After working out at the gym I had an hour to spare. I thought, how wonderful, I can sit down and have a coffee and relax for a while. But, I decided that first I needed to take out some money from the ATM (in Israel called a caspamat). So I went to a bank nearby where I often use the ATM and put my credit card in, and the machine rejected it. I thought that’s odd, there’s noting wrong with my card, so I inserted it again, that was my big mistake. This time everything seemed to go as normal and I chose the amount of money and the machine said “processing your request” and it continued to say that for a long time. As nothing happened, my card did not come out and no money appeared I realized that I was in trouble, it was the machine that was not working properly. So after some time I decided to leave the machine and run inside the bank. I found the manager and told him and he came outside with me and looked at the screen, and the computer inside had now crashed.
So I said to the manager, “please return my card,” and he said “sorry, I can’t, it’s the rules, for security.” I argued with him to no avail, even though he agreed with me that it was his machine that went wrong and not my card. He said it doesn’t matter, he couldn’t return my card without proof that it was indeed my card. He asked what bank I use and I told him. He said,”that’s not far from here, I’ll give you an hour, go there and get me a letter confirming that its your card and I’ll give it back to you. If you don’t, then I have to return the card to the credit card company and they’ll return it to your bank and it will take about 10 days.” So I gave up arguing and started to walk fast to my bank, that was about 10 mins walk away.
When I arrived at my bank I went downstairs to the place where they give out the cards, and luckily one of the clerks was free, I told her the story (note all this was in my poor Hebrew). She understood (this must happen a lot) and without saying a word checked my account and printed out the details of my card and then wrote a note on the paper and signed and stamped it. With the paper in my hot little hand, I raced back to the bank and triumphantly handed it over to the manager. He looked at it and then asked for my id and xeroxed them and had me sign the copy and then gave me back my precious card. He was very nice about it. But, then I was too afraid to put my card into any machine for a while. So much for my free hour of leisure.