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I dare anyone to walk into any pub in Australia, order a decent round of drinks and try to pay with a jar of 5¢ pieces.
I was dropping my 16-year-old daughter at Bombaderry Station on Tuesday for her trip back to Sydney when three 5¢ pieces fell out of my wallet as I fumbled at the ticket machine.
‘‘You want those fivers, babe?’’ I asked my first-born, smirking as I nudged them towards her with the toe of my thong.
She shot me a look of disdain. ‘‘I don’t want your flippin’ fivers, Dad!’’
At this point, I started kicking at the silver coins with faux viciousness. My girl joined in. I feigned to spit at them. She booted one out into the car park.
As we giggled, it struck me that, although 30 years separate us, we concur on the undeniable contemptibility of the Australian 5¢ coin.
My own feelings date back to their banning as tender at the old toll booths on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. As for my daughter, I recall a day about 12 years ago when she spied one on the ground at our local shopping centre and asked if she could keep it.
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘Can I buy something with it?’’
‘‘Nup.’’
‘‘Why not?’’
‘‘There’s nothing that cheap.’’
She put it in a bin!
These days little kids look at you funny when you tell tales of the little copper 1¢ and 2¢ coins with enough purchasing power to score lollies. It’s been almost 25 years since those suckers were dumped from our currency, with the explanation that the cost of minting them far exceeded their value.
Last year the head of the Royal Australian Mint, Ross MacDiarmid, told a Senate estimates hearing that it costs 6¢ to make a 5¢ piece. And we’re still making them! It’s possibly the dumbest thing Australia does. But that economic lunacy isn’t my major grievance. I hate 5¢ coins, in no particular order, because:
- Retailers use them to squeeze more money out of you. Shops have kept using the smaller denominations in prices even though they know no-one can pay the exact amount any more – no doubt so they can then round up the total at the checkout. ‘‘That’ll be $12.97c thank you sir.’’ You hand over $15 and get a single $2 coin back. Then they smile at you and chirp ‘‘Have a nice day!’’ - as they essentially embezzle.
- There is not a single coin slot in any vending machine in Australia that will accept a 5¢ piece. It’s as if robots have already won – they’re more evolved than us, sophisticated enough to know that a 5¢ piece has no worth.
- They give kids false hope. I have two other little girls as well as the switched-on teen and they love the coin-operated rides outside the supermarket. Can we ride on it daddy? ‘‘Not today honey - I don’t have any coins.’’ This goes over my two-year-old’s head but her sister, having reached the savvier age of four, will sometimes thrust her hand into my pocket and pull out some 5¢ and 10¢ pieces. YES YOU DO-WOOOO! Then I have to say no again and explain to the sobbing wreck that 5¢ pieces won’t make the little rocket ship outside Woollies rock back and forth nor the little dashboard lights flash. ‘‘Did you know it costs us 6¢ every time we make one?’’ She can’t seem to grasp it: ‘‘But you said you didn’t have coins and there are coins in your p-o-o-o-o-cket!’’ Thanks for the public tanty, you tiny silver bastard.
- Pensioners – and old ladies in particular – horde 5¢ pieces that are inevitably produced at the Aldi check-out where you’ve already queued up for 24 minutes for a packet of rice (which will be rounded up from $4.66 to $4.70.) ‘‘That’ll be $19.10 thank you ma’am.’’ Usually, Doris will hand over a $10 and $5 note but then ‘‘the purse’’ will come out – and with it dozens of 5¢ pieces. By the time it’s over, you can be considerably closer to collecting your own pension.
- They show us up to be a country of uncaring tight-arses. Ever noticed how those little charity donation boxes on shop counters are made of see-through perspex? I reckon that’s in order to shame people into dropping bigger coins in. But it doesn’t work on most of us. Next time you see one, check out the 5¢ piece to $1 coin ratio – it’s as pathetic as the weak little ‘‘doink’’ sound the 5¢ piece makes as it falls on the others to join the fight against leukaemia.
- They don’t pass what shock jock Alan Jones calls ‘‘the pub test’’. I dare anyone to walk into any pub in Australia, order a decent round of drinks and try to pay with a jar of 5¢ pieces. You’d be refused, stared at – sworn at even. If you stood your ground and demanded they be received in return for beers – ‘‘It’s legal tender of the Commonwealth of Australia!’’ - there’s a good chance you’d be bounced.
So, I hereby appeal to whoever is in charge – Ross MacDiarmid from the Mint, Treasurer Hockey or that lady whose head is imprinted on the back – do us a favour and kill off this echidna-emblazoned national embarrassment.
