“Change!” A faceless voice demanded as a green book slammed onto the counter.

Ella sighed, closing the drawer full of presidents and picking up the green book.

It was always the same. Above the tinkering of glass and buzzing of chatter, the overly polite voices found their way from the restaurant to the corner of the room where a small enclosure kept Ella trapped. The voices always turned drastically into a tone of annoyance, disturbance.

“Could you hurry up? They’re kind of in a hurry,” said the voice.

Ella gave a curt nod and pressed the colorful buttons on the screen in front of her. Within seconds, she had the drawer open, hands moving swiftly, exchanging the dusty presidents for newer, older, or shinier ones. Her hand hovered over Hamilton, hesitating, just waiting for the complaint.

“Uh, could you break down that ten? I want a good tip this time.”

Her hand shifted from the Hamiltons to the Lincolns and Washingtons.

One Lincoln. Five Washingtons. Place. Slam. Hand over. You’re welcome.

She stared at the copper ceiling, relaxing in her moment of spare time. These moments didn’t come often in the middle of the day, and Ella was thankful she could breathe. It was only a matter of time until someone else came up to the window of her entrapment and demanded something else. It wasn’t always change they needed, or maybe they did need change. A change in attitude? Sometimes they asked for a pen, or more mints, or what time is it? They never came for a chat, or to ask how she was, or to notice that she had done her hair a bit differently today. No one pays attention to the cashier. No, instead she was a slave to her equals in white coats. She could get out of here, yes, the door stood only a hand stretch away. But what good would that do? They still needed her.

She glanced at the shiny golden knob. Yes, there it was, waiting for her, beckoning her to turn it and be free. She halfheartedly reached her hand out and her finger grazed the knob.

But then there were footsteps and then slam.

“Change!”