One Dollar

I was late for work and walking to my car. My thoughts still ruminating through the conversation I had last night with Cody (it was a brief IM and confirmed that we still need more time away from each other), I walked with my head looking down at the sidewalk. It was then I spotted an errant green note laying to the side of the cement.

Every time I see money on the ground, I think back to a rather unassuming experience I had walking the halls of my high school. It was after hours, and I while I don’t remember why I was still there, I do know I was the only one around. From a distance, I could make out something on the floor as I was leaving. When I approached the object, I could see it was a 5 dollar bill. Five dollars. I didn’t pause. I walked right passed it with the thought, “Whoever dropped it will be back looking for it.” That was always my policy. It seemed honest and fair. “The rightful owner will be thankful to me,” I consoled myself.

During college, a conversation came up about the moral dilemma in collecting abandoned money off the street. I expressed my adolescent view on the subject, and a friend responded, “The next person who sees it will take it. It might was well be you.” That made sense, and I have since dismissed the practice of leaving money on the ground for the rightful owner to find it. It might as well be me.

I looked at the bill this morning, and despite the cold and my tardiness to work, I bent down and snatched it up.

I didn’t think much of it. One dollar. Not much these days. But it was fun to tuck it into my billfold.

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“Excuse me!” I heard a voice from a white sedan calling for me after I had passed it. It was late and I wanted to go home. The wind and cold was already making my nose drip as I turned around to see what the voice wanted. “I’m trying to find the metro station. Do you know where it is?” There was some confusion as to exactly which metro station he wanted, but in the end, the one he needed was only about 6 blocks away. While helping him, a homeless man approached us. He had some elaborate story that I didn’t catch because I was, after all, in the middle of trying to help the driver gain his bearings. I finished with the driver and turned to the homeless guy.

Not surprisingly, I have a policy with the homeless. I try to smile and nod while saying, “Sorry,” and walk away. They usually appreciate the warmth of the smile and the fact that I’ve even acknowledged their presence. If I say too much, they will pester me. I have been taken advantage of before while trying to help the homeless, and so I feel that the organizations equipped to help them could better use my support than if I try to help the individual myself.

But tonight was an exception. I didn’t hesitate as I said, “Sure. Here’s a dollar.”