Sure I had my doubts.  People enjoy The Lunar Report, and some folks donate.  But is The Lunar really worth the $1,740 in money orders Maria from Kokomo mailed to me that Saturday?  I checked those money orders for authenticity.  Well, as best as a blessed and euphoric idiot like me could.  Clear as a bell, there was the Benjamin Franklin watermark.  There was also the metal band that can be seen when holding the money order to the light.  “It sure looks real to me,” I said to myself, “but why on earth would anyone send so much?”

Then my thoughts turned toward the angel who sent all that money to me.  She filled out the money orders by hand, and her handwriting was so shaky that I couldn’t make out her last name or the street where she lived.  I thought that Maria must be an elderly woman possibly suffering from arthritis.  Her handwriting resembled my late grandmother’s a bit.  I thought at the time how wonderful it was that such an old and suffering woman from the Midwest was enjoying the drivel that I write each week.  I was grateful.  But I was concerned.  So, I looked all over the money orders for a phone number.  I thought that I should call Maria and make sure she meant to send so much.  There was no number.  Just “Maria something; 15 something Road; Kokomo, IN.”

“So what do I do?” I asked myself.  It was a Saturday afternoon.  There were no open banks where I could check the validity of those money orders and cash them.  So I decided to deposit them into a really high-tech new automated teller machine and into my Bank Of America account.  Those new machines scan each check deposit and can even read the amount of the check.  If there was anything wrong with those money orders, surely Bank Of America ATM scanners could tell.  And I was right!  That ATM not only accepted the deposit, it freed up $100 of it for me to spend right away.  The balance was held until the banks opened again on Monday.  “A mere formality,” I thought.  “Thank God for Maria, whoever the hell she is,” was all I could think at the time.

The following Monday morning around 7, I went online to check my balance.  The rest of the loot still hadn’t cleared.  I kind of expected that.  It was still early on the first business day after the deposit.  I checked again around 9 that morning, then again around 10, at 11 and at noon.  Still no clearance.  I gave it a rest until 2pm.  Two o’clock is the magical hour at most banks.  So yes.  “After 2, it will show up,” I thought.

At around 2:05 that Monday afternoon, I tried to log into my online Bank Of America account.  A screen telling me that the screen name or password was incorrect prevented me from logging in.  So I tried again.  Same message.  No problem.  Sometimes my computer does strange things.  I clear the history and some cookies, reboot and presto, things work the way they should again.  Well – not this time.  Again, I got the same message.  It didn’t recognize my screen name or password.

It was shortly after 2:10 that Monday afternoon when I received the distressful news from some woman on the other end of an 888 number.  She sure as hell wasn’t Maria, and my guess is the Bank Of America woman had never even heard of Kokomo.  But she was the one who delivered the news.

“Your account has been closed, sir, and turned over to the Risk Department,” she coldly told me.

“The what?” I asked.  “Why?”

“Let’s see, sir....  It appears that you deposited two counterfeit money orders into your account.  That’s why we closed the account.”

“What?” I asked again.  

“Yes, sir. They were made on Saturday, March fifth,” she said.

“Yeh, I know when they were made, but can I fix this and keep my account open?” I asked.

“Sorry, sir.  Once it goes into Risk, we cannot reopen it.”

Oh what the hell.  “Okay.  Thank you, maam.”

Click HERE for the conclusion, “Day And A Half” on MoonAngels.

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