This is the (hilarious) story of why my debit card is currently locked in an ATM machine in Slovakia:

So it was Sunday, day #4 of our trip (I’ll post about the middle days later), and my friends and I had just hopped off our four hour bus from Prague and began exploring Bratislava, Slovakia. We had 3.5 hours to explore the city- Bratislava is super cool, but the real reason we ended our trip there was because flights were way cheaper than trying to fly out of Prague. About 20 minutes after we left the bus I spotted the most adorable souvenir shop ever. There was this one souvenir that I was dead set on getting for a certain someone and hadn’t bought yet, so I demanded that we look in this shop. Lo and behold, the inside was just as cute as the outside and they had exactly the souvenir I wanted. I went up to the nice lady at the counter to buy it and she informs me that they only accept cash. So I informed her that they had made a terrible mistake because I didn’t have any cash, thank you very much, and I would be getting that souvenir whether she liked it or not. Then, out loud this time, I thanked her and calmly set my souvenir back on the shelf.

A quick google maps inquiry told me there was an ATM 480 feet away, around the corner. It was one of the stand-alone machines. That was fitting because I was standing alone on this cold and rainy Sunday (that becomes important later), in front of the machine, my jacket and backpack slowly filling up with water. Determined to be as quick as possible so my clothes wouldn’t be soggy for the rest of the day, I fed my card into the machine and typed in that I needed 70 Euros in cash. An error flashed on the screen: insufficient funds. Right, I remembered that there were currently only $2 in my checking account, so I pulled out my phone to transfer money from my savings account to remedy that issue. I heard a small noise: ah, the machine had spit my card out for me to grab. Perfect, I would take it in one second, right after I finished this transfer on my phone. I hit “complete” on my phone and reached out to grab my card, only to see the ATM actively sucking it in. My heart dropped as I read the new message on the screen: “Your card has been retained. Contact your bank for more information”. Like it was sending me a big fat L and wanted to make sure I noticed, the words flashed on the screen for a few seconds before being replaced by the Tatra Banka home screen. Defeat in its most aggravating form (we don’t need to talk about the five minutes I spent banging on the machine and begging it to just give me my card back. Me, on my knees pleading with an ATM machine on some random street corner in Slovakia? No, never).

What that silly ATM didn’t realize was that 4am on a Sunday (Minnesota time) is not the best time to try and reach your bank… So instead I headed over to the fancy steakhouse next door, to get out of the rain for a moment just as much as to try and get help. As soon as I stepped in there I realized that if I wanted shelter from the rain, I was going to have to drop fifty bucks on a fancy steak. Nevertheless, the guy working was doing his best to convince me that would be a great idea (he didn’t speak much English so all I heard as I was trying to explain how my debit card had been eaten by the metal money monster next door was “Steak? Steak… Steak!”). Eventually I gave up and walked back outside into the rain. I needed to vent to someone who understood banks and maybe had some sort of ATM opener tool laying around, so I searched Google Maps my old pal for the nearest bank and found one right across the street inside a Marriott hotel. Beautiful. 30 seconds later I was inside the Marriott, dutifully following signs to this bank (it was wishful thinking to assume they’d even be open on a Sunday, but Google Maps had said they offered 24 hour service! It’s like it was too good to be true). And of course it was: I’d directed myself to another ATM. At this point I woke everyone in that hotel up with my groan of frustration and headed back to the entrance. Before I left, I decided to ask the receptionist if she was familiar with the sly box of death across the street or knew of any actual banks nearby that were open on Sundays. The answer was no and no, although she was very nice about it.

I stepped back outside, not knowing what to do and still not wanting to accept that my debit card of 7 years was lost forever, even though I knew exactly where it was. I didn’t think ChatGPT would be of much help, but I decided to complain to it anyways. It came up with a few random phone numbers that I hadn’t tried calling yet and were supposedly 24/7 lines. Pacing back and forth in front of the hotel I dialed the first one and heard a muffled voice on the other end. A lady with a very thick accent was mumbling something I couldn’t understand. I had to ask her to repeat herself an embarrassing number of times, but we made it work and I was able to explain my situation. She told me she was going to fill out some paperwork to file my card as missing and would need some information from me. It wasn’t until she asked for my social security number that I got suspicious and decided to hang up. I’m guessing she was just following the script, doing her job, but I wasn’t about to take any chances and get anything else stolen. Before I hung up, she transferred me to this other lady with US Bank (why she was awake and taking calls at 4am I have no idea) who spoke loudly and clearly and somehow seemed more trustworthy. She sent texts and emails to verify my identity and read off long legal statements from US Bank, so I’m pretty sure she was legit. She asked me a bunch more questions and froze and reported my card as well. Unfortunately rip this woman because the call dropped as I was trying to transfer her to my air pods and I didn’t have her number to call back :(.

While I was otherwise occupied, my friends had to gone to a nearby McDonald’s for lunch (the second McDonald’s visit of our trip, actually. But again, don’t worry, Mazie T abstained). Out of people to call and realizing that we needed to get a move on if we wanted to see anything more of Bratislava aside from a souvenir shop, an ATM, and a McDonald’s, I walked their way and caught them up on the debit card situation. When I told them that the saddest part was not being able to buy my souvenir, my friend Gracie pulled out a 20 Euro bill and handed it to me. Slightly annoyed that I didn’t ask earlier but mostly grateful and excited, I ran back over to the store and located the shelf of glimmering, perfect souvenirs. “Shoot”, I thought to myself. I was 4 Euro short of being able to buy the larger version, but thankfully they had two of the smaller version left. Just to memorialize what could’ve been, I picked up the prettiest larger one and took a picture. I think the universe is telling me to stop hesitating or something, because as I went to set it back on the shelf, this lady- the only other person in the entire store- walks up behind me and snatches both of the smaller version off the shelf. She buys them both on the spot. Of course she’s the kind of lady to carry a bunch of cash around.

I could’ve screamed. Instead I asked the checkout lady if they have any more of the smaller version. She said no. I was about to ask if they had any damaged or unlucky ones that she’d be willing to sell to me for a discount, but she wasn’t done talking: “Oh, but you could check out our other store just down the block- they have a larger selection. It’s straight down the block, around the corner and to the right! Less than a two minute walk!”. I almost didn’t want to ask because I was afraid the answer would kill me, but the question came tumbling out my mouth, probably a bit more accusatory than I wad intending: “And, by chance, do they take credit card there?”.

I don’t think I need to tell you what her response was. The important thing is that I was able to buy my souvenir- and the size and color I wanted at that!- and thanks to my dad, a new debit card is on the way. I can’t wait to be reunited with my sea turtles again!