Classic Story: Adventure At Ralph's

The following is a story from several years ago which people have asked for...

I have just returned from Manila where I met with the other members of International Teams' Executive Team. The meetings were long, but profitable. Sometimes people think of all this travel as some type of adventure but I really think you can find as much adventure in going to the local grocery store.
I know I did.

On Friday night, I arrived at Los Angeles International Airport after 25 hours of travel. At the airport I made a phone call to friends of ours, Al and Nancy Mendez, who live in the L.A. area. They weren't home, so I left a message, telling them I would be staying at a nearby hotel, grabbing about six hours of sleep before continuing my journey to Costa Rica.

As I walked into the hotel to check in, one of the two young ladies in reception said, "Oh, Mr. Roland, a lady just called for you." I responded, "Great! That must have been Nancy." The young lady who had taken the phone call said, "No, I believe it was a Susan." To which I responded, without thinking, "Oh, that one is my wife."

Sometimes it doesn't help to try to explain your way out of the situation when you receive that type of look.

My stomach told me I was hungry. I'd noticed a restaurant around the corner called "Woody's." For some reason, that seemed to be the right place to go, but I had no U.S. cash. So, I decided to go out to "Ralph's," a grocery store a couple of blocks away with an ATM.

I ignored the expressions on the faces of the hotel staff as I walked through the lobby. Once you've lost your testimony, it's hard to get it back again.

Between the produce and bakery departments, Ralph's had two ATMS's and one of those fancy direct phone lines that allow you to connect directly with a bank's 24 hour customer service. I began to take my bank card out of my wallet when it slipped out of my sleep-deprived fingers.

I can still see it as if it were in slow motion: it bounced twice on the counter, twisted in the air and went directly into the slot for trash. The slot that is purposely made small so that no one can see your checking book balance or account information… the slot that human fingers cannot get into!

I turned to the couple using the second machine and said dully, "My bank card just went into the trash slot." The lady responded [and I am NOT making this up!], "Like wow! That was so totally incredible!" Her husband had the common sense to only say, "Whoa, dude!"

I told you I was in California, right?

I knew the only man who could help me at this point was the manager of Ralph's Grocery. I asked one of the cashiers to page him for me. As I got back to the machine, I heard an announcement over the P.A. system," Would Mr.----- please go to the ATM by produce? There is an emergency."

Apparently, she had detected my level of desperation.

The manager arrived within a few minutes. The surfing couple was still with me and she immediately began to explain what had happened. The manager responded [and once again, I am not making this up], "Bad luck, guy."

I was starting to feel a need to go into my cross-cultural communication mode.

Mr.----- did eventually inform me that I would have to call the bank on their customer phone line because he did not have the key that would open the trash bin. I do not want to go into all the details, but I will say that I spent over an hour on the phone. I spoke to one customer service rep and two supervisors. The last one was on the east coast. The best advice they could give me was that I could either leave the card in the trash and hope the people who found it would destroy it, or, I could try to bang the machine with my hand which would set off an internal alarm. This would either summon the people who usually serviced the machine or bring the police. If it brought the police, I would probably be arrested.

Even in my jet-lagged state, I knew there had to be another, more optimistic, option.

It occurred to me at some point in my conversations with the supervisor on the east coast that I might be able to get something very thin down into the slot. So, after politely declining her suggestion to set off the alarm, I went back to the manager of Ralph's and told him that I was going to try to get my card out myself and didn't want any of his employees calling the police when they saw me working on the machine. He responded, "Wouldn't think of it, man."

Somewhere in cosmetics I found two long, thin nail files. For some reason, the flashlights were in the liquor department. I decided not to ask the manager why. When I went up to the counter to buy my new tools, the young lady who checked me out asked, "Are you the dude that is trying to break into the cash machine?" Obviously, my reputation was growing.

With flashlight in mouth and two files in hand, I peered into the slot and saw my precious card! It was right on a pile of paper that had kept it from falling into the deeper abyss of the trash bin. It was almost within reach.

"Almost" is the key word here. I found that my newly purchased nail files were about 1 1/2 inches too short.

Back to cosmetics for a package of emery boards and a side trip to house supplies for some duct tape. Somehow, I just knew my luck would change if I had duct tape. Once again back to the check out line. This time I distinctly remember one in the growing crowd using the term "old guy" in reference to me.

Is no one in California over 40?

I managed to duct tape two emery boards to each of my nail files. Once again the flashlight went into my mouth and my tools went into the dark slot. This time I actually got the card between my manufactured pincers and began to draw it up. I was almost home... when the card was almost to the narrow slot it slipped and fell back into the trash, this time deeper than ever.

I don't think that I have mentioned that a crowd had formed around me. I think I was actually developing a bond with the motorcycle guy with his rather obese girlfriend in the motorized cart. They were at least as old as I am. I may not be an intelligent missionary, but I am persistent. I wasn't going to fail in front of such a cloud of witnesses. I redid the file/emery boards/duct-taped pincers so that the ends had duct tape with the sticky side out. Manipulating this contraption with the very tips of my fingers I was able to once again get a hold of my precious card. This time it came up to the dreaded slot where I was able to twist it and grab it with two fingers.

People clapped. I am not kidding.

All told, my adventure at Ralph's only took two hours. In the meantime, Woody's had closed, along with all the other nearby restaurants. However, my rather extensive exploration of Ralph's had revealed to me the location of those wax covered donuts I like. You know, the ones where they make the wax look like chocolate. I can assure you that I didn't try to explain to the hotel receptionists where I had been.

I had the feeling they wouldn't believe me.