I’ve never been good with slogans. That, and a crippling fear of rejection by my peers, prevented me from running for public student office in high school. The closest thing I could find that rhymed with “Carpenter” was “gardener,” and flower puns weren’t going to get me elected for anything more than homeroom representative.
But I’ve found a golden cause to rally behind — or rather, rush toward — and it could use a slogan.
If you haven’t heard, there’s a bill kicking around the South Carolina legislature right now that would allow gold and silver to be accepted as legal tender in establishments that agree to take them. Some might find this impractical, but I can only see the measure in one way: pure entertainment.
Think of all the ways your weekend could be affected:
• You meet a friend on a Friday for happy hour at your favorite bar, but there’s a horrible wait because the old prospectors have swamped the bar, letting off steam after a long week of panning. You settle for a table in the corner and take solace that, for once, (Bud Light) Platinum is valued lower than gold.
• After a few drinks, you head out to dinner, sitting down at a table as it’s being cleaned off by a visibly happy bus boy. Upon inquiry to his mood, he holds up a small, heavy satchel and says only, “Pirates.” In the middle of the meal, you notice the server at the next table having an uncomfortable conversation with the customers at the table: Looks like their credit card was declined. No, wait ... you lean in. “Sir, I’m sorry, but this is pyrite.” “Pyrite?” “Fool’s gold, sir. Not that I think you’re a fool, but …”
• The nightclub where you end up is largely the same, except all of the women are carrying their handbags with two hands instead of one. A close listen at the music reveals fewer “stacks,” “green” and “wallets” in the lyrics, with the terms “coin,” “shine” and “treasure chests” appearing in higher frequency. On your way for another drink, you only barely recognize the familiar face who just bought a huge round of shots for the entire bar. Understandable — you’ve never seen him with a shirt on: He’s the guy at the beach every day with the metal detector.
• You take a cab home, but, of course, the cab driver can’t break your pieces of eight, so you end up tipping more than you wanted to. It won’t phase you, though, until tomorrow, when you pull out your scale and realize how much you spent.
Would metal currency not make life more, oh I don’t know, precious? I think so, and I’ll be rooting for the measure to make it through.
I’ve even come up with some starter slogans: Dum spiro decoco (“While I breathe, I smelt”); The Palmetto State: Bullish on bullion; and, my personal favorite, South Carolina: Let us swoon over your doubloons!
Andy is looking into making “Doubloon swooner” bumper stickers.