|
Navigation |
|
|
|
Little Else Matches
Joy of Finding Money
(By Stacy Jones, January 7, 2006) |
Sometimes
I would like to believe in luck. But I suppose what we call “luck”
really amounts to little more than chance. In these fortunate
instances, we simply find ourselves in the right places at the
right times.
My husband Mike and I have been
“lucky” of late in finding money.
Before Christmas, while vacationing
in New Orleans’s French Quarter, we were walking along the
street one night after dinner and Mike spotted a $20 bill on
the street. With no one around to claim it as rightful owner,
Mike quickly stuffed the bill into his pocket.
I was somewhat envious that I hadn’t
been the one to notice the bill so quickly. The most I had found
before was a soggy $5 bill immersed in a puddle of rainwater
in a parking lot a few years ago.
This was until the Tuesday night
after Christmas.
Having tired of the sumptuous foods
we had devoured over the holiday, Mike and I had a craving for
something deep-fried. So we ventured to a local spot in Memphis
to pick up some onion rings.
We parked behind the establishment.
When I opened the car door, in the darkness I spotted something
on the pavement. I figured the unknown object was either a leaf
or a rolled piece of paper.
I put my foot on it to feel it.
The object didn’t crumble like a dead leaf, so I assumed
it to be a piece of paper. I reached down to pick up the mystery
object. To my surprise—and great enthusiasm—I discovered
this item in my hand was indeed money.
I began to unroll it and saw the
first zero. Then I unrolled further and saw the image of Ben
Franklin looking back at me. I knew then what this thing was.
I had found a $100 bill.
I showed it to Mike, who quickly
slipped it into his pocket, despite the fact that a thin film
of dirt ringed the outside of the bill. After a brief discussion,
we both concurred that the bill had been lying there on the pavement
for some time, judging by its condition.
As we sat eating our onion rings,
we mused over what I might do with the $100 bill. I suggested
investing it in some way. Mike suggested either giving it to
charity or saving it for some future use.
After the experience, I couldn’t
imagine what it might be like to find more than a $100 bill.
But I remember reading about a Massachusetts man who found $100
bills blowing down the street last September. I wondered if I
should do as this man had done: turn the money over to the police.
As Doug Veronesi left a sandwich
shop, he saw a $100 bill lying next to the curb. Then he spotted
a trail of them along the street and a nearby fire hydrant. With
the help of a few passersby, Veronesi, a nimble karate instructor,
rushed to pick up all of the scattered bills.
Because there was so much money
on the street, he opted to turn in the handful of $100 bills
at the local police station. "It could be a single mother.
It could be a kid's college tuition,” he said, worried about
the situation of the person who had lost the money. If no one
makes a claim within a year, the police—who speculate that
the person who lost the money may not have been the legal owner—will
give the money to Veronesi.
Although neither Mike nor I deserved
finding money—because we already considered ourselves to
be fortunate—I still like to believe in luck. I didn’t
settle definitively on a solution that night, so I’m still
mulling over possibilities, almost two weeks later. The thrill,
after all, wouldn’t come from spending the $100 bill, as
nothing can match the “lucky” chance experience of
finding it.
(Stacy Jones, a Southerner,
is a Master of Fine Arts student in fiction writing at The University
of Memphis. She is a native of Guys, Tenn., and her columns,
which appear on Saturdays, are archived at Southern-Drawl.com.) |
|
|
