DAZE WORK: The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind

Honestly, I don’t know whether to file this latest misadventure under “Why do these things always happen to me” or “Isn’t life in a small town grand” category.

Let me set the stage: I was in need of some weekend cash and wanted a roll of quarters as well, so I went to the drive-through at First National Bank the other morning.

Spoiler alert: I knew this was column material as it was unfolding before my eyes.

Finding an old deposit ticket in my console, I filled it out, placing it under the metal bar in the drawer that extends from the main drive-through window. But a gust of wind ensued and in a split second the deposit ticket was gone, having floated up and out and all around like that feather at the beginning of “Forrest Gump.”

Maybe it flew up and under my car, I thought, and I somehow drove off with it pinned to the undercarriage. When I pulled away there certainly was no sign of the piece of paper on the ground behind me. I didn’t see it in the backseat or anywhere else. I drove off none the wiser, figuring it had flown to Fillmore. Maybe someone will find it at Bert and Betty’s, I thought to myself.

But I had no idea I had a problem on my hands. I later learned that when Rita and the other ladies at the drive-through had a lull in activity, they came out and looked for my deposit ticket, knowing it bore the number of my bank account. Honestly, I thought nothing more of it until Nancy Michael called me Monday morning to warn that my bank account could be compromised should some no-goodnik find the ticket and set out to drain the account of my terribly hard-earned dough.

At Nancy’s insistence -- and rightfully so -- I went to the bank to change my account number and curtail any chance of a major financial calamity.

Admittedly, I didn’t automatically think it was necessary. After all, this is Greencastle where a total stranger once found a $900 check my ex-wife thought she had put in the Central National Bank night deposit box only to learn it had fallen out but into very good hands. The good Samaritan even met up with us at the old Double Decker back when there were White Sack Specials and $900 was a whole lotta dough. They wouldn’t take a reward or even let us pay for their meal.

Yes, people make a difference in my hometown.

I kept thinking to myself, if I lived in Indianapolis or Chicago or Poughkeepsie would someone really have gone out of their way to help me as much as they did or the staff at First National -- where like Cheers, everybody knows your name -- has?

The closest I’ve ever come to having my bank account compromised was a few years back when the Visa Card people called early one morning after a second “ex” had bought gas at the Shell station in Greencastle as she headed out of town on her Hill-Rom hospital bed rounds. That confused the folks at Visa since their slogan is “it’s everywhere you want to be” and the credit card company thought we were in Guadalajara, Mexico, where the same card number had also just been used to buy a bunch of stuff at the Guadalajara Sears store.

We had eaten Mexican the night before, but this is Greencastle, not Guadalajara. But we were eternally grateful Visa called to shut that down and restore any lost funds to our account in dollars, not pesos.

Meanwhile, back at the bank, Nancy has called the Social Security office at Crawfordsville, which usually takes an act of Congress to accomplish and handed me the phone to answer some security questions. After correctly supplying my mother’s maiden name, my place of birth and all the names of the Seven Dwarfs (just kidding), order was restored and I shouldn’t miss a beat receiving my monthly check.

Utilities quickly fell in line along with others I have chosen for automatic draws. Got my existence verified for my Banner Graphic paycheck to continue. And even the cable company complied, and you know how easy it is to get an actual human on the line there.

I’d like to be able to end this tale with good news, like that the deposit ticket has been found or Todd Rokita found me some Unclaimed Money. But no.

That deposit ticket is still out there -- just like that feather at the end of “Forrest Gump” -- blowin’ in the wind ...