Ok, so my mileage needs (er, a, wants) have not been met this week, but not to fear, last night when I took my daughter to dance, there was a two-hour window in which to R-U-N. I can get in 8 miles easy, and still have time to stop sweating (mostly.)
We get there a little early, cool, no one would object if I do 10 miles instead of 8. Ring, Ring (my cell phone doesn't actually ring, very few phones actually ring anymore, but what else do you say, music, music?) It's Ali's mom, she is going to run by dance to let me sign a form for Ali's school. She'll be there RIGHT at 6. Ok, no problem, back to 8 miles. Ok, so at 6:25 I start my run. The weather starts to break, It gets down to 98, I'm feeling pretty good. Must be garbage day in Northdale on Friday because the cans are out. This being the case I do my usual, picking up a few brewski cans and bottles that are close to garbage cans. Not a good day to do this, someone had a little party and couldn't get these....
In the stinking rubbish bins. I picked 6 of these 32 oz suckers out of the ditches as I'm running. No problem, I've already done speed work today, so I can have a leisurely run. I've got till 8 PM. As I'm scooping garbage and running I see a black object on the sidewalk, and I stop, look at it.... It's a wallet. It's this wallet:
There is no driver's license and there is $61 dollars in it. Now here is an actual picture of my wallet:
Ok, I'm broke and no-driver's license guy has 61 ducats. Easy choice? Shoot, I remember when I was in 6th grade, my parents were split up, we were never rich. I had a field trip to the phosphate mines in Mulberry (it was a weird school.) Afterwards we were supposed to go to a museum, the entrance fee was 75 cents, I didn't have it. I had no money. I'm sure mom had a buck or two (probably), but I was either afraid to ask, or just forgot. But I remember the terrible feeling of being the only kid on bus that couldn't go to the museum (skipping a museum doesn't seem so bad now.) Then, fate intervened, and jammed in between the seat and the side of the bus, I found a wallet. The wallet had 2 bucks in it! 
woo, who! I was set! Museum, snacks, the whole 9 yards. Guess what, I took that money and I just jammed the wallet right back where I found it. Then......... our bus broke down. Now, I'm sure that the two events weren't connected (fairly sure). But we hung out in the hot sun for a couple of hours till another bus came along. No museum, no snacks, no nine yards. And where's the 2-spot? Couldn't tell. You. And that act... well, it still haunts me.
..............................Bad Karma!..............................On the other hand... last year, in almost the same spot I found a check book, I called the owner. They were thrilled. The lady even, swear to God, tried to set me up with her daughter. Taking the 2 clams, bad karma, turning the checkbook, good karma. So the wallet, easy choice.. right?
No driver's license... Ok, even though I'm broke (and I do mean broke, I owe my girlfriend $125, hope to pay it back soon. I have to register for the AT 100 before Sept. 4th, I mean I could use that $61 clams). F*#$ it, I'm finding the person, I'm getting that wallet back. I run back to my car. There is a check in the wallet with an address, I don't recognize the street. No phone number on the check. There are a few phone numbers in the wallet. None of them work. That 61 bucks is almost mine! I can take Ali to get ice cream, maybe put gas in the car... One more thing. I call my buddy Jon, he mapquests the address, it's very close to where I found the wallet. I drive over (my run is shot, I got in 3 miles, better than nothing). Knock on the door. No answer. Ring the bell, no answer. I turn to leave, this sweet Indian lady answers the door, she speaks little English. I try to tell her that I found a wallet, (I'm just a sweaty American guy, I think she was scared out of her gourd). Just then a teenager comes up on his bike, I say, "hey, did you lose a wallet."
He gives me a bow, "Thank you SO MUCH!" His face lights up. He's a nice young man, his eyes tell the story.... Good Karma! Money, comes and goes, I've had it, I probably will again, but that was a moment worth far more to me than that tank of gas, besides, I get paid on Thursday, I can ride the bike till then.
12 comments:
Mathews money management 101. That's what happens when your mom's a nun. Some seek riches, get married to witches, but tramps like you, baby you were born to run!
This new writing style is a nod to AndyMan's godson, who will be studying in Limerick, Ireland this Fall.
I'da kept the dough.
Chase,
Shhhooot, if I had your money, I'd burn mine, but talk about a small fire! I'm guessing that you wouldn't have kept the dough, you're a swell feller.
Actually, surf kayakers are swell fellers (and gals).
We coulda used $61 in Daytona, remember? By the way, those girls are still waiting for us on the curb.
Ah man Steve, just think if we'd had the 61 pesos, we could have stayed another week! Shoot, we could have bought those chippies a drink or three (or, they may have looked better if we'd had those drinks.....) Actually, I was in Daytona a couple of weeks ago, and they were there, and mine still looks pretty good, yours was looking a little rough!
This is a test. This is only a test.
Excuse me, I seem to have lost my wallet...
Andy: You did the right thing! Kudos to you!
(Little skeptic in your head) But how can you be completely sure the wallet actually belongs to this kid?
Superdave: Yes, kayak surfers and sea kayakers are indeed swell!
Also, I was wonder what a chippie is; can anyone clue me in? OR is this something I really DON'T want to know. Sounds like a golf term.
You know: "All he needs is just one little chippie on this very tough No. 18 hole and he'll take home the Green Jacket." Or something like that.
This blog is truly inspiring, now I'm going to be nicer to everybody AND triple my workout!
Oops! I noticed at least one big typo in my message. Pretty bad for a copy editor! Anybody who catches it gets $68.
NOT!
Also, I was wonder(ing). I'll take a Grant, and an Andy, and give you back to G.W.'s.
Your definition of chippie works just fine.
The kid, it was his, I could tell. I wish I'd have remembered that old saying... Finders keepers, Losers weepers, but I kept thinking it was Finders weepers, losers keepers, schmidtz!
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