An Uncomfortable, yet Unavoidable, Truth

 Several years ago, the wife and I were grocery shopping, as we often do. For whatever reason, we needed cash this time (something we were going to do the next day that cash would be more convenient, I suppose.) Anyway, we make our purchase, I push the buttons for cash back (probably $40, but maybe as much as $60.) This was a self-checkout register, which I infinitely prefer to having to deal with a cashier.

We get home, and later the wife says something that reminds me of the cash. I ask her for it, and she said “I don’t have it. I thought you got it.” Of course I didn’t.

This was a time where our finances were finally starting to get under control, and though the loss of $40 (or maybe $60!) wasn’t something I’d want to do on a regular basis, I knew the chances of getting it back were slim to none and was ready to write it off as an expensive lesson learned. The wife wanted me to call the store and ask if it had been turned in, and I didn’t want to. After all, who’s going to turn in found money?

As you can probably guess, I finally called the store. And as you may have guessed, I was surprised to hear that, once I was able to verify the register number from the receipt, the time of day, and the amount, the customer service rep told me the money was there for me to pick up! Score on for the wife!

So why was I so sure nobody would turn it in? Because I wouldn’t have. If I’d found that money in the cash return at the register, I’d have pocketed it with very little thought. I’d have justified it as 1) the person won’t call back because they would assume it was gone, 2) even if I turned it in the person I gave it to would just keep it for themselves, and 3) I didn’t steal it, I found it. Finders keepers, right?

Maybe two weeks later, we were out shopping again. As we got to the self-checkout, we both noticed cash in the cash return. I took it out and saw it was $60, and my first instinct was to quickly pocket it before anyone saw. In my defense, we hadn’t seen anybody leave the register as we approached, so there wasn’t much of a chance finding whomever may have forgotten it.

The wife, of course, immediately stated we’d turn it in to customer service. I didn’t argue, immediately agreed with her that it was the right thing to do, but I didn’t believe it. If she hadn’t been there, I’d have kept that money with very little, if any, guilt.

And understand, none of my rationalizations would have applied. I now knew that people do call back, that at least some of the workers there are honest enough to attempt to get the money to the person who lost it, and that finders may be keepers but it sucks to be the loser who’s weeping.

And still, I’d have kept that money if the wife hadn’t been there. In fact, though our financial circumstances are much better now than they were even then, I’d probably keep the money under those circumstances.

I’m not a complete monster; if I saw someone drop the money I’d let them know. If I saw the person walking away and could surmise that it was their money, I’d make the effort to give it back. But randomly finding money with no obvious owner around, even knowing that there would be an outside chance that they would come back for it, I’d almost certainly keep it.

As an atheist, I don’t believe in a set “morality” as religion usually defines it, but I do believe in behaving ethically. I do this because I know the survival of society depends on most people being ethical, and because I can empathize with people enough to not want to cause them harm in a way that I don’t want to be harmed.

I know this such a huge hole in my ethical thinking, and it bothers me more that I know the hole is there, and recognize that it shouldn’t be and that I should work to close it, than my actions because of this hole. My cheating on the wife is a similar hole.

And yet, I will cheat on my wife again if the opportunity and timing allows. And if I were a millionaire with no money concerns at all, two months away from dying, I’d still want to pocket that $60. I’m not proud of it, and deserve whatever scorn I’ve got coming, but it’s a truth about me that I cannot change.