I don't remember why I decided to do it. I had seen photos of tables, countertops, and floors covered with pennies, and I fell in love with the look. I glued the first row of pennies, and I thought, "That went smoothly and quickly. I can finish this in no time." No matter how old I get, I'm still so blatantly naive about some things.
I was cruising along here......
Hoping to continue moving quickly, I scoured the floor of my car, the closet, drawers, the top of the dryer, and I came up with another 30 or so, but I was tapped out of copper. I was heading over to my sister's house that Saturday night, and I knew they had metric fuck-tons (credit: Dexter) of change. Low and behold, a score. I must be the only idiot who trades cash for pennies. I even raided my nephew's piggy bank (actually, it a blue box).
I returned home around midnight, convinced that I would be able to knock out a sizable portion of the surface area. I drank a bottle of Bordeaux and a couple Coors Lights.......
......and I only managed to progress this far........
I felt defeated. Why in the hell did I start this? I felt like one of those sad souls who spend their existences building model airplanes. An important step up from adults playing Pokemon, yes, but not much of one. Luckily, the wine and beer had sufficiently sedated me. I fell asleep without dwelling much.
I needed pennies. Dark ones, shiny ones, and a lot of them. Finding new pennies wasn't as easy as I thought. The rolls they give at banks always seem to have a shiny penny on each end, but not many in between. A light bulb went off. Despite my penchant for naivete, I have a pretty good memory. I remembered a stupid science experiment our fourth grade science glass conducted involving vinegar, salt, and pennies. All I had was apple cider vinegar and sea salt, but the trick worked. I was churning out shiny pennies by the quarter. I was still short by about 800, and I wasn't going to visit the bank every day, I enlisted friends, acquaintances, bartenders, dry cleaning dude, convenience store guy....I had no shame. Everyone was nice about it....I guess they all felt sorry for me. I fancied myself as the cute, adorable, and incredibly stupid mutt everyone pets and feeds out of pity. I didn't care. Every day, a little bit closer......
....until one day, I glued the last penny. What kills me is that I don't have a photo of gluing the final cent. I'm a bit perturbed now that I know one doesn't exist.
I had to seal the top, and there's a restaurant across the street from where I live that has this really interesting bar top. I asked the owner what it was, and he told me it was some kind of epoxy I could buy at Home Depot. Score!!
In my mind, I felt like I was skipping to the entrance. I went to the sealer aisle. I found it. WTF? This shit is expensive. I'm not poor, but I sure as hell wasn't going to spend $70 on some epoxy. I would never get my money back. That would be like installing a sauna inside a trailer home. I had worked with polyurethane before with some success, and I figured I would get a seal not quite as thick, but sufficient enough. I was right. I generously poured (emptied) the small can, spreading it evenly with a foam roller. I woke the next morning, and it had dried perfectly.
I'm left wondering what to do with it. I will likely sell it, but a small part of me wants to keep it as a reminder to always think through a process before embarking on a project. I've since started upholstering a couch, and I think I'm in over my head on that one. This stupid mutt will never learn, regardless of reminders. And I really hate pennies now.
