The first time was when I was at the community college. I was scrounging for change in my pocket in order to get a drink from the vending machine. Short ten cents. I heaved a deep sigh and pushed the button to return my money. The quarters in my hand were more than the money inserted in the first place.
In situations like this, I am no longer certain what to do. My tortured conscience tells me that I should find a way to return the money to the person to whom it belonged. The broke person recalls the finders keepers of her childhood (without the losers weepers). Guiltily, I use the extra money to get that drink that will keep me from visiting the water fountain for a while.
The second time was this morning. I was on my way to the grocery store and had barely made the turn from our house when I saw a five dollar bill on the pebbled ground. I reached to pick it up. It was wet, which made my OCD self rather uncomfortable. Once I began walking again, that good old conscience began poking me. I called my mother and since I was still in the vicinity of our neighbors, spoke in Urdu. "MeiN ne zameen se paanch dollar ka note uThaiya. Ho sakta hai ye kal merey jaib se gir giya ho, par ho sakta hai ye mera nahiN."
My mother was of the opinion that it was mine and must have fallen from my pocket. I decided to adopt this "theory". Holding on to the five dollar note for the entire time in one hand, I walked to the store, and as I wandered through the aisles picking up milk, olive oil, soap, toothpaste, I was determined that regardless of which one of us actually deserved to get that five dollar note, I would find a way to pay it forward.
As I was leaving, I saw a table where they were collecting money for the disabled veterans of America . . .
How lucky could I have been this week? And how much may another person have profited from the same thing?
