Getting Lucky

CHAPTER 9: THE EXPERIMENT

Lucky and I get out of bed early to begin the tests. I start by trying a few nice gestures to set a baseline. I still get nothing back in return except thanks. Whatever was working a couple of days ago does not appear to be working anymore. Confident that I’ve exhausted that avenue I resolve myself to try something different. It pains me to even consider it, but something happened last night that I would like to further investigate. I find a scrap piece of cardboard, borrow a pen from a nice lady in the street and write out the most interesting message I can think of. 

Writing a begging sign is serious business, it’s the rawest form of marketing you’ll ever find. You have seconds to convey your ‘brand’, catch someones interest, raise a smile and most importantly of all convince a complete stranger to give you money. The trick is to get them to stop walking long enough to get their wallet out. Of course everyone else is doing the exact same thing, so you have to be creative. After some careful thought I write out a suitably cryptic message, Please donate money for world changing science experiment. 

Lucky and I find a nice busy street corner in a very public place and I whisper to him, “Good boy, now try to look as cute and helpless as possible.” He instantly starts walking around with a limp. I’ve always considered having a dog whilst begging to be a terrible cliché, but I immediately start to understand why people do it. First of all he’s much more charming than me. More importantly people stop to stroke him, and then feel so sorry for him they give me money. This makes a huge difference because I am not the subject of the donor’s pity - he is. It makes the whole thing far more bearable.

I watch the first couple of people that toss us their loose change carefully for anything out of the ordinary, but I don’t notice anything unusual. Perhaps it was just a co-incidence after all. I’m about to write this whole thing off as a failed experiment when a sweet old lady squints at my sign before dropping a tenner into our cup. She says, “My husband used to be a scientist, god rest his soul. Good luck with whatever experiment you are hoping to do.”

“Thank you ma'am.” I pocket the tenner and watch as she hobbles away. She gets a couple of feet when she stops and looks back at us, “I’m sorry to bother you young man, but I think I see ten pence on the path here and I’m too old to bend down to pick it up, I don’t suppose you could help?”

Curious I head over to where she is standing. There is indeed something on the ground and I bend down to retrieve it for her. As soon as I get a closer look my heart skips a beat. It’s a sparkling diamond ring with a sizeable stone. For the briefest of moments I consider slipping it into my pocket and handing her a ten pence piece, but I immediately correct myself. I don’t know what karma’s punishment for stealing from sweet old ladies would be, but I’m not keen on finding out. Instead I hand her the ring and say, “I think this is probably worth more than ten pence, you should try and sell it.”

She holds it close to her glasses and says, “Well that was a bit of luck, but it’s not mine to sell yet. I’ll pop in to the local police station to see if anyone has reported it missing.” I know already that nobody has. I think I’ve just cracked the pattern. She’s racking up the good deeds and this is her payoff.

My suspicions are repeatedly confirmed as the day goes on. There’s a man that gives us a fiver just before he bumps into a long forgotten school friend. They exchange contact details and promise to stay in touch. A young girl throws in some pound coins just before stumbling in her six inch heels. She hits the ground pretty hard. I’m confused until a handsome young man rushes over to help her up. He offers to take her for coffee to take her mind off her scuffed knee. I immediately picture them years from now, relaying the story of how they met to their children. 

These rewards continue until I notice a man eyeing us curiously from across the street. I check back on him every time something good happens to one of our donors and I start to worry that he is on to us. As if confirming this he finally comes over and says, “Is this one of those TV shows? You know where they prank people?”

I shrug, “No sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

He looks at me suspiciously and then removes a crisp twenty pound note from his wallet. He places it into the cup and then looks around, clearly expecting something. I’m waiting too, wondering what his reward will be. Nothing happens. He waits a few more seconds and then says, “I knew it was one of those shows, I shouldn’t have said anything. You can keep the twenty quid, I don’t want to look like a tight arse on TV.” He sulks off and I’m left with a new data point in my experiment and more importantly an extra twenty quid.

Thankfully whatever was different with him is a blip, as nice things continue to happen to my donors. I’m just starting to enjoy myself when who should appear but Copper Penny. He looms over us, blocking out the sunlight and eyeing us suspiciously, “What are you doing?”

I point to my sign, “It’s a science experiment.” 

“I see. What is it exactly that you are hoping to prove?”

“That people with erectile dysfunction strive for positions of authority to make them feel better about their floppy knobs.” 

He reaches for his mace and I flinch, but no cloud of noxious gas envelops me. Instead I hear the clang of coins. I open my eyes to find him emptying his pockets into my cup. Penny nods, “I suppose its small consolation but I’d rather see you here than conning people out of money on that stupid card table. Grab a coffee on me.” As he leaves he shouts, “Cute dog. I hope for your sake it isn’t stolen.”

I watch him walk away and wait. It doesn’t take long. After a few seconds an alarm blares out and a masked man barrels out of the bank behind me. He’s carrying a duffle-bag and a sawn-off shotgun. He skids to a halt when he spots P.C. Penny. He shouts, “Fuck you pig,” and raises the weapon. 

There’s a loud bang. I flinch and expect to see Penny go down, but instead the bank robber is clutching at his arm which is now soaked with blood. The shotgun must have backfired. Penny remains pretty calm for someone who was almost killed and runs over to the man to give him medical treatment. He assesses the guys wounds and says, “The good news is, you’ll live. The bad news is, you’re nicked.” Right on cue a camera crew appears around the corner, no doubt drawn by the wailing alarm. The reporter has to shout to be heard above the noise, “Officer, how did you apprehend this criminal? Where is your backup?”

Penny cracks his wry smile, “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t divulge the techniques I used to take down this criminal as they are highly classified, but your viewers should sleep easier in their beds knowing their police force is trained to apprehend dangerous criminals like this one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take this bank robber to jail.” 

I highly doubt the rest of the police force is trained in dumb luck, but he’s smart enough to use this as a P.R. stunt which I am sure his bosses will appreciate. I don’t know if I just saved his life or if he saved it himself, but I’m glad to have played my part. The next time I see him he will probably be Sergeant Penny.

Things die down for a while as the street is cordoned off for forensics. I’m asked to provide a statement as one of the few witnesses. I get a little carried away and in my version Penny shouts out, ‘Do you feel lucky punk?’ as he heroically rugby tackles the robber. Soon the police tape and the vans disappear and the street returns to normal. 

Our final customer of the day is an old gentleman who throws in a generous handful of spare change. I watch him carefully to see what happens, but he pops into one of those toilet cubicles you have to pay for. After he’s been in there a while I start to worry, so I pop to check on him. I bang loudly on the door but he doesn’t respond. Something tells me all’s not well so I pry the door open and find him lying on the ground clutching his chest and panting. I shout out, “Help, someone call an ambulance!” Seconds after I say the words an off duty ambulance pulls up at the nearby coffee shop. I shout and wave and one of the paramedics comes running over. He takes one look at the old man and speaks into his walkie-talkie, “Code one, probable heart attack.” He says, “How long has he been like this?”

I relay the story, leaving out the magic karma organisms. He looks impressed, “You know your attentiveness will probably save his life.” As he says this his partner turns up with a stretcher and they load the old man onto it. Twenty seconds later the ambulance is screaming away from the curb with the sirens blazing. At this point I decide saving someone’s life is a good way to end the day and will make a great finale when I am relaying all of this to the egghead.