August 2008
Leatherman and Lunch in Hungary
I can't remember if I've sent you this story - think I always meant to, but never got around to it. I was in Hungary, in a town just over the river from Esztergom. It's not the most urban of locations, and I was stuck for cash. I had a few coins on me, but that was it. I was so pleased when I saw a cashpoint/hole in the wall/automated teller - call it what you will, I was pleased to see it. So, I step up to the cashpoint. It's in a wall in a seedy looking bank, but it looks OK. I pop my card in and - YES - it can read it, the instructions are in English and I'm about to get some much needed funds. OK, type in the number. All fine. How much? Enough for lunch for me and my friends. Great. Receipt? Nah - never bother with those. Buzz, click, whirrrrrrrrr, chug. It was a very final-sounding "chug". The machine starts beeping at me. It wants me to take my card back before it gives me the cash. Except I can't. It's poked my card out of the slot so that only about 3mm is showing, and the slot's so narrow I can't get my fingers in