Flotsam From Jake

Kathe's son Jake sent me this one.

Dang, and I like $2 bills myself, too.

A tale of customer service, justice and currency as funny as a $2 bill

Michael Olesker

March 8, 2005

PUT YOURSELF in Mike Bolesta's place. On the morning of Feb. 20, he buys a
new radio-CD player for his 17-year-old son Christopher's car. He pays the
$114 installation charge with 57 crisp new $2 bills, which, when last
observed, were still considered legitimate currency in the United States
proper. The $2 bills are Bolesta's idea of payment, and his little comic
protest, too.
For this, Bolesta, Baltimore County resident, innocent citizen, owner of
Capital City Student Tours, finds himself under arrest.

Finds himself, in front of a store full of customers at the Best Buy on
York Road in Lutherville, locked into handcuffs and leg irons.

Finds himself transported to the Baltimore County lockup in Cockeysville,
where he's handcuffed to a pole for three hours while the U.S. Secret
Service is called into the case.

Have a nice day, Mike.

"Humiliating," the 57-year old Bolesta was saying now. "I am 6 feet 5
inches tall, and I felt like 8 inches high. To be handcuffed, to have all
those people looking on, to be cuffed to a pole -- and to know you haven't
done anything wrong. And me, with a brother, Joe, who spent 33 years on
the city police force. It was humiliating."

What we have here, besides humiliation, is a sense of caution resulting in
screw-ups all around.

"When I bought the stereo player," Bolesta explains, "the technician said
it'd fit perfectly into my son's dashboard. But it didn't. So they called
back and said they had another model that would fit perfectly, and it was
cheaper. We got a $67 refund, which was fine. As long as it fit, that's
all.

"So we go back and pay for it, and they tell us to go around front with
our receipt and pick up the difference in the cost. I ask about
installation charges. They said, 'No installation charge, because of the
mix-up. Our mistake, no charge.' Swell.

"But then, the next day, I get a call at home. They're telling me, 'If you
don't come in and pay the installation fee, we're calling the police.'
Jeez, where did we go from them admitting a mistake to suddenly calling
the police? So I say, 'Fine, I'll be in tomorrow.' But, overnight, I'm
starting to steam a little. It's not the money -- it's the threat. So I
thought, I'll count out a few $2 bills."

He has lots and lots of them.

With his Capital City Student Tours, he arranges class trips for school
kids around the country traveling to large East Coast cities, including
Baltimore. He's been doing this for the last 18 years. He makes all the
arrangements: hotels, meals, entertainment. And it's part of his schtick
that, when Bolesta hands out meal money to students, he does it in $2
bills, which he picks up from his regular bank, Sun Trust.

"The kids don't see that many $2 bills, so they think this is the greatest
thing in the world," Bolesta says. "They don't want to spend 'em. They
want to save 'em. I've been doing this since I started the company. So I'm
thinking, 'I'll stage my little comic protest. I'll pay the $114 with $2
bills.'"

At Best Buy, they may have perceived the protest -- but did not sense the
comic aspect of 57 $2 bills.

"I'm just here to pay the bill," Bolesta says he told a cashier. "She
looked at the $2 bills and told me, 'I don't have to take these if I don't
want to.' I said, 'If you don't, I'm leaving. I've tried to pay my bill
twice. You don't want these bills, you can sue me.' So she took the money.
Like she's doing me a favor."

He remembers the cashier marking each bill with a pen. Then other store
personnel began to gather, a few of them asking, "Are these real?"

"Of course they are," Bolesta said. "They're legal tender."

A Best Buy manager refused comment last week. But, according to a
Baltimore County police arrest report, suspicions were roused when an
employee noticed some smearing of ink. So the cops were called in. One
officer noticed the bills ran in sequential order.

"I told them, 'I'm a tour operator. I've got thousands of these bills. I
get them from my bank. You got a problem, call the bank,'" Bolesta says.
"I'm sitting there in a chair. The store's full of people watching this.
All of a sudden, he's standing me up and handcuffing me behind my back,
telling me, 'We have to do this until we get it straightened out.'

"Meanwhile, everybody's looking at me. I've lived here 18 years. I'm
hoping my kids don't walk in and see this. And I'm saying, 'I can't
believe you're doing this. I'm paying with legal American money.'"

Bolesta was then taken to the county police lockup in Cockeysville, where
he sat handcuffed to a pole and in leg irons while the Secret Service was
called in.

"At this point," he says, "I'm a mass murderer."

Finally, Secret Service agent Leigh Turner arrived, examined the bills and
said they were legitimate, adding, according to the police report,
"Sometimes ink on money can smear."

This will be important news to all concerned.

For Baltimore County police, said spokesman Bill Toohey, "It's a sign that
we're all a little nervous in the post-9/11 world."

The other day, one of Bolesta's sons needed a few bucks. Bolesta pulled
out his wallet and "whipped out a couple of $2 bills. But my son turned
away. He said he doesn't want 'em any more."

He's seen where such money can lead.

Copyright © 2005, The Baltimore Sun