Sunday, I rode the Blue Line light-rail train to Long Beach. When I put my plastic shopping bag on the floor, something fell off the electrical box underneath the seat in front of me.
It was three sets of blank checks.
I mailed them to the address on the checks this morning, anonymously.
Interesting thing, though. The city on the address was:
Dublin, CA 91784
But the lady at the Post Office checked that Zip Code and said it was for Upland, CA. So I changed the city to Upland. So it’s possible those checks will never return to their owners, and end up in the dead letter office. I guess that’s better than someone less honest than I finding the checks and writing themselves a fat one. OTOH, I think the machines that read addresses only read the Zip Codes and ignore everything else in the address. (Humans handle the remainder of the sorting, right?)
I bet the checks were ordered on the phone, but the person at the bank mistook “Dublin” (which is in Northern California) for “Upland,” (which is in Southern California).
I’ll probably never know what happens, though.
Question: For how long should I pat myself on the back?