Cheque It Out - True Story
Saturday, 16 February 2013:
I picked up my cherry Doc Marten boots from the front porch, a bit worried about spiders. They’d been sitting out there for months. From the left boot, I pulled out some dead leaves—and, to my surprise, a neatly folded rectangular piece of paper.
Curious, I unfolded it. The typeface read:
Pay: CASH the sum of One Thousand Dollars only
Dated: 20 December 2012
Business Account
Dumbfounded, I sat down.
Scratching my head, I imagined some local billionaire who thought the world would end on December 21, 2012. Maybe he decided to give all his money away. Maybe he told his accountants to divide and distribute his fortune into $1,000 cash cheques, to be delivered randomly to unsuspecting households in disadvantaged neighborhoods.
Absurdly possible—but highly unlikely.
Then I remembered something more real and mundane: a morning in late December 2012.
I was in the bathroom, getting ready for work, when I heard a knock at the front door. I tiptoed to the window and yelled, “Who is it?”
I couldn’t make out the full reply, but one word came through clearly: “boot.”
Pretending I’d understood the rest, I yelled back, “Yeah, OK—come back later, I’m busy!”
I finished getting ready and, running late, quickly opened the car boot, scanned the contents, found nothing unusual, and drove to work—thinking nothing more of it.
Could it be that the event I’d just remembered was connected to the cheque I found? After all, that day I only checked my car boot... I hadn’t even noticed my cherry Doc Marten boots.
Satisfied (somewhat) with this theory, I still couldn’t figure out why I’d been given a $1,000 cash cheque. I eventually accepted that it wasn’t meant for me—that it must’ve been delivered to the wrong address. I shook my head, sighed loudly, flipped the middle finger at the air, and shoved the cheque into a drawer.
For the next few days, I wrestled with what to do about it. I had heated arguments, debated with myself, and threw a few temper tantrums—solo. Eventually, I came up with a Three-Step Plan:
Step 1: Confirm the cheque’s authenticity
Step 2: Find the business account holder
Step 2.1: Locate the intended recipient and hand it over
Step 3: If no answers by 30 days, rip up the cheque
Tuesday, 19 February 2013:
I showed the cheque and told the story to a trusted workmate. “Yep, it checks out in my book,” she teased. “Just spend it!”
“Yeah, NAH,” I growled.
Step 1: check.
I started Step 2. I scoured the White and Yellow Pages, community boards, newspapers, countless ads, and all the online search engines. I asked neighbors, local shop owners, coworkers, family, and friends if they were expecting payment for something. No one had any idea.
Each dead end made me believe the cheque—and the business account—were bogus. And honestly, that made me more frustrated than relieved. My desire to return what wasn’t mine started to morph into a mission to find the delivery guy and give him a serious piece of my mind.
Friday, 1 March 2013:
Getting closer to my 30-day deadline, I stumbled across a single PDF online that listed the business account, company address, and the Director’s name.
Step 2: check.
Saturday, 2 March 2013:
I wrote a letter to the Director explaining how I’d found a cheque from his business account in my boot. I admitted I wasn’t the intended recipient, outlined my 30-day plan, and asked him to call me if he wanted to confirm or explain anything.
Saturday, 16 March 2013:
No response.
Tuesday, 19 March 2013:
One day before the deadline.
It was late in the afternoon when I got a phone call. A male voice on the other end said:
“The cheque is yours. Do you still have it? Cash it in tomorrow morning. I see what you go through. It was to make your Christmas a bit better.”
As he spoke, my mind spun: Wait—what? Go through what? The cheque’s not fake? What did he just say?
He continued:
“I see you and your daughter. I see how hard it is to lift her from the wheelchair into the car. You don’t have a hoist or a mobility vehicle. I bet it’s not easy—for either of you. Life must be tough sometimes.
I have a son with a disability—but at least he can walk.
The money is yours.”
I was speechless. Embarrassed. Emotional.
I managed to choke out a “thank you” and ended the call.
Although I still had some doubts, I decided not to rip up the cheque on Day 30.
Step 2.1: check.
Step 3: aborted.
Wednesday, 20 March 2013:
I took a close friend and parked my unwarranted car outside the bank. I still couldn’t believe someone would just give my daughter and me $1,000.
Wild thoughts ran through my mind:
This is probably some prank. Any second now, a YouTube crew will jump out and film my reaction.
The bank teller will laugh and say, “This cheque’s fake!”
Or even worse—alarms will sound, red lights will flash, the doors will lock, the armed offenders squad will crash through the windows, and I’ll get arrested for cashing stolen money from a heist gone wrong!
As I walked toward the bank, I dialed the Director’s number to make sure it was still real—still valid.
I imagined a pirate ship, a Jolly Roger flag waving, and myself walking a thin wooden plank...
He answered. I snapped out of my fantasy.
I said, nervously, “Um… h-hi. I’m on the plank—uh, I mean, I’m at the bank. Is everything OK?”
He replied, calm and warm:
“Cash the cheque. The money is yours.”
So I did.
And it was.
True story.
