When she gave me the check, I handed it right back to her.
I physically put it back in her hands with a laugh, a sort of chuckle, as if to say--Nooo, you don't want to give me that much money.
The money I handed back was for my car. Someone had side-swiped it while it was parked on the street where I work, and the driver's side mirror had come right off.
I was fully covered by the insurance, because I had taken a loan out on the car and so I had to get the complete coverage package. This included uninsured motorists--basically designed for hit and runs.
Before we go any further, I should mention that a missing driver's side mirror was actually the least of my car's problems--at least from a visual perspective.
The car was an eleven-year-old Buick and it had seen its share of bad days. I won't say I'm the worst driver in the world, but I'm definitely the worst parker. I'd backed into so many poles and cars in that car, the exterior of it looked like I had taken it on a tour of some war-torn country.
I never bothered fixing any of the dents or dings, because I didn't have the money, and I wasn't all that concerned with how my car looked. As long as it moved without me having to remove the floor and drive it using my feet like Fred Flintstone, I was happy.
I was happy to be able to fix the mirror, but it was going to be like putting a new roof on an old house...An old house with no windows and no working plumbing. You know, that old house on the block that kids are afraid of? Anyway, you get my point.
I took the car into the insurance office to have the damage estimated. I reported the broken mirror, and the woman took it around back to have it looked at.
About forty-five minutes later, she returned and handed me a check for over six hundred dollars.
My immediate instinct was to not even touch it. I was a college student at the time, and I had actually never seen that much money on one check.
"Sir," the woman explained, using a tone and smile that you reserve for the mentally impaired, "This is your check to fix the car."
"I don't understand," I said, "A mirror costs six hundred dollars?"
"Nooo," she said, making those last few "o"s come out as "You idiot."
She explained that I had a $500 deductible, and the damage on the car totalled around $1,100, meaning the insurance company would cover $600, and that's the check I was being given.
That was when I realized that she had mistakenly assessed all the damage on the car, not just the broken mirror.
I was positive I had only reported the mirror to her, but even if that wasn't the case, some of those dents were on the car before I got it. Didn't they have some sort of super-scientific machine at the insurance company that assesses cars so they don't have to pay a dime over what's necessary? I imagined a sort of CSI team with lasers and crash-test dummies looking at my car, trying to figure out if I was running a scam.
And without even trying--I had.
I explained to the woman that I only wanted to get the mirror fixed, but before I could confess that the other damage was my fault, she said--
"Sir, fix whatever you like. The check's been cut. It's yours. Have a nice day."
With that, she walked across the room to another customer who was probably going to be given a check for ten grand for a broken tail light.
What was I going to do with this money?
"Keep it."
That came from one of my friends when I explained the situation. I was sitting in my car, looking at the check, as if I'd just been given a key to a magical world where bills could be paid on time and unnecesssary materialistic items could be purchased without guilt or fear.
"But what if they come back later to make sure I repaired the car?"
"Kevin," he said, "They wrote you a check. It's over. You won.""But I wasn't trying to win anything! I just wanted my mirror fixed!"
"Are you actually complaining because somebody handed you free money?"
"It's not really free. They gave it to me to fix all the dents.""Well, if you feel so bad about it. Fix the dents."
But the thing is, I didn't want to. Even with the dents fixed, it would still be an old jalopy. And I was sort of proud of that. I didn't want to fix the dents--almost on principle.
"So," my friend said, "It looks like you're keeping the extra money."
Being raised by an Irish Catholic woman, I don't believe in luck. I believe if good things happen to you, it's because something worse is going to happen to you later on. It makes enjoying life a tad difficult.
That's why when I called my cousin the mechanic and he informed me that he found me a mirror and would do the labor for no charge, I wanted to die.
When some of the insurance money would go towards fixing the car, I could sort of rationalize keeping the rest, but keeping the entire check seemed like a recipe for cosmic disaster.
My cousin, however, agreed with my friend.
"Kevin, it's not like you're holding up some little Mom and Pop store," he said, "They're an insurance company. You pay them a lot of money every month just in case something happens to you."
"Yeah, and they cover me."
"Yes," he said, "But think of all the months when nothing happens to you. Look at this as a kind of refund for not crashing into anyone's house over the past few years."
Even with the absolution of a mechanic, I was still shaking when I pulled into the bank parking lot. I was going to attempt to deposit money I had no right to into my checking account.
