Reverse bank enrichment

I wish I could see the security video of me snatching out some twenties, struck in the bottom plate of my bank ATM, as the door began clamping shut. It all happened so fast. At first, I thought the machine had accidentally dispensed eighty extra dollars. However, after quickly examining the money, I saw that I was indeed short twenty bucks and the last twenty was ripe for plucking by the next man.

Although it was only twenty, I immediately went inside to report the odd incident. Sandra[1], the teller in charge, was on break, but came through to address my complaint. She inspected the machine with her special key; however, by then, the next man had already absconded with my twenty. I saw this as rich writing fodder and observed closely as the actions unfolded. Sandra, spoke quietly to a manager in the far corner about the dilemma and discreetly motioned my way. Perhaps I was a bit scruffy, but they could see I was not a lowdown shabster. After all, if I were trying to con them, why would I be asking for only twenty? Then I mentioned that we could file a police report.

Something like this had happened before, at an earlier incarnation of the bank. Years ago, one of the twenties came out as a five on a Friday evening. That next Monday, as I made my case, they told me that they would have to “inspect the tapes” before offering a refund. Inspect the tapes? What tapes? The video of my ticked of reaction for being short-shifted? This was almost funny, but I also sensed that seemingly small incidents like these are also, the types that trigger something deep within, making some people “go off.” In the earlier incident, the personnel inspected the tapes and credited my account, along with a written apology. One friend suggested that an apology from a bank is worthy of framing.

As we waited for resolution of the current ATM incident, I related this old episode to Sandra, which lightened our tension. I also wondered if I would have been so keen to report this, had the machine accidentally dispensed me an extra eighty, as I first thought it had. Last winter, when I found a bag of money in front of Telly’s Deli’s, I did not hesitate to call the owner, thinking that I would be richer for the story.

In other cases though, I wasn’t always so honest. Being a late night delivery person for many years, I found a number of interesting items, which had become separated from their owners. At one point after five losers in a row had expressed no gratitude for the safe return of their items, I thought, “For the next valuable item I discover, I shall keep it, and like a modern day Robin Hood toss the coinage to Poverty Flats children!”

However, this remains perplexing. After all, you’re either 100 percent honest or not honest at all, aren’t you? But, aren’t there some grey areas with a little nudge room here? As I relayed this story, it triggered interesting reactions within my colleagues. It’s easy to see how some would think, “With times this tough, now the bank is ripping me off too!” Some wanted to point out what a fool I was for not telling the man behind me in line to hold off, because there was a problem with the machine. I did not see a machine trouble button, nor were there any fire alarms nearby. Most folks who listened to the story seemed to clamp their minds tight around the elusive twenty, rather than focusing on extracting the broader aspect of the story or taking advantage of a unique situation to become better acquainted with those involved in the incident.

As I drove away from the bank, rightly compensated for my misplaced twenty, the incident reminded me of fabled basketball days. Like after playing with some people I’ve seen hanging around the courts, but never really knew that well; and then after sharing a sportingly good time, feeling a common bond, whenever we saw each other bouncing around town.

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[1] Not her real name

Headline: Bothersome moneybags

Jim Banholzer

I’m forever finding sacks of money and whatnot while performing early morning deliveries. Generally at the crack of dawn, these treasures come into view like ancient Indian petroglyphs -always appearing in the eastern sun. It’s as the people from Twin and Boise suspected –the streets of Sun Valley are sometimes spanned with gold.

It’s indecipherable why this keeps happening. I figure that folks out whooping it up, while craning their high-altitude stories, distract themselves, and then leave a purse or camera on top of their rig, which enjoys a pleasant little ride –until that first speedy curve at the edge of town.

Highway clean up crews can attest to this, often finding objects of interest, which have sling-shot off vehicles and into the guttural high grasses for foxes to quizzically sniff at.

Before turning the items in, I generally try to do a little detective work, to save the police some trouble. For instance if I find a cell phone and it’s still operational, I’ll call my phone from the lost one to obtain its caller ID. Then, presuming that the person who lost the phone will still check their messages from a remote phone, I’ll leave a message telling them, at which jurisdiction they can pick up their lost items.

Day planners and address books are trickier. People often neglect to mark their own name within the planner –creating a challenging mindbender for Good Samaritan finders. Once I went through a full day reminder without discovering the loser’s name –until paging back to “Grandma” in the address book. Connecting with person separated from their belongings Grandma, I described the teeny purse along with the finding circumstances. Good old Grandma’s concentration led us to easily discover which of her grandchildren had lost the purse. They even handed out twenty bucks along with their thanks.

“Ice” is the ticket now. Emergency authorities say to file your crisis contact numbers clearly under “Ice” in the event of an accident or separation somehow from your prized possessions. EMT’s are trained to look for this -whether it is through cell phones, address books or even tattoos- in the event patients are incapacitated from communicating.

Digital cameras present new angles. One summer I found one sitting atop Proctor Ridge. Clicking through their slideshow, I didn’t recognize anybody, so figured they were part-timers or tourists. When I handed it over to the police and confessed my good excuse to be nosy, we all had a good laugh.

Sometimes people are not so appreciative. Once an old girlfriend, found 170 bucks in a bag at a gas station. After doing some detective work, the lady demanded we bring it across town immediately –as if we had something to do with the reason she had lost it. We obliged, but then she never looked us in the eye nor breathed a syllable of thanks. However, Brooke and I looked still looked upon this event as a worthwhile experience.

Once, our lively crew was returning from visiting a great waterfall. A group in an adjacent boat-like station wagon had an un-tethered expensive looking camera, enjoying a lovely lensed ride atop

their car’s roof. As the light was about to change green, our animated crew started chanting and pointing to their top. They thought our roughneck gang to be a ship of fools –perhaps madmen pirates, until on a last second whim, one of the mellower boatmen had the valor to reach out the window and save their camera and days photographic records.

Often I’ll see what looks like a wallet or purse just off the side of the road. Most rusherby’s are figuring that since nobody is stopping, it can’t be a true value item. And a lot of the time they are right! A few days after turning in one lonesome wallet, I thought I saw yet another, while driving up Phantom Hill at the edge of the evening twilight. After five losers in a row had expressed no gratitude for the return of their items, I thought, “From this one, I shall keep the money, and like a modern day Robin Hood toss the coinage to kids in Poverty Flats!” Fully confident of the riches to be held, I scooped my hand, into the light almost gone and skimmed up what I thought was a smushed leather wallet from the long roadside shadows –until I got back to the headlights and shuddered, seeing in my speedy greed I had skimmed up, and was trying to pocket a perfectly rectangular leathered squirrel, gone off that old dusty trail.

Epilogue

Immediately after this musing, I dreamt that my wallet was pick-pocketed. Within a few hours (still within the dream), it showed up on a bench at the YMCA bereft of cash. Soon after, I mentioned the dream to a friend. He said, “T hat’s funny, because I had a dream the night before yours, in which I found a wallet with cash bulging from its seams. Our tacit agreement was that he would buy me a strong Himalayan tea –in one of our next dreams.