The Inner Banshee

Published December 13, 1992 in North Shore Sunday.

There I was at my bank early one morning, not a soul around, innocently withdrawing $30 from the automatic teller machine.  My receipt showed $30 withdrawn, but – what's this?  The machine gave me $20 too much.  What incredible luck.  What an incredibly stupid machine.  And a very Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr. Bank.

Even if I wanted to return the money  –  which I didn't  –  the bank wasn't open yet, so I pocketed the loot.  Hey, I didn't ask for any extra cash.  It isn't my fault the machine screwed up.  Greed...is good.

It wasn't until I got in my car that I heard the Voice.  "You could get away with this," it said.  "Sure you could get away with this.  But it would be wrong."

For a second, I thought Richard Nixon was in my back seat. Then I recognized the Voice for what it was  –   years of little moral lessons drummed into me by parents, teachers, and TV sitcoms to be good, to be honest, to do unto others as I would have others do unto me.  Oh, great.

And so the debate began  –  just poor little me against this immense, carping banshee of Virtue, this booming, bullying Voice.

GIVE BACK THE MONEY.

"But it's just a lousy 20 bucks," I told it.  "Leamme alone. Go away."

GIVE BACK THE MONEY, CROOK.

"I am not a crook," I whined.

GOTCHA.  AND YOUR UPPER LIP IS SWEATING.

The Voice of Virtue seemed particularly insufferable that day.  I tried another approach.

"Be reasonable, Voice.  The bank has big bucks  –  they're not gonna miss $20.  I, on the other hand, can put it away toward my inevitable layoff."

NOT MY PROBLEM.  GIVE IT BACK.

"Ok, Voice, look.  What if the machine shorted me $20?  Would the bank give it back?  Would they believe me?  I mean, I've been banking there for 10 years, and they still ask me for a driver's license and my mother's maiden name when I cash a check."

CROOKS LIKE YOU DESERVE IT.

"Oh, yeah, Voice?  Well if they're gonna assume I'm a crook, why shouldn't I act like one?  And another thing.  Know what they're giving me for interest on my Now account?  A lousy 2%.  And the other day, they sent me an ad bragging about the Great Deal on their credit card rate.  Know what their 'great deal' is, Voice?  14.9%.  So let's see...they pay me 2%, and I pay them 14.9%.  Hmmm, yeah, that is a great deal.  But not for me."

TWO WRONGS DON'T MAKE A RIGHT.  HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY.

"Ok-ok.  What about King Lear?"

...WHAT?

I knew this would catch the Voice off guard.

"King Lear turns honesty on its ear.  People in the play who appear to be honest and loving and good are anything but, and people who are basically honest resort to lies and deceit.  And then there's Lear's daughter Cordelia, who was so honest that she couldn't bring herself to flatter the father she loved.  The vain old man went ballistic.  One thing led to another, and by the end of the play, dead bodies, including hers, are everywhere, but Cordelia's virtue remained intact.  'So young, my lord, and true,' she once bragged to her father.  Right.  But soon it became  –  so young, my lord, and dead.  Honesty can go too far, Voice.  It's only 20 bucks."

BLACK.  YOUR SOUL IS BLACK, YOU MISERABLE, PATHETIC  –

"Allright-allright-allright!"

Before someone drops a dime on me, I called the bank and had them charge the extra $20 to my account.

I know I did the right thing (the Voice told me so), so why did I feel so foolish doing it?  Maybe it's because I'm a baby boomer (am I the only boomer who detests and resents that phrase?) caught between two moral codes:  the 60s' "Do whatever you want, but don't hurt anyone," and the 80s' "Do whatever you want, but don't get caught."  And maybe it's because the bank was so impressed with my honesty that they spelled my name wrong on the receipt.

But in the end, I did it not because of anything the Voice said.  I simply thought of the 2% interest that the white-knuckled bank grudgingly pays me, and figured that they apparently need the money more than I do.

Honestly.