I was in Kroger two days ago and I experienced a stroke of good luck. But, before I finish the second sentence of this blog I must already digress by stating a couple of observations about my neighborhood Kroger store:
1) When you first walk in to any Kroger, there is the large picture of the store manager. At the store I shop at, the manager is a person by the name of none other than "Michael Sickman". If that doesn't make you wash the produce twice, nothing will.
2) Have you ever noticed that "Kroger" spelled backward is "regork"? Coincidence? I think NOT!!!
Anyhoo, I was about the only person in there. There was only one checkout lane that was open and it happened to be empty. For once I picked the fastest line! So, while paying for my items I look down and I saw a $5 bill on the floor and so I think to myself "Dang! I just dropped $5!". I pick it up and as I do so I notice it's folded differently than I fold my money. So, I conclude the $5 is not mine but there's no rightful owner in sight to chase it down and give it to. Long story short, I feel a bit guilty for not being able to find the rightful owner but I shove it in my pocket faster that you can say "Michael is a Sickman".
*Two weeks ago I found a quarter in the parking lot, so I'm on a roll at that place*
I could have donated the money right then and there because there was one of those little clear plastic charity donation boxes for some worthy cause. But, I took the money home because...
I keep all the money I've ever found in my adult life in a special can.
This can is marked "found money" and stored in a top-secret location in the top of my closet on the upper right shelf next to some shoe boxes. Nobody will ever find it there. I counted the money in it the next morning. Including the $5 I now have a grand total of $20.44 in my "found money" can. My kids saw me counting the money and asked me if that was my piggy bank.
Here's the plan: the day before I die, I'm gonna break open my found money can and blow it ALL on something special. At this point, I could buy myself a really really nice...T-shirt, or something. Actually, I was thinking $20.44 could actually pay for something a bit nicer...like...a CUSTOMIZED T-shirt! Seeing as I plan to do this the day before I die, I think I'll ask to wear it at my wake and funeral. I'll get a T-shirt made special that says: "I DIED AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT". That might make everyone attending chuckle and then both of them could share a laugh about all the funny stuff I did when I was alive.
Yep, that's how I plan to use my money can. I plan to put it to good use to put the "fun" back in "funeral"!
About Me
- Mick
- In 1968, a baby boy was born and his parents named him Michael. As a cute little zero year old, he had a little round nose and made gurgly noises. But, he also had colic which tired his mama out and his grandmother often rocked him to sleep. One night, while doing this, she nicknamed him "Mickey" and that is why people also call him Mick. He grew up in upstate New York in a place too remote to be called anything. There were a lot of bugs and his Dad yelled at him for using too many paper towels. Little Mickey tried to have fun playing war with his friends and shooting BB guns. He didn't apply himself very much in school and he graduated high school Magne Cum Lousy. One day in 1986 he discovered a lump in his neck which he promptly ignored for more than 6 months. As fate would have it, it was Hodgekin's Disease and after months of dicking around with inept doctors, he promptly underwent aggressive treatment involving brutal tests and chemotherapy. This lasted a year followed by many years of paranoia. This is where he learned to suffer and it payed great dividends. Now he teaches 13th grade at a college in Ohio where he suffers daily.
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