Humor

Here’s what our Founding Fathers would probably think of a woman on the $10 bill

It is still July 4. It is still sweltering hot. They are all still wearing tights, coats, and wigs.

A new design for the ten dollar bill is in the works, and a woman is to be featured! We don’t know who this lucky lady is, but to be on the $10 bill she is required to be 1) dead and 2) her achievements should reflect those which are strove to uphold the democratic process.

I can’t help but wonder what all of our Founding Fathers would think of this decision. Let us take a look beyond the grave and into purgatory, where these dudes are currently hanging out. It looks like Abraham Lincoln somehow found his way into this very purgatory, so he’s going to be in this story, too.

The scene: purgatory is the same Philadelphia board room where the founding fathers gathered to sign the Declaration of Independence. It is still July 4. It is still sweltering hot. They are all still wearing tights, coats, and wigs.

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Ben Franklin are over by the dart board.

“I know! I can’t even believe it’s taken them this long,” says Jefferson before calling “bullseye” and completely missing by three rings.
“I just feel sorry for Hamilton, look at him, sulking over there,” says Washington, who sympathizes with Hamilton but definitely doesn’t empathize with him, or else he would have asked him to come over and join in their game of darts.
“What doesn’t make sense to me is why Hamilton. Why not Jackson? People seem to use 20’s more anyway,” says Franklin, adding in three sugar cubes into his already lemon-flavored tea.
“Ahem…how about the fact that he’s a racist, genocide-perpetuating, paper-money-hating scumbag?” said Lincoln, peeking up from his Malcolm Gladwell book to give his two cents, as usual.
“Where is Jackson anyway?” asked Washington, taping a low quality, pixelated picture of King George III to the bullseye on the dart board.
“He’s gone off-roading,” said Hamilton, having summoned the courage to confront the humiliation and come over to talk to the others.
They all roll their eyes.

“We are really sorry about all this, Alexander. It’s a shame, people could hardly recall who you were before and now with taking you off the $10 bill–,” says Lincoln. Franklin nudges him in the arm.
“But err–that duel you had with Burr, very epic. That’s what most people remember from 8th grade US History anyway, really,” continues Lincoln.
“I knew the day would come. I just never thought it would be me. Honestly, I thought it would happen to Jackson first,” said Hamilton, sulking and staring out into the blazing Philadelphia street, wiping his brow with a kerchief.
“Hey, hey you guys, I wonder if this bill with a woman on it will only be worth 7.8 dollars?” Jefferson says. He’s always trying to cheer everyone up.

Some people chuckle. Lincoln either scoffs or coughs. It is unclear. Hamilton laughs the hardest.

“Or if it’s a person of color, it’ll be worth even less than that!”
Everyone laughs because they feel sorry for Hamilton and the state of pay gaps in the US today. Jefferson laughs too even though it was his joke.

Their laughing is interrupted as the doors of the boardroom swing open and Andrew Jackson walks in with some pad thai in a styrofoam box and muddy boots. He walks towards them, taking two bites of the pad thai, mumbling something about “too spicy” and the mostly full box away. His muddy boots ruin the rug.

“What’s up losers?”

They all mumble something about darts and King George and taxation without representation. Lincoln hides behind his book.
Hamilton stands tall.
“We were talking about the new face of the $10 bill.”
“Oh yes, heard they were replacing you. With a WOMAN,” Jackson says, tipping over Lincoln’s hat.
“You know what? I’m okay with that. It’s for a loyal cause that I support and that I hope helps recognize the achievement of women (and hopefully women of color) in America.” says Hamilton.
“Ugh, whatever, loser,” says Jackson.
“I think we’ll all be replaced one day, Andrew. Who knows who will replace you,” says Hamilton, shooting a dart straight into the bullseye.

Jackson scoffs. “Never.”