tracked online.” Remember, this was back when the “Where’s George!?” fad was a big deal. What you see here is exactly how I wrote it when I was 11 — all the typos, poor spelling and grammar, and bad structure are there for a reason.
Now that you’ve been given a background on the story, enjoy!
“Uh, oh,” I thought to myself as I was being rolled along the conveyor belt, “here it comes”. I had heard about this day since the day of my printing, June 4, 1995. I was one of a kind; serial number D8637254L. But my friend just called me DL.
“Are you ready for this?” I said to my best (and only) friend Georgie.
“Not really,” he said, “but it was bound to happen sometime or another.”
As we rolled along the belt we talked about all our memories together-all the good times, a few bad times, what we wanted to be when we got older, where we wanted to travel, and the thing we talked about most, the perfect woman.
“Well,” I said as we were next in line for the cutter, “I guess this is good-bye.”
“Yep,” said Georgie, “it looks like it is.”
As we were being pushed under the belt, everything seemed to be in slow motion. I”m not sure about Georgie, but I looked up right as the cutter was coming down. Suddenly everything went dark. I could feel all four sides of me burning, but I couldn’t do a thing about it and for the next five days, I was unconscious, never in a coma, just unconscious. What woke me up was a blinding light from this place that I heard some people call outside.
“Man,” I thought to myself as I was being pushed on a dolly into a truck, “it’s hot our here. I was hoping that the truck would be much cooler but as
I came to find out, it was actually worse”. The actual heat wasn’t all too bad, but the humidity and the stuffiness was ten times worse. Finally, after an hour of what seemed like a sauna, I was taken off the truck in Dayton, Ohio and I was finally on my own.
“That’ll be $5.20,” said a gruff voice from outside the cash register.
“Ching Ching,” went the cash register as it opened. Here’s your change said the mysterious voice. After I was handed over, my new owner stuck me in a very mysterious place that I heard was called a wallet. What surprised me most was that this “wallet” had other people of my kind. I was truly shocked. In the 61 days I was in the wallet, I met some new people-some $10s, some $20s and some $5s. Some of these were good guys and some of these were bad guys.
“Let’s go Bengals, let’s go!” came the loud cheers from outside the wallet. “BOO,” chanted the Bengals fans after what I guessed what was a horrible play. After about 30 minutes, my owner got out of his seat to go purchase a beer.
“I’ll have a large beer,” came a voice from outside the wallet.
“Ok,” said another voice, “that’ll be $4.50.”
As I was being taken out of the wallet, I thought to myself, “Oh great, I’m being exchanged for a beer.”
“Wow,” I said to myself from inside Mr. Walden’s wallet. (I figured this out by reading his credit cards and his drivers license.) “Richmond is a big city and these people sure like their Bojangles Chicken!” I had been here in here about 112 days and I saw people eat chicken by the tons! Some people would come in there with parties of 8 or 10 but what was more amazing than these people was the other $1s in the register. These particular $1s would fight over things like who got to keep the next paper clip in the register. You can probably arguments were pretty trivial. Finally on May 6, I was out of there like the fat kid in dodgeball.
“MMMMM” I said to myself as I was lying under a table in Bridgeport West Virginia’s favorite steakhouse, something smells good. By now you are probably wondering why I’m under a table. Well, there’s a story behind that. Apparently, when Mr. Walden got one of his bigger bills out of his wallet, I was pulled out and got dropped. I thought that Mr. Walden liked me but apparently he didn’t. Anyways, after 17 days of being under the table some lucky customer picked me up off the floor and put me in his pocket.
292 days later I was in Williston South Carolina. This was my 3rd state I had traveled to in my long lifetime, and I wondered how many more I would travel to. However, I was getting homesick. I missed the building of my printing, I missed the air of the building that I was printed in, and most of all I missed Georgie.
Now I’m here in Herdon, Virginia and I still haven’t seen my building of printing or Georgie in about 9 in years an I miss them. Maybe someday, someone will take me back there and I’ll finally meet Georgie and see how much he has changed.