The Oracle of Murray
(Including the Exciting Finale!)
Yesterday was grass-cutting day—the first time this season I’ve been able to work in the yard instead of watching kids roll a ball back and forth on someone else’s neatly trimmed yard—and as always my mind was released to explore all the pernicious questions that trouble the world. I wish I had a wireless internet connection and a laptop connected to the handlebars, and then I could post all of it here while I mow. This would be a big help because after solving all of the world’s problems, I promptly forgot about them when the engine stopped. Maybe the lawn mower is like the Temple at Delphi, and the only way I can speak the future is when nearly overcome with gas fumes. (Methane in Delphi, carbon monoxide in Trussville.)

Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that yesterday I succcumbed to wild-eyed nonconformity by not mowing side-to-side, or up-and-down, but...DIAGONALLY! Shocking, I know. In any event, losing the solution to Fermat's Last Theorem is not a big deal, because as I was making the turn at the back corner, I spotted a piece of paper on the ground. A TEN DOLLAR BILL! I felt like the kid in Animal House when the Playboy Bunny landed in his bed. I started looking around to see if there was any more manna, and found A TWENTY! Great howling monkeys! I get $30 to cut my own grass! Then, up under some of the plant life at the edge of my rear neigbor's yard was yet MORE paper. A bank receipt and a cash envelope. No name on the slip, which had been out in the wide open spaces since Monday and was a bit faded and smeared, and it looks like there is another $20 floating around someone's yard, because the receipt had "$50" as cash returned.

So, now, what to do with this windfall, knowing that it belonged to some body?

I had thought it would be a fun idea to see what the huge mass of Possumblog readers would do in a similar situation, and was overwhelmed with the incredible number of responses. The first to write in was Larry Anderson over at Kudzu Acres who wrote:

Depends. Does the receipt have an account number? Then return the money. If not, then remove the delightful banner ad.

My wife finds money all the time. The woman once found a twenty while walking in the New Mexico desert.

The found money pays for my Dairy Queen addiction.

Larry

The second letter came from North Carolinian and fellow Weevilite Marc Velazquez of Spudlets, who sent the following:

I know you've been eyeballin' those bobblehead redneck dolls, planning the space on your mantle where you can proudly display them. Let the kids fight over who's going to get them, rather than put them in the will!

Spud

PS Hey, how about payin' off my banner ad (and wouldn't Blogger Pro be nice too!)?

And then Mac Thomason, Axis of Weevil Chief of Library Science and famed War Liberal, sent the following:

It was in your YARD for God's sake. Finding money in the sidewalk is one thing, but if it's on your own property, it's yours.

I'm sure there were about a hundred more folks who wanted to write, but suddenly lost all motor control and were unable to hit the "Send" button. You are certainly forgiven--who could have known such a fate would have befallen you at such a critical time?

Anyway, to complete the story, surely you know that the moment I found the receipt it was no longer God giving me a tip for doing a good job on the yard, it was “someone else’s money.” Proving I would never make it in politics or real estate development, I knew that I had to get it to its rightful owner.

After I posted my entry this morning, I walked down the street to SouthTrust at about 9:30 to see how this would work. It’s not that I don’t trust banks, but certain ones (which shall remain nameless) have a tendency to bridle at non-standard requests, such as finding the rightful owner of some nice juicy lucre.

[A note on banks in general; it’s all well and good to spend lots of other people’s dough on acres of marble and granite and terrazzo and chrome plated elevator doors—helps the economy, pays the bills for my brothers in the design professions, impresses people that you are successfully fulfilling your duty to spend lots of dough—but I would really be much more pleased if you didn’t lay out so much cash on fixed assets and save it to spend on hiring entertaining staff. I would like banks much better if every teller was a fashion model who could do stand-up. And if there were beverage carts. And if there were nice comfy chairs. But I digress…]

I stood in line for a minute or two, and proceeded to explain to the teller my quandary. Puzzled look, and instructions that she couldn’t give out information on accountholders. “Well, can’t you just deposit it in their account?” No. She pointed to two desks on opposite sides of the lobby and said I would need to speak to one of those people. (Now you see the point of my digression—had she looked like Debra Jo Fondren, been clad in a stunning Versace pocket handkerchief, and done a quick riff on being frisked at the airport, I would have been much happier. Sorry, no more digressions, I promise.)

Anyway, on to The Desk People. The female version was a Janet Reno clone and was with a customer, and the male version looked to be about 12 and was on the phone, so I figured I would go hover over the boy until he hung up. He hung up as I was walking over, thankfully, and I introduced myself and the situation. He sat down, squinted at the account number, looked it up on the computer and called out the address—it was the street right behind ours, which I figured would be the case—it had to be pretty close by. He asked if I wanted him to call them and I said yes and he did and they weren’t home. “Can’t you just deposit it in their account and send them a note to let them know what happened and why there’s $30 in their account?” With the razor-sharp thinking skills obtainable only by long hours of sitting at a desk, Doogie said “Well, I was going to suggest that. Do you want me to tell them you found it?” I told him just to say one of the neighbors found it, and so he filled out a new deposit slip and said he would get a note in the mail to them with an explanation. He thanked me and shook my hand and said it was certainly an odd thing to have happened and that not everyone would have given it back.

Maybe, maybe not. I just hope the neighbors find their other $20. That, and I’m glad I didn’t bring the Birmingham banking industry to a grinding halt.
posted by Terry at 1:45:00 PM