Look, I’m not saying civilization is collapsing, but the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia just pressed its very last penny, and apparently that’s the butterfly wing flap that will send us spiraling into a cash-based Hunger Games.

Yes, indeed. We’ll, maybe. Roll with me here. The penny, our copper-ish, sticky-from-soda, gum-encrusted national talisman, is officially going the way of Blockbuster Video and polite political discourse. Hmm. Gave you see  Twitter lately? I mean X. Whatever.

President Trump signed the order, the Mint shut down the presses, and now Americans everywhere are staring at their junk drawers wondering if those old pennies should be hoarded, worshipped, or made into a craft project for Etsy.

And suddenly, all eyes turn to Carvel, Auntie Anne’s, Cinnabon, and Jamba. Yes, I looked this up.

Because when society trembles, we look to ice cream and pretzels for stability.

Restaurants are now rounding cash totals to the nearest 5 cents.
To the nearest. Five. Cents.
I mean, forget inflation. This is the real economic shockwave.

So here’s the new math:

If your order is $10.22 → You pay $10.20
If your order is $10.23 → Get ready to cough up $10.25

This is the closest thing to a slot machine we’ll ever experience at McDonald’s. You walk up, order fries, and pray to the decimal gods.

But fear not, because GoTo Foods which is the parent company of Auntie Anne’s, Cinnabon, Carvel, and Jamba, says they’ll round in the customer’s favor. Thank you.

I repeat:
We are now relying on mall pretzel stands for ethical economic leadership.

Honestly? I trust them more than half the institutions in this country?

Somewhere, my grandmother is clutching her purse, whispering “You always save your pennies,” while simultaneously rolling in her grave because apparently now you don’t.

And what about the lucky penny?
You know, the one you found on the sidewalk on a random Tuesday in 2003 that supposedly changed your life?
Gone.
Extinct.
Heading to the museum of quaint American artifacts alongside rotary phones and sane holiday travel plans. Good luck getting reimbursed for canceled or delayed flights.

But maybe (just maybe) the universe is telling us something.

Maybe your luck was never about the penny. Maybe your luck was about a moment. A moment where you bent down, you noticed something shiny, and you briefly believed that the world could hand you a tiny dose of magic for free.

And honestly? Carvel rounding your ice cream order down two cents might be the 2025 equivalent of that. I, for one, am and have always been a fan of Carvel. It’s an easy coast thing.

So farewell, penny.
You bought us gum, wishes, and small victories one cent at a time.

And hello, new era. Where we trust cinnamon rolls to maintain fiscal responsibility. Where Carvel gives us a break on a small cone.
Where finding a lucky penny becomes the 21st century’s version of spotting a bald eagle in Manhattan.

A sign.
A relic.
A reminder that sometimes the little things carried big charm.

And now? We’ll just have to look for our luck in other places.

Like in our change trays at Carvel.
Or in our hearts. But mostly at Carvel.