What if some sort of alarm went off? What if this was all a big prank? What if Dateline was having cameras tape me right now, and as soon as I handed the check over, some nicely dressed reporter was going to step out of the shadows and say--
"Sir, aren't you ashamed of yourself conning a poor insurance company out of their hard-earned money?"
It's no wonder when I finally did hand the check over to the teller, it was mildly damp for my the sweat pouring off my palms.
When the teller looked at it, then at me, then back at the check, then said--"I have to get a manager"--I nearly made a run for the border.
She came back with a perky young bank manager to tell me that the check was made out to me and the bank that gave me a loan, most likely because the insurance company hadn't informed the bank that my loan was paid off.
"So you're saying I should give the money back," I asked.
The bank manager and the teller looked at each other as if I had suggested streaking through an orphanage.
"Nooo," she said--I was getting a lot of "o"s today, "It just means we have to call the other bank and have them sign off on this. It should just take a few minutes."
"I could just give the check back if you want," I said, "I don't really plan on using all the money. Just some of it. Maybe. I mean, I really need a new sweater, but other than that, I'm good."
I was turning the poor bank manager into my confessor, and from the look on her face, I could tell that wasn't something they covered in the Bank Manager's Handbook.
She started inching away from me as her "you're crazy" smile grew, and said--"Sir, it'll just take a minute or two, and then your check will be deposited. It should clear in a few days. Have a great week."
Clearly, if I hung around any longer, they were calling the FBI.
It seemed as if the entire world was classifying me as a lunatic for trying to give back money I wasn't entitled to.
I waited a few days, continually checking my bank account online. I kept thinking that maybe the check wouldn't clear.
That I would see a message pop up on my online banking statement.
"No money has been deposited into your account because you're a con artist and a fraud and your mother is ashamed of you."
But no dice. The check cleared. The money was mine.
. . . . .
I wish I could tell you I remember how I spent that money, but honestly, it evaporated quickly and went down many different avenues.
When you're in college, it's not difficult to find ways to spend money, but it is hard to recount what funds went where.
That made it a little easier to spend it, but for a few months afterwards I still answered the phone with a timid "Hellooo?"
The extra "o"s signifying my resilient guilt as I listened intently, half-expecting to hear the sound of the other shoe drop.
I physically put it back in her hands with a laugh, a sort of chuckle, as if to say--Nooo, you don't want to give me that much money.
The money I handed back was for my car. Someone had side-swiped it while it was parked on the street where I work, and the driver's side mirror had come right off.
I was fully covered by the insurance, because I had taken a loan out on the car and so I had to get the complete coverage package. This included uninsured motorists--basically designed for hit and runs.
Before we go any further, I should mention that a missing driver's side mirror was actually the least of my car's problems--at least from a visual perspective.
The car was an eleven-year-old Buick and it had seen its share of bad days. I won't say I'm the worst driver in the world, but I'm definitely the worst parker. I'd backed into so many poles and cars in that car, the exterior of it looked like I had taken it on a tour of some war-torn country.
I never bothered fixing any of the dents or dings, because I didn't have the money, and I wasn't all that concerned with how my car looked. As long as it moved without me having to remove the floor and drive it using my feet like Fred Flintstone, I was happy.
I was happy to be able to fix the mirror, but it was going to be like putting a new roof on an old house...An old house with no windows and no working plumbing. You know, that old house on the block that kids are afraid of? Anyway, you get my point.
I took the car into the insurance office to have the damage estimated. I reported the broken mirror, and the woman took it around back to have it looked at.
About forty-five minutes later, she returned and handed me a check for over six hundred dollars.
My immediate instinct was to not even touch it. I was a college student at the time, and I had actually never seen that much money on one check.
"Sir," the woman explained, using a tone and smile that you reserve for the mentally impaired, "This is your check to fix the car."
"I don't understand," I said, "A mirror costs six hundred dollars?"
"Nooo," she said, making those last few "o"s come out as "You idiot."
She explained that I had a $500 deductible, and the damage on the car totalled around $1,100, meaning the insurance company would cover $600, and that's the check I was being given.
That was when I realized that she had mistakenly assessed all the damage on the car, not just the broken mirror.
I was positive I had only reported the mirror to her, but even if that wasn't the case, some of those dents were on the car before I got it. Didn't they have some sort of super-scientific machine at the insurance company that assesses cars so they don't have to pay a dime over what's necessary? I imagined a sort of CSI team with lasers and crash-test dummies looking at my car, trying to figure out if I was running a scam.
