Paper Money

It’s hard to throw away money. It doesn’t matter if it’s from a country I’ll never visit again, or if its value is lower than that of the real estate it takes up in my drawer. Nor does it matter if it’s paper money or coins. Even a penny. Throwing money into a trash bin is just, well, disturbing. But the process of turning this money into something that could benefit another human being would require an insane investment of energy, time, and (of course) money.

My friend Rob Breszny once stood on a street corner and tried to give money away to passersby. There were few takers; people were deeply suspicious. In 2011, at performances of monologist Mike Daisey’s The Last Cargo Cult, ushers handed out legal tender to every person entering the theater—one bill per person, worth (depending on your luck) between one and 50 dollars. The sum total equaled the performer’s projected earnings for the night. When the show ended, Daisey requested that people return the money to a large bowl in front of the stage. On some nights he received back much less than he distributed; on other nights, considerably more.

When I worked at San Francisco’s Exploratorium in the 1970s, we had donation boxes set up by each exit. Admission was free, but he museum relied on contributions. At the end of each day, I asked a few of the “Explainers” (i.e., the teenage guides who wore red jackets and answered visitors’ questions) to collect the donations in a big sack. I didn’t learn until years later that many of the kids had stuffed the largest bills into their pockets. Maybe that’s why I don’t trust those airport donation bins.

These are the memories that come to my mind as I study this useless wad of currency. Can I throw it into the trash? Of course not. Can I donate it somewhere? Nope. Can I even give it away? That’s up to you.