ACCOUNTANT BY DAY

An older man came in five minutes before close on a dark winter evening with a check he wanted to cash, sliding the check through the tray to me. When I looked back up to tell him the total fee for cashing it, he was nowhere in sight. I was peering with mild confusion out into the lobby when he suddenly stood up from where he’d been crouching under the counter.

“I found a penny under here,” he said. “Someone threw away a penny.”

I stared at him blankly. “Uh, your check will be $6.53 to cash, sir,” I said.

“It’s gonna be my lucky penny now,” he said.

“Is that so,” I said.

“Will you touch it for me?” he asked.

It is hard to describe how nonplussed I was by this request. “Why would I do that, sir?” I asked him.

“You’ll make it lucky,” he insisted.

“I’m not lucky,” I joked. “I work for The Man.”

“You have to touch my penny,” he begged. “Please. Why won’t you? Don’t be a spoilsport!”

“Sir, I don’t want to touch your lucky penny.”

“It’s not lucky yet! You have to touch it to make it lucky!”

It was now two minutes after closing time. Feeling embarrassed for humoring such madness, and looking around to make sure that my boss wasn’t paying attention to this exchange, I motioned for the man to pass his stupid penny through the window.

I touched the penny gingerly, wondering if it were actually an evil soul vortex with which he planned to steal my life force, but it appeared to be a normal penny. It was dated 1974. I rolled it over in my hand and said, “Uh, is it lucky now?”

“Yes, thank you so much,” the man gushed as he collected his cash and his penny.

“Uh, you’re welcome. Would you mind flipping that light switch by the door when you leave?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you! Thank you!” the man said.