dunce-cap-emily-kelley

When we were on vacation in Florida last spring, I made one of the dopiest moves of my adult life.

We decided to spend the day at Daytona Beach. The kids love the arcade and the go karts, hubby likes the beach, and I tolerate a long day in the sun. Perhaps if I didn’t look like Dom DeLuise in a bathing suit I’d be more enthusiastic about a day at the beach.

Anyway…

Worth your $5 in quarters

Worth your $5 in quarters

After an hour or so in the water the kids were ready for some arcade action. I took just my debit card because we wanted to browse the tacky gift shops afterwards, and I didn’t feel like lugging the beach bag around. The kids scored tons of tickets, and then it was time for the 45 minute browse-fest at the prize counter. Usually this is a bummer, but the arcade we always go to at Daytona (the Mardi Gras) has a great dude manning the prize counter who is infinitely patient and kind to the kids.

voodooMy youngest had decided to spend her tickets on these cute little voodoo doll key chains. She didn’t like any that were in the display case, so we asked the gentleman if they had any others. He pulled a large cardboard box out from under the counter and told us to rummage through it until she found one she liked.

I was pawing through the box when I felt a breeze behind me, and it freaked me out a little. It felt like someone ran behind me and up the stairs that lead to the back door. I look down on the counter and my debit card was gone.

I looked all over the counter, on the floor and even in the disgusting bathroom garbage, but it was gone.

Ruh Roh Rorge. I’d been robbed. Some lowlife was probably casing me hoping that at some point I would carelessly put down my debit card, and while I was busy trying to find a stupid voodoo doll key chain he/she ran behind me and snatched the card.

Enter the sick to my stomach feeling, and all my blood pooling in my flip flopped feet. I told the girls to run and get daddy. When he comes and I tell him that I’m pretty certain someone stole my debit card he is less than pleased with me. We immediately call the bank and report my card lost or stolen.

Hubby does a thorough search of the arcade and comes up empty. He talks to the manager who offers to review the security camera for us – more proof that these folks were cut from quality cloth. They say it will take them about 45 minutes and to stop back in a little while.

We get crappy pizza for lunch that I pick at while enduring constant disappointed glares and head shakes from my better half who is still in possession of his debit card. After the allotted time had passed we head back to the arcade, and the guy tells us he didn’t see anything on the tape. All he saw was me looking through the box and then freaking out. Nobody had run behind me, there was no lowlife, just an idiot in a bathing suit suddenly having a meltdown.

On the one hand I was relieved. Nobody was was in the midst of an online shopping spree using my card. On the other hand, where the hell was my card?

After retracing my steps, we figured giving the cardboard box containing the key chains a thorough look-see might not be a bad idea. Hubby gets 3/4 of the way through the box and slaps my debit card on the counter. I had never put it on the counter – I just dropped it while looking for the perfect key chain.

I don’t know why I didn’t think to look there first. I was so convinced that someone had run behind me that I didn’t even entertain the idea. And stupid me? I’d never even put the card on the counter. I just assumed that since the card wasn’t in my hands any longer that I must have put it down. The mind is a strange thing.

For the next few days we were in recovery mode – trips to the bank to order a new card, and lots of ball breaking and chop busting from hubby. Plus we had one good story to tell over dinner.

From now on if I have to carry my debit card and I have no pockets? It’s going in the Slovie First National Bank – cleavage branch.

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