What would you do if you found a $100 bill in an empty elevator that’s propelling you to the eleventh floor? Answer quickly, because the next elevator “ding” could be that person looking for that bill. Pocket it? Tell the secretary you found money and let her deal with it? Post a note on the elevator to have the person contact you about a lost item in the elevator, hoping that it wouldn’t be reclaimed so you could keep it?
I used to work in a tall glass corporate office building – you know, one of those ubiquitous tall, rectangular buildings, that you can’t quite remember how tall, and looks blue, black or gray, depending on which angle you’re looking at it and where the sun is.
On a typical morning, I used to race across the security check points to one of the six elevators located behind them, trying to make it to work no more than ten minutes after the hour. In college, the grace period before declaring that a professor was a no-show was ten minutes. This ruled somehow carried to my professional life where anything after ten minutes seemed too late.
I stepped into an empty elevator and was trying to smooth out my crinkled dress suit and fix my uncomfortable panty hose. Wearing panty hose is like randomly wrapping rope around you, from your waist down. There’s always an uncomfortable feeling of something tugging, pulling or twisting the wrong way. But, not wearing it would make me feel too naked and self-conscious, walking around in an office full of men. As I was bending down to fix my panty hose, a green note caught my eyes. I thought someone dropped a one dollar bill and I wasn’t going to worry about it, until I saw a big head in the middle. If you’ve never noticed, Benjamin Franklin seemed to have the biggest head shot of all the bills.
I picked it up and looked at it. Is it real? Then, OMG, I found a $100 bill! One. Hundred. Dollars!!! How often does that happen? My heart was racing as I stared at the bill, trying to decide what I should do next. The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor. I shoved the bill in my purse and got out of the elevator calmly.
My mind was preoccupied with my found treasure when my boss approached me and asked why I was so happy that morning. My honesty got the best of me and I told him I found something and couldn’t decide what to do with it. He said if it wasn’t his, just keep it. My eavesdropping co-worker who sat in the cubicle next to me asked what it was. I didn’t tell him, but told him it was a good find. For the rest of the day, he came up to me with random guesses; none of them correct.
By mid-morning my guilty conscience got the better of me and I decided to post a note by the ground floor elevators to see who would reclaim it. I didn’t trust the secretary to do it; because, if no one reclaimed it, I should keep it and not her.
During the course of the day, I received about a dozen calls for missing items in an elevator -- ring, glasses – couple pairs, a watch, bracelet, address book, notebook, and pen. A pen, and it’s not even Mont Blanc material. Who would care about a missing pen? I shouldn’t be so harsh; it could have sentimental values. No one named the right item, so I was satisfied with the results and prepared to go home with a free $100 bill.
The next day, as I was taking down the note from the elevator, a middle-aged gentleman came up to me and asked if I knew who posted these notes. I said I did. He asked if by chance I happened to find a hundred dollar bill. He went to the ATM that morning, took out two hundred, and was putting the money in his wallet in the elevator, then noticed last night that he only had one of the hundreds in his wallet. Unless, of course, it fell out somewhere else. I looked at him, took a deep breath and said, yes, I found your hundred dollar bill. He gave me a big smile and said thank you, then proceeded to give me $20 for finding his $100. I declined.
I was saddened by my lost treasure, but in the end grateful that I did a good deed. If I were in his shoes, I’d want someone to return my money, too. Now, how often does that happen?
