Give!

I rarely carry much money with me. It's not uncommon, as far as I'm aware, especially in large cities - I know several people who equate carrying large sums of money about their persons with the notion of painting a target on their foreheads and wearing a sign saying "mug me". That's nothing to do with my reasoning of course - I simply dislike trying to calculate how much money I need to last me for any given period of time. Too much thinking about the future can't be good for you so instead I usually take out £20, wait until it runs out and then repeat. Larger purchases are made using a debit card. It's a system I have little problem with, although it's enlightening to realise how much I depend on one small piece of plastic.

The relevance of this train of thought will become clearer in a moment. You see I made the mistake of trying to take some money out of a cash machine earlier. There was no way to know it was a mistake when I began the transaction, though that offers little comfort even with the benefit of hindsight. The cash machine didn't look terribly unhappy when I approached it, and it seemed to deal politely enough with my various requests... until it came time to return my card. At this point it developed something of an attitude problem and refused to let it go. Then it started beeping at me. If my long association with technology in all it's various guises has taught me anything it is this: When something starts beeping at you it is officially a bad sign. Of course, the worse portent is when the beeping stops - then you're really in trouble.

So with the incessant beeping still ringing in my ear, I bent down to examine the card slot and there, lodged just inside the slot - conveniently out of fingers reach - I could see my card. I tried to pry it out, but alas, unlike so many of my friends and family I go about my daily life without any such implements as a swiss army knife. The pace of the beeping increased. I searched about to see if there was something I could use to pry it out, but before I could conjure up anything I realised to my horror that the beeping, so irritating only a moment before, had ceased.

Time slowed. I stretched out a hand towards my card and cried out "noooooooo" in the fashion we've witnessed a thousand times before in films and on tv as my card was sucked back into the belly off the beast in grating slow motion.

The bank had closed it's doors, but I knocked on them anyway. Eventually someone approached and gave me a decidedly suspicious glance. I pointed at the beastly machine and said "it ate my card." I received little sympathy and was instead told that nothing could be done and that my card would be destroyed. I dejectedly pointed again and repeated "it ate my card," before walking off despondently.

I rarely carry much money with me. I have 60p left to last me until a replacement card arrives. This is going to be an interesting weekend...