I was no one special, just an ordinary fellow. I lived alone in a studio apartment on Maine Avenue here in Washington, D.C. I took a taxicab to work every day. I worked at the Department of the Treasury Bureau of Engraving and Printing in Washington, D.C. I made money, the paper kind. I worked on the presses dealing with the ink and the plates. Chances are you all have money I made in your wallets right now. It is not a glamorous job. It’s messy, the ink stays with you and is hard to wash off.
My story starts on a day a massive storm hit. It was a Monday night, and I was working on the twenty dollars press. You know all that controversy about climate change and such? I expect it’s true. As I was saying, it was an intense storm, hail the size of baseballs were plummeting the earth. Winds clocked at 80 to 90 mph. The sound of the thunder rattled the buildings, it felt like an earthquake and not a thunderstorm. The newspapers reported the lightning being so bright it let up the night sky transforming it into the day. All I know is, a lightning bolt struck a transformer sending a current through the printing press I was working on. Believe me; you do not want to get that much electricity passing through you. I was out like a light.
I woke up in the hospital a month later. The specialists shocked to see me alive; they said I should have been dead. The doctors told me they found me hunched over my press. They informed me that 2,000 individuals die throughout the world each year by lightning. That, here in America, 1 in 5,000 have a chance getting hit by lightning, and 9 out of 10 people survive. They told me the jolt I received should have done me in. That someone on death row, sentenced to death by electrocution, gets less electricity passing through them than I received that stormy night. The doctors gave me warnings that there may be memory loss, dizziness, weakness, and numbness. They ran test after test and cleared me. I went home thinking everything will be fine.
I returned to work with no complications. Everything was peachy keen, for half of a year. I woke up one night, in a cold sweat. I was having a dream about money. Money in all denominations was falling around me like raindrops. I threw it off as a dream about the workplace which is nothing new. I rose out of bed and stumbled to the toilet, next thing I know I’m pooping out money, legal tender money. It gives a whole new meaning for, ‘shitting a gold brick.’ How do I know it is legal tender? I had it confirmed, told no one where it came from. They wouldn’t believe me anyhow.
Now I use my superpowers to aid those in need. I give to the poor to help them return to school. I help people find better jobs. I buy food and clothes for needing families. I help the homeless find employment and a place to live. I donate to schools, fire stations, law enforcement, and hospitals, among other places. Everyone I have helped is now part of the working force and are helping others. They do not know what I look like or who I am.
I no longer work for the government. I purchased myself a small RV and a bicycle. I travel across America blogging about my adventures. Sharing pictures and tales of the people of this great land. If I see someone in need, truly in need, the Money Man will secretly aid them. The Money Man only helps those that are true. Don’t worry; I clean the money. When the government comes out with an updated version of the money, my body readjusts to the new versions. I can only make the United States money, sorry.