Just yesterday, I was walking my dog to the Belvedere when I spotted a shiny penny laying on the sidewalk. Of course I bent down to get it since it was heads up. I could use a little luck in my life at the moment, so I’m always on the search for pennies, four-leaf clovers, leprechauns, genies in bottles and Oprah.
Well, when I got home, I checked my mailbox as any non-millenial would do, and — bam! — there was a cashier’s check with my name on it for $3,150!! Apparently I had signed up with Kroger to become a mystery shopper, and this is what they sent me — or so I thought.
I was suspicious, of course, because the word Kroger was nowhere to be found, and it was just an anonymous check that accompanied some random text messages. The person couldn’t spell or use correct grammar, so that was more of a red flag to me than the 3,000 bucks.
For five minutes, I joyfully dreamt of all the things I could use this money for — a backyard fence, a trip to Ireland, pay off my car — but then I got jolted back to reality when I googled “mystery shopper scams” and up popped this exact situation. Turns out it’s not real money — and it’s not even Monopoly money. And if I were to cash or deposit it, it would bounce and I would be responsible for repaying it.
Well hell. So much for a free $3,000.
I wonder if some rich person, like Erika Jayne on “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills,” would feel bad for me and just give me a quick $3,000. Because $3,000 to her is like that penny I picked up on the sidewalk — it’s chump change, but it would definitely pat my puss, so to speak.
I would be willing to write her a poem, take her to dive bars around Louisville, and even be a part of her Glam Squad on her next European vacation. I can tell her dick jokes while her gay boys apply makeup.
Luck be a lady tonight.