And without even trying--I had.
I explained to the woman that I only wanted to get the mirror fixed, but before I could confess that the other damage was my fault, she said--
"Sir, fix whatever you like. The check's been cut. It's yours. Have a nice day."
With that, she walked across the room to another customer who was probably going to be given a check for ten grand for a broken tail light.
What was I going to do with this money?
"Keep it."
That came from one of my friends when I explained the situation. I was sitting in my car, looking at the check, as if I'd just been given a key to a magical world where bills could be paid on time and unnecesssary materialistic items could be purchased without guilt or fear.
"But what if they come back later to make sure I repaired the car?"
"Kevin," he said, "They wrote you a check. It's over. You won.""But I wasn't trying to win anything! I just wanted my mirror fixed!"
"Are you actually complaining because somebody handed you free money?"
"It's not really free. They gave it to me to fix all the dents.""Well, if you feel so bad about it. Fix the dents."
But the thing is, I didn't want to. Even with the dents fixed, it would still be an old jalopy. And I was sort of proud of that. I didn't want to fix the dents--almost on principle.
"So," my friend said, "It looks like you're keeping the extra money."
Being raised by an Irish Catholic woman, I don't believe in luck. I believe if good things happen to you, it's because something worse is going to happen to you later on. It makes enjoying life a tad difficult.
That's why when I called my cousin the mechanic and he informed me that he found me a mirror and would do the labor for no charge, I wanted to die.
When some of the insurance money would go towards fixing the car, I could sort of rationalize keeping the rest, but keeping the entire check seemed like a recipe for cosmic disaster.
My cousin, however, agreed with my friend.
"Kevin, it's not like you're holding up some little Mom and Pop store," he said, "They're an insurance company. You pay them a lot of money every month just in case something happens to you."
"Yeah, and they cover me."
"Yes," he said, "But think of all the months when nothing happens to you. Look at this as a kind of refund for not crashing into anyone's house over the past few years."
Even with the absolution of a mechanic, I was still shaking when I pulled into the bank parking lot. I was going to attempt to deposit money I had no right to into my checking account.
What if some sort of alarm went off? What if this was all a big prank? What if Dateline was having cameras tape me right now, and as soon as I handed the check over, some nicely dressed reporter was going to step out of the shadows and say--
"Sir, aren't you ashamed of yourself conning a poor insurance company out of their hard-earned money?"
It's no wonder when I finally did hand the check over to the teller, it was mildly damp for my the sweat pouring off my palms.
When the teller looked at it, then at me, then back at the check, then said--"I have to get a manager"--I nearly made a run for the border.
She came back with a perky young bank manager to tell me that the check was made out to me and the bank that gave me a loan, most likely because the insurance company hadn't informed the bank that my loan was paid off.
"So you're saying I should give the money back," I asked.
The bank manager and the teller looked at each other as if I had suggested streaking through an orphanage.
"Nooo," she said--I was getting a lot of "o"s today, "It just means we have to call the other bank and have them sign off on this. It should just take a few minutes."
"I could just give the check back if you want," I said, "I don't really plan on using all the money. Just some of it. Maybe. I mean, I really need a new sweater, but other than that, I'm good."
I was turning the poor bank manager into my confessor, and from the look on her face, I could tell that wasn't something they covered in the Bank Manager's Handbook.
She started inching away from me as her "you're crazy" smile grew, and said--"Sir, it'll just take a minute or two, and then your check will be deposited. It should clear in a few days. Have a great week."
Clearly, if I hung around any longer, they were calling the FBI.
It seemed as if the entire world was classifying me as a lunatic for trying to give back money I wasn't entitled to.
I waited a few days, continually checking my bank account online. I kept thinking that maybe the check wouldn't clear.
That I would see a message pop up on my online banking statement.
"No money has been deposited into your account because you're a con artist and a fraud and your mother is ashamed of you."
But no dice. The check cleared. The money was mine.
. . . . .
I wish I could tell you I remember how I spent that money, but honestly, it evaporated quickly and went down many different avenues.
When you're in college, it's not difficult to find ways to spend money, but it is hard to recount what funds went where.
That made it a little easier to spend it, but for a few months afterwards I still answered the phone with a timid "Hellooo?"
The extra "o"s signifying my resilient guilt as I listened intently, half-expecting to hear the sound of the other shoe drop.
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