As much as I like to shmooze, Compass Printing is NOT the place I do it.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t like the people there — I do. But there are two good reasons why it’s a No Shmooze Zone.

First, they’re always busy. Breanna, their point person, is fun to chat with, but almost never has any time to do it.

Second, when I’m in Compass, it’s because I’m having them print stuff for my latest meshugge project. So Compass is a waystation between the chore I had before and the chore I’ll have after. Though I almost never pay attention to time, am consistently late and put almost everything off ’till beyond the last minute, when it comes to my projects, I’m all business. And I full well have to be because I try to do the lion’s share all by my lonesome, so I don’t burden my friends who have jobs, families and better things to do in their spare time — in other words, who have actual lives.

But last Friday in Compass was the exception that proved the rule: I not only shmoozed, but I shmoozed A LOT.

There were four other people there. One was Breanna; another was a woman I didn’t know with a little boy, and the third was my childhood pal Terry Aubin.

Terry and I go way back, maybe to grade school and I’ve always liked him. Whenever we get together, we always have an amicable chat, though I can’t ever say what exactly we chatted about. And to me, that pretty much defines the interactions with my friends: I don’t care about the WHAT of our convos — only that we’re having them.

So Terry and I rapped a bit, then I went over my order with Breanna. And when I was talking to her, I noticed Terry was talking to the little boy. After I was done with Breanna, I busted in on their convo.

The kid was a treat — friendly, smart and willing to engage with a couple of ancients. When Terry was about to leave, he reached in his pocket and gave the kid a dollar.

It was a nice gesture, for sure, but I thought to myself, A buck? He gave the kid a buck? He was 5 years old, a kindergartener — to him, a buck was a king’s ransom. Hell, when I was his age, if someone had given me a dime, I woulda thought I’d landed in the catbird seat.

But then I paused, took stock for a moment and a new thought came to me. I didn’t know for sure, but I figured a 1952 dime was probably the equivalent of a 2025 dollar (I later looked it up, and it turned out it actually would’ve been the equivalent of $1.23). Anyhow, monetary conversions and updates be damned, I figured the least I could do was follow Terry’s example. So I peeled a bill from my roll, handed it to him and then, as I always do, told him to be a good boy and left.

–

Hard come, easy go

–

I thought no more about that interaction ’till Monday, when I went in Compass to pick up my order.

“So,” said Breanna, “you gave my nephew 20 bucks?”

“What?” I said.

She repeated herself.

I tried to think. Twenty bucks? I gave someone 20 bucks? And that “someone” was her nephew? The dear girl was making no sense whatsoever. In fact, at that point, NOTHING made sense.

First, as hard as I tried to remember, I couldn’t recall giving ANYONE 20 dollars. And second, I had no idea who Breanna’s nephew was. As a matter of fact, till she mentioned it, I had no idea she even HAD a nephew.

Finally, I got focused.

“Who’s your nephew?” I said.

“The little kid who was in here on Friday,” she said.

“I handed him a bill,” I said, “but it wasn’t a 20.”

“You sure?” she said.

“I’m as sure of that as I am…,” I said, letting my sentence hang, because I suddenly realized I wasn’t sure at all.

I knew I didn’t WANT to give the kid 20 bucks. But did I?

I played the scene back in my mind and got about halfway through it when it suddenly dawned on me: Whether I wanted to or not, I HAD to have given him the 20. Then, the more I thought about it, the clearer it all became.

Because I don’t like to use my credit card, I carry a lot of cash. And as unorganized as I am in almost all areas of my life, I am very organized when it comes to arranging my roll. The biggest bills are on the inside, the rest follow, in decreasing denominations. It’s simple and it’s foolproof. Unfortunately, it’s not Dopeproof.

What had happened was that before I went into Compass, I’d busted a fifty in Aldi. Normally, I take my time putting the bills in the correct order, but because I was in a hurry and because there were people in line waiting to check out, I took the change — a 20, two fives and two ones — and wrapped them on my roll willy-nilly. And obviously — because I sure didn’t check before I handed the boy the bill — one of the 20s was on the OUTSIDE of the roll.

“Ya know,” I said, “I guess I did give him a 20.”

“Ya wanna know something else?” she said.

“Sure, What?”

“After you left, my mother, who was the woman with him, gave him a little lecture.”

“A lecture?” I said. “On what?”

“On how taking money from strangers when he’s with his grandmother or parents is OK, but it’s something not to do any other time.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“You know, stranger danger and all that.”

“I do know,” I said.

“Especially if it’s as much money as 20 dollars,” she said. “Ya can’t be too wary about such things.”

“I agree,” I said.

And while I agreed, I also felt bad, thinking people could mistake my intentions. But I had to admit, unless they knew my giving him the double sawbuck was a mistake, it could’ve looked weird. And while I don’t mind looking weird to friends, I really don’t like looking weird to strangers.

I thought a bit and wondered what could be done to correct any misunderstanding …

Suddenly it came to me!

“Ya know,” I said to Breanna, “If your mother wants your nephew to understand that taking money-from-strangers thing, I know the perfect way to do it.”

“Oh?” she said. What is it?”

“Simple,” I said. “Just have the little fella give me back 19 bucks and we’ll call it even.”