Amy and I climbed into the taxi as acquaintance and co-worker Mike slid in behind us. He was continuing to talk about the area, saying which parts of Jersey were nice, and which weren't — pointing out that where we were wasn't bad, and that the area we were headed to was certainly pretty decent. He was trying to sell New Jersey to us, and specifically the area his apartment is in. He and his wife and kid are moving at the end of the month and he sent a company-wide message about the place they're vacating, and I was quick to respond. After a brief PATH train ride, here we were. I slid in first, so Amy could be on "the hump" which affords her an unimpeded view out of the window. Amy gets carsick pretty easily, and being able to see helps.
There was a baggie on the seat. Inside was some kind of envelope. I picked it up as I sat down. "What's that?" Amy asked. I pulled the envelope, which appeared to be a bank deposit envelope that was torn open, out of the baggie and looked. There were a bunch of $20 bills. About 15-20 of them, I'd guess.
My very first thought was that I wish nobody had seen me pick it up. I could have just put it in my bag. Nobody would have known. I had even thought, when I first saw it, that it had money in it. But now I was caught. "It appears to be a bunch of twenties in a bag," I said. "Oh no," she said. "The last person who was in here must have lost it."
We then had a slightly confused conversation with the driver. I quickly shoved the baggie through the partition and he took it, and told Amy yes he knew who the last rider was. Eventually we got a kind of acknowledgment that he'd hold onto the money in case someone called the cab company looking for it.
As we finally pulled away from the curb I leaned into Amy and quietly said "I think the cabbie just got a lot of free money." She nodded.
The apartment turned out to have some real great things about it, and one huge negative — the kitchen is tiny tiny. About the size of a canoe, tiny. Plus the oven looks like it was installed about twenty years ago, which was about the last time it was cleaned, I'd guess. (Not meant as a slam to Mike or his very nice wife — it was one of those things where, you know, after it gets to a certain level of disuse... what's the point?) The bathroom was about the same size. And, even though the enormous livingroom (you could play squash in there) almost made up for the kitchen, it didn't really even come close. We decided then and there not to take the apartment, which we confirmed with each other on the PATH train ride home.
It was kind of a relief, actually. If we'd wanted the place we would have had to move in a little over two weeks. Of course, if it was a great apartment, I'd have been up for it. But coming home and realizing that, for a while longer yet, we didn't have to cross that bridge and/or tunnel... we were relieved.
Walking back from the train stop Amy said "I'm sorry I made you give the cabbie that money." I said, "Oh, that's okay. I would have given it to him anyway."
Now, I like to think that I would. I'd like to think that I'd have gotten into that cab and looked at the envelope and maybe slid it in my bag and then thought better of it and said something to the cabdriver and then had the same confused conversation with him while handing off the bag. I think there's, perhaps, a 50/50 chance that I would have.
It's gotten me thinking about morality. I tend to think of myself as a moral person. Really, though, I don't know that I am. I have a lot of music that I haven't paid for, for example. I once killed a man by pushing him onto the subway tracks. Okay, that's not true. Okay, how about this — I'm a moral person, except when it's easy and not dangerous to not be. But what good is that? As long as someone isn't watching, and I can get away with something, I have no problem with acting in my self-interest? Even when it will definitely hurt someone else?
Is that what religion is for — to help us curb those tendencies? If you believe in an omnipotent god, then he's sure as shit watching you when you climb in that cab. And if you don't do what you can to return that money to it's rightful owner, then he's gonna shake his head and suck on his teeth while he picks up the phone to St. Peter telling him to take you off The List. Perhaps you'll spend the rest of eternity in Hell, chasing after a cab that has a jar with your soul in it. And every time you think you've caught the right cab, you see another one pull away that really has the jar in it. If you believe that — deep down believe it — that's enough deterrent right there.
But what if you don't? What stops you? Wanting to do "the right thing?" Being raised "correctly?" Philosophy? Belief in karma? I don't know. I'd like to think that the idea of "the right thing to do" is a strong enough chair to sit on. I plant my ass on it enough. Of course the line between right and wrong is a created one and if you hold on to the seat of that chair and hop around enough, you can find yourself on either side of it. But you have to believe in somewhere. You have to draw the line. You have to believe in something. But how much does it take to get you to stop looking down to see where that line is, so you can say you didn't notice when you passed over it?
What if that had been a $5 bill? No doubt in my mind: would have pocketed it without a second thought. $10? Same thing. $20? Yep. $40? $50? Well... now we're getting to that shady place. I don't know. I'm not sure what the amount is that makes it a small enough offense that it "doesn't matter" if I keep it. Somehow that bag, the deposit envelope, the amount... that should be returned. I'm clear on that. I should hand that to the cab driver.
Except... c'mon... that cabbie's going to keep it. Cab drivers make shit money and he'd probably had a horrible day and his kid's probably sick and his wife is probably angry at him because his job has god-awful hours and doesn't pay well enough, and he's been stiffed plenty of times driving that damned cab so why the hell not? Why shouldn't he keep the money? Isn't that karma? What comes around, goes around? Isn't this his payment for putting in the hours?
So, then, if he's going to keep it, why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I get that XBox360 I've been coveting with the money? But that's so shallow and trivial — obviously I shouldn't steal the money for that. What if I kept the money and spent it on Amy? Took her to a nice dinner... a show... maybe finally get away upstate for a weekend like we keep saying we're going to? What if I gave the money to charity? Would that make it okay? What if I walked down the street and gave $20 to each homeless person I ran into? Does that justify it?
Of course not. And of course I wouldn't do that anyway. If I'm willing to take this money and remove the last tentative connection it has to its rightful owner — at least by giving it to the driver I'm making my link in the chain that might actually get the money back to the person who lost it — then I'm going to use it selfishly (because I can — because I am fortunate enough to be at a place in my life where I wouldn't need that money, say, to pay my rent, or buy dinner).
Maybe that's why this is even something I would consider: I don't take money seriously. I've always had enough. Sure, I've lived paycheck-to-paycheck for years. But I've never been almost homeless. I've never been without a job long enough where I couldn't eat and I didn't know how I was going to live.
Perhaps there's a basis for morality in there somewhere: a deeper connection to the things around us, and to our actions. I don't know... I'm just looking to wrap this up neatly somehow.
I want to be a good person. I think I know what that is. I think I know how a good person would act in certain situations. I also think that a good person acts good regardless of whether he or she is being watched. That's maybe a true test of goodness, and moral strength: when the only person who is watching is you, what do you do?
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