As a kid, I remember rolling into the grocery store on food stamp day with a fistful of Monopoly money, thinking I was the shit. It only took one or two trips to realize that being in an alcohol-induced coma was not the only reason my parents gave me the chore. Food stamps are embarrassing.
Sure, I tried the old single sandwich routine to pose like I was stacked with greenbacks, but that just gave the cashier the impression that I was a perverted eight-year-old with an affinity for strip clubs. She set me straight with a price check and a stern lecture that food stamps do not buy beer, cigarettes, or lottery tickets. Sorry, Mom.
It got worse as I hit the teenage years and the girls I liked were in fact those cashiers. To save face, I either had to hit a store a town over or broker the stamps back to dollars at a loss of 20%. Thanks to all concerned for protecting my virginity. Nicely done.