On a busy Friday night at the restaurant where I'd recently started waiting tables, the owner suddenly emerged from the kitchen and handed me money. "We're in trouble!" he said. "We're out of quarters, and customers are waiting. Go next door and get me $40 worth." I ran to the supermarket next door, but a cashier said she wasn't allowed to give out that many quarters. Determined, I sprinted to a convenience store two blocks away, but it was closed. At a gas station farther down the road, the clerk took pity and gave me the four rolls of quarters. Twenty minutes after I'd left, I handed the coin rolls to my boss. "Where are the quarters?" he asked. "Right here," I said breathlessly. His face sank, "I meant chicken quarters."