The Pope receives 8.65 dollars.

$8.65.

Not millions. Not the Vatican gold reserve. Eight dollars sixty-five.

For that, a man from Illinois flew to Rome. First-class bureaucracy, final stop: Holy See. The Treasurer of Illinois, Michael Frerichs, in person. To return the Pope’s PayPal balance.

The most expensive transfer in church history. Since indulgences.

And the best part? The backstory. Leo XIV becomes Pope. Calls his bank in Chicago. Wants to update his details. The lady on the phone: “Please come in personally.”

Him: “Would it change anything if I told you I’m the Pope?”

She hangs up.

She. Hangs. Up.

God’s representative on Earth — brushed off like a phone scammer.

America, you’re seriously better at this

Here’s where it stings. The US has a system for this: Unclaimed Property. Every state collects forgotten money — old accounts, deposits, PayPal leftovers — and returns it. Actively. Illinois alone sits on billions of forgotten dollars and hunts down the owners. All the way to Rome if necessary.

In America, an official flies halfway around the world for $8.65.

In Germany, after three months you get a letter informing you that your refund request unfortunately used the wrong form.

Which brings us seamlessly to my favorite topic.

🚂 The railway. Of course, the railway.

Last week, I’m standing on the platform. Display: “Delayed approx. 15 minutes.” Then 30. Then: “Train cancelled.” Then — and this is the poetic part — the train simply vanishes from the board. As if it never existed. Witness protection program for trains.

I file my compensation claim. €8.75.

Ten cents more than the Pope.

And while the Holy Father receives his check in person, with a handshake, with a press photo, with a treasurer flown in just for him — I’ve been waiting six weeks for an email that starts with “Dear passenger” and ends with nothing.

The Pope only had to wait a year. Amateur.

Remember: At the bank, they hang up when you say you’re the Pope. At the railway service center, they hang up before you say anything. That’s efficiency. The only kind they have.

🎤 Three slam hacks nobody tells you

This is exactly the stuff slam texts are made of. Here are the tools:

1. The cents rule. Never say “a little money.” Say “$8.65.” Precise numbers are funny, round numbers are boring. The audience laughs at the 65 cents, not the 8 dollars. Bizarre but true: the smaller and odder the number, the bigger the laugh.

2. The hang-up moment. End an anecdote one second too early. “She hung up.” — Period. Pause. Explain nothing. The audience fills the silence with their own mental cinema, and that’s always more brutal than your text.

3. Rehearse on the platform. Sounds insane, works: speak your text quietly against an incoming train. If your rhythm survives the noise, it survives any audience. And you learn to place pauses where the world is loud anyway.

📣 And now: you

The Pope got his money back. I’m still waiting.

If you want more stories where bureaucracy, train platforms and everyday madness turn into poetry: Subscribe to me. Otherwise you’ll miss the moment Deutsche Bahn hands me my €8.75. In person. Flown in. With a handshake.

Spoiler: You’ll be subscribed for a long time.

The Pope got his money back. You won’t even get your time back.

Be creative, Stephan