Marty Moneychanger

Back when I was curling in Canada, it wasn't unusual for me to have Canadian money on me, at least during curling season. That would be April until October, just to satisfy all of you who are intensely interested in such trivial information. As such, I didn't mind a few extra Cabucks every now and then.

It so happened that one fine day I was in my bank here in Detroit when I noticed a bit of quiet consternation at the teller's window next to me. The teller was explaining apologetically to a young couple,  "I'm sorry, but I just can't exchange currency if you don't have an account here." They were Canadian and wanted US money.

"We only need a few American dollars," the guy was replying. The teller shook her head, holding out her arms to indicate her hands were tied. Policy, you know.

I interjected myself into the conversation. "How much do you need?"

The couple, startled a bit, turned to me. They considered their options and answered, "Just 40."

"To the best of my knowledge it's about par right now," I replied, meaning that Canadian and US dollars were about equal at the time. "I'll give you forty US for forty Canadian."

Hesitantly but gratefully, the man produced two Canadian twenties from his wallet. I gave him two of our Jacksons for it. "You can trust Mr. Cosgriff," the teller assured them.

Smiling broadly, the young man and the young woman blurted out together, "Thank you."

Just being a humble servant to Canadians in distress, that's all.

Don't Mess With the Pharmacist

Bush's Pharmacy was across the street from the home where Pops grew up. It was where his family bought all their medicinal wares in the Forties and Fifties, a typical neighborhood drug store. As such, it sold products other than prescription drugs and over the counter remedies for your ills. Among those products were cigarettes. There of course was not the public disdain for smoking as there is now, so it meant nothing that your pharmacist sold smokes.

Late one Sunday a customer walked into the store and asked for a pack of cigarettes. Mr. Bush reached into the display and handed the man the brand he wanted, which happened to cost twenty five cents. The guy opened it, took a cigarette out, and lit it; again, it was no faux pas to smoke in a store back then. Next he drew his wallet out of his pocket and offered Mr. Bush a twenty. A Canadian twenty. "It's all I've got," he explained smugly. What he was trying to do was get American money in place of the Canadian without the trouble of going to a bank or currency exchange.

Mr. Bush didn't say anything. He merely reached under the counter, took out an old cigar box, and gave the man $19.75 change.

Canadian change.

It seemed Mr. Bush had accumulated a bit of Canadian cash over the years and had kept it for no particular reason.

But things happen for a reason. In this case, to teach a smart aleck a lesson.

The right way to make change

Bush's Pharmacy was across the street from the home where Pops grew up. It was where his family bought all their medicinal wares in the Forties and Fifties, a typical neighborhood drug store. As such, it sold products other than prescription drugs and over the counter remedies for your ills. Among those products were cigarettes. There of course was not the public disdain for smoking as there is now, so it meant nothing that your pharmacist sold smokes.

Late one Sunday a customer walked into the store and asked for a pack of cigarettes. Mr. Bush reached into the display and handed the man a pack, which happened to cost twenty five cents. The guy opened it, took a cigarette out, and lit it; again, it was no faux pas to smoke in a store back then. Next he drew his wallet out of his pocket and offered Mr. Bush a twenty. A Canadian twenty. "It's all I've got," he explained smugly. What he was trying to do was get American money in place of the Canadian without the trouble of going to a bank or currency exchange.

Mr. Bush didn't say anything. He merely reached under the counter, took out an old cigar box, and gave the man $19.75.

Canadian.

It seemed Mr. Bush had accumulated a bit of Canadian cash over the years and had kept it for no particular reason.

But things happen for a reason. In this case, to teach a smart aleck a lesson.

The pharmacist's revenge

Bush's Pharmacy was across the street from the home where Pops grew up. It was where his family bought all their medicinal wares in the Forties and Fifties, a typical neighborhood drug store. As such, it sold products other than prescription drugs and over the counter remedies for your ills. Among those products were cigarettes. There of course was not the public disdain for smoking as there is now, so it meant nothing that your pharmacist sold smokes.
Late one Sunday a customer walked into the store and asked for a pack of cigarettes. Mr. Bush reached into the display and handed the man a pack, which happened to cost twenty five cents. The guy opened it, took a cigarette out, and lit it; again, it was no faux pas to smoke in a store back then. Next he drew his wallet out of his pocket and offered Mr. Bush a twenty. A Canadian twenty. "It's all I've got," he explained smugly. What he was trying to do was get American money in place of the Canadian without the trouble of going to a bank or currency exchange.
Mr. Bush didn't say anything. He merely reached under the counter, took out an old cigar box, and gave the man $19.75.
Canadian.
It seemed Mr. Bush had accumulated a bit of Canadian cash over the years and had kept it for no particular reason.
But things happen for a reason. In this case, to teach a smart aleck a lesson.