Step 3 A of Values unit.

The Wallet

It was such a bright, brisk morning in March that I shoved my keys into my jeans, dropped my daughter off at her sitter's and walked the six blocks from my house to my new job at Bailey's Restaurant in down town Winter Park where I'd recently been hired as a bookkeeper.

Little did I know this was a day that I would remember for as long as I lived.

As a single mother struggling to support myself and my three-year-old daughter, the extra income was crucial to our survival. Even with the grants and scholarships awarded to me for attending full time college, I feared we were still going to be caught short at the end of the month.

I felt my worries slip away as I went into my "work mode"-my job was exciting and challenging, especially since I was teaching myself many of the things my employers thought I already knew. Just as I was making my way back from the restaurant to the nightclub in the rear where my tiny office was located, I saw it-what I would forever come to think of as "The Wallet."

It was wedged in between one of the leather booths and even in the dim lighting I could see it was of good quality. Not surprising, I thought, as I picked up The Wallet to look for some kind of identification. Bailey's catered to a young, wealthy, upper class clientele-a clique which I, with my thrift store clothes and demands of single parenthood, could never hope to belong to. What was surprising however, were the contents of The Wallet itself.

I couldn't believe it! Stuffed in the expensive Louis Vuitton leather wallet along with the obligatory gold Amex charge cards and important looking I.D., was three hundred dollars in cash! I quickly recounted it and then allowed myself to dream for a minute-the briefest of minutes-of what the money could mean to my daughter and me. New shoes for Amber, a car payment, a shopping spree… the possibilities were endless and the money in The Wallet could mean a respite from the constant, nagging worries I had become accustomed to. It was for only a second, though-I knew I had to do the right thing. And the right thing was plain and simple-call the owner of The Wallet and let him know I had found his wallet intact with the cash.

The voice at the other end of the phone was incredulous-he couldn't believe I was actually returning his wallet with all three hundred dollars in it. After thanking me profusely, he hung up and I put the wallet in a cubbyhole in the back part of my office, thinking only briefly about it as the day got busier.

Several hours later, a good-looking man reeking of money showed up to claim his wallet. I recognized him as he had been pointed out to me several times as one of a group of people involved in some shady business dealings. Still, what was right was right. Even if the money was obtained dishonestly, it didn't mean I had to compromise my honesty as well. Thus, suffused with a glow of integrity, I handed him The Wallet, only to see his eyes turn from grateful to accusing as he flipped it upside down and shook it in front of my face.

"Empty," he proclaimed, "Now where's the money you stole?" I felt the floor shake and heave and barely kept my balance as the blood rushed from my face and I stammered, "Empty? It couldn't be!" I knew there was three hundred dollars in The Wallet when I had put it away and no one had been back in the office but me. Wait a minute! Actually there had been several people back and forth during the day-the accountant, the owners, various service people-anyone could have taken it, yet I was the one who looked guilty. Various thoughts rushed through my mind-the first one being, of course, that I should have never even called; then feelings of failure and stupidity for not putting The Wallet in a safer place, new suspicions regarding my co-workers, and then finally the feeling that I had done the right thing, and no matter who believed me, I knew I was right. It was small consolation, though, as my employers had to write out a check to the indignant customer since my phone call had placed the money in the wallet while still on their premises. My employers looked at me differently as well-I could tell they thought I had stolen the money and I wondered when I would be out looking for a new job again. Even the fact I had called The Wallet's owner could have been construed as a ploy to look innocent.

The next few weeks were nearly impossible. I trusted no one and no one trusted me. Even months later when our accountant was caught embezzling money from the books to support her drug habit and had in all probability taken the $300, I never really felt vindicated. Just by picking up The Wallet, I had been stained by it forever.

by Linda Barbarito