There are few things in life more pointless than a satang coin.

I say “coin” but that’s being generous. It’s like the Thai Mint said, “Let’s create something that costs more to produce than it’s worth, and is physically impossible for anyone over 40 to pick up without tweezers”

You're shopping in Big C. All you want is a jar of spaghetti sauce, some clingfilm and a pack of AA batteries. The total comes to 246.25 baht. Amongst the change, the cashier drops a 25 satang coin and a 50 satang coin into your sweaty palm. You stare at them, not quite sure what to do. For a brief moment, you contemplate flicking both coins into the box for blind kids, but you just know someone’s going to see you do it - and then judge you for it.

Let’s be honest - you can’t spend the bloody things. Try handing over a pile of satangs at 7-Eleven and the cashier will look at you like you’ve just tried to pay with a dead squirrel. Even the coin-operated water machines outside the moo baan want nothing to do with them. They slide in and drop out again like the machine itself is offended.

I keep my satang coins in a sort of faux-leather purse at home. 'Keep' is probably the wrong word because it implies I'll have a future use for the shiny blighters. If truth be known, I have no idea where else to put them. And don’t get me started on trouser-pocket logistics. You rummage in your pockets, and satangs immediately vanish into the linings. Trying to fish one out is like performing microsurgery in a blackout.

I’ve asked Thai friends about them.

“Do you actually use satangs?”

“Oh no,” they say, chuckling. “Mai chai!”

So why, then - in the name of somtam and sanity - are they still being issued?

There’s only one group of people who seem to take them seriously: supermarket cashiers. I once watched a checkout girl count out 1.75 baht in precise satang denominations like she was defusing a bomb. I admired her commitment, but by the time she finished, my bag of ice had melted and re-frozen into a solid block.

Look, I get it. Currencies need smaller units. But when coins are so worthless that inflation gives them a negative value, maybe it's time to quietly put them out to pasture. Until then, I’ll carry on with one simple mission: avoid satangs at all costs. And if you ever see someone actually pay for a bowl of noodles with exact satang change, buy them a drink. They’ve earned it.

I propose a solution: we build a shrine. A great, glittering monument in the middle of Sanam Luang. We gather every satang coin in Thailand and melt them into a giant statue of a confused farang staring down at a 25 satang piece. Schoolchildren will visit. Pigeons will crap on it. But never again will we be burdened with this shiny scourge of modern life.

Until then, I’ll do what every self-respecting foreigner does: shove them in a jar (or in my case, a purse), plan to “donate them to charity eventually,” and then later just throw them away in a fit of rage.