The other day, some law firm in a state that’s not Texas sent me a letter saying I had unclaimed property in Texas. The letter explained they would be happy to assist me in claiming that property for just ten percent of its value! What a deal!

I mean, it’s not as though Texas has an unclaimed property website where you can claim stuff yourself by pushing a button.

I put my name in the website, and it came back with an entry from earlier this year. I had no idea what the claim was from, and it’s not much money, but the website told me I’d need to submit a picture of my drivers license and passport to get the money back. I feel like I’d have to give that information to the lawyer, too, so I’d still have to do the same amount of work. So for the man hours I spent confirming who I am, I would have had to charge myself ten percent.

Listen, Scaiaholics, we may have jaunted away from my plan to launch hilarious businesses. I’m working nutty hours at the new place. I’m a utility infielder, a modern day Andy Stankiewicz, if you will, so I’ve been somewhat distracted. But let’s get back on track.

Allow me to follow the lead of random mailers and offer my services to people don’t actually need help. We could call it Scaia-aid [patent pending]:

1.) At the airport, I’ll hand your drivers license to the TSA guy. Then he hands it back to me, and I’ll hand it back to you. I’ll also hold your phone over that thing that scans your mobile boarding pass. You’ll pay for this service when you book your ticket. You know, when American says your airfare is $300, but then you have to pick a seat and the only options are seats that cost extra.

Scaia-Aid will also provide you with bon mot to exchange with your seat mates.

“I had to pay 64 bucks extra for a middle seat!” for instance. Scaia-Aid, a full service organization, will instruct you to really hit “middle seat.”

2.) At the deli, I can pull one of those “take a number” tabs and hand it to you. I won’t stand in line in your place, mind you, but I’ll hand you the number while you wait. My fee will be some olive oil to go with the focaccia bread I charged the last person.

I think you’ll find these fees quite competitive.

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3.) At Whataburger, they give you a number while you wait for your order. I can offer my assistance in handing the number back to the cashier when they bring your food. My fee will be one of those chorizo burgers. If I’m turning in a number for a family of four, that fee will be increased to a chorizo burger Whatameal.

4.) At jury duty, Scaia-Aid will hand your summons to the clerk while you wait to get called. I won’t sit there in your place, mind you; you’ll give the summons to me then I’ll hand the summons to the clerk and wander off. My fee is ten percent of the dump truck full of money Tarrant County pulls up to your house when you serve jury duty.

5.) Six Flags has those signs that tell you how long it takes to get to the front of the line for a ride. As you approach, I’ll tell you what the sign says and then also wander off. My fee would be that you have to let me ride with you, but I’m already in the park for some reason, so you wouldn’t have the opportunity to pay for my ticket.

I’m also afraid of heights, even though that didn’t stop me from taking a media ride when they introduced Riddler Revenge a couple years ago. And also rappelling down a building in Fort Worth for some reason.

Instead, you’ll be billed for some Irish Nachos down the street at J. Gilligan’s a bit later when I’m telling my associates about how long the lines were.

Scaia-Aid will revolutionize the concept of middlemen! In fact, in addition to our mailers, Scaia-Aid will also reach a contract with the US Postal Service to provide assistance lifting our mailers from the postal worker’s bag to the mailbox.

This week is the third anniversary of my mythical car crash, and it turns out the unclaimed property was from that. It seems strangely fitting to mark the date by getting several dollars back from a hospital. I should use the money to take everyone at Baylor Rehab for a drink. Everyone wouldn’t get their own drink, mind you. We’d all split the same drink. But it’d be an excellent drink. As long as no one there loves vermouth. I don’t care for vermouth.