out in a chuckle and said, "nobody's ever done that in the fifteen years i've been working."

"but if i wanted to, can you get me that much cash?"

the teller chuckled again, this time with a touch of nervousness, and she replied, "we'd have to tell the irs and order it four days in advance. but nobody's ever done that."

"you'd have to order it four days in advance and notify the irs?"

"yes, because we don't keep that much cash on hand. the largest bill in circulation now is the $100 bill; there are no more $500 bills. and we have to report any cash withdrawals in excess of $10,000."

five first interstate branches later, i'd learned that no safe-deposit boxes were available that were big enough to hold that much cash in $100 bills.

later that day i began contemplating just how much money $95,000 was, and i arrived at this: one thousand dollars a month for eight years.

the next day, june 13, i woke up and decided that if i couldn't look at cash, it would be almost as fun to look at a cashier's check. i got in my car and drove to the california street office of first interstate, because it is the bank's showcase branch--cathedral ceilings, marble floors, towering columns, and gold trim--located in the heart of san francisco's skyscraper district.

first i approached the customer service window and filled out the form for a small, fifty-dollar-per-year safe-deposit box. then i went to a teller's window. the teller asked how she could help me.

suddenly, my mouth got all dry. i didn't want to say $95,093.35 out loud;. so i asked the teller for a piece of paper. i wrote $95,093.35 on it, passed it to her, and said, "i'd like to get this amount in a cashier's check."

without saying a word, she began moving quickly to grab papers and forms. then she rushed out these words: "you need to write me a check for the same amount." she seemed bothered.

i understood and began to write out the check. suddenly i was daunted by having to write out $95,093.35. i had never written it out in words before and i wasn't sure i'd be able to get it to fit on the line: ninety-five thousand ninety-three dollars and thirty-five cents. that was the biggest number i'd ever written into the suddenly small space on a check.

it took her only two minutes to prepare the cashier's check. it seemed like twenty. her manager approved it, and she slid it across the counter to me.

i walked straight back to customer service and was escorted into the vault. the bank teller slid my box out and pointed me to the curtain i could go behind for privacy. "no need," i said, and i slipped the folded check out of my jeans pocket and into the metal container.

the minute i stepped out of my bank and onto the street just below the transamerica pyramid tower, my blood raced with the strangest feeling: like i was ten feet taller, twice as fast, and suddenly capable of super powers. as i headed to my car, i slipped the ninety-five thousand ninety-three dollar and thirty-five cent safe-deposit box key onto my key ring.

end part ii

part iii: the day they noticed $95,093.35 missing

patrick combs is available as keynote speaker for your next event. let him inspire your audience with the story and discussion of his $95,000 adventure. he is also the author of major in success: make college easier, beat the system & get a very cool job (ten speed press). all contents on this page ? 1995, by patrick combs. all rights reserved. http://www.goodthink.com

$95,093.35 adventure, part iii the day they noticed $95,093.35 missing

one week after i put the cashier's check into the safe-deposit box--and thirty-three days after i had deposited the junk mail check--three people from my bank called. they flooded my voice mail with messages that said it was "very important" and "very urgent" that i return their calls "as soon as possible." one of the calls was from my branch office, one from the bank's los angeles headquarters, and one from an officer in the security department.

that evening i put my bank card into an atm to get some cash for dinner. the atm ate my card, and on the screen green words glowed: "card confiscated. contact your branch office."

the next morning i was up at 5:30 a.m. to catch a flight to new york, to begin a three-week vacation i had scheduled over a month ago, before the check. my flight had a short stopover in seattle at about 10:00 a.m., and i used the time to return the bank's calls. the hardest call was the third call with the robert gage, first interstate's senior security officer. he took my call right away. (it's funny how you don't have to wend your way through your bank's time-wasting voice-mail systems when you've got a major chunk of their change.) robert was an older man with a very gruff cop's voice. he was not a happy camper. immediately he informed me that he was "on the case" and he wanted the cashier's check now.

when i asked him how he thought thi