This morning I went to use the cash machine in lovely Downtown San
Francisco and the woman in front of me left her card in the machine.
Drinks are on me.
Well her, actually. So I yelled at her, but she ignored me, which is unusual because usually when I yell at people, they specifically don’t ignore me. Sometimes they ask if I am OK and water, when in reality, I probably need a beer.
For some retarded reason, WaMu cash machines take a very long time to return credit card. You have to assure the machine there is nothing else you need, and then it slowly spits the card back to you. So I have to watch this woman walk away, like I have so many times in my life and hope things work out and she doesn’t do something stupid like strap on a rocket pack and fly off to Marin County or something.
So I start sprinting up the street yelling at her to get her attention, which so far hasn’t worked. I catch up to her at the crosswalk and now I’m all hot, sweaty and not looking sexy and I know instinctively that this is going to be difficult. Because nobody likes to deal with a hot and sweaty, flushed man who is running after them, no matter how well dressed they might be at the moment.
So I turn to her, shove her card and her receipt in her face and say, "Pardon me madam, but could I interest you in your debit card?" Sometimes a look of relief can be worth the effort. She really had that look on her face that she was just saved from the horrible reality which comes with losing a debit card and that look of relief when you find out you're not being asked for spare change -- or about to be mugged.
I think I made her day.
Then again, maybe I should have checked the name on the card. For all I know she was cleaning out the account of some guy who left his card and pin number in the wallet she just found ... right after she shot him in the belly. I could be an accessory to a violent robbery, but I feel better in thinking I did a good deed for the day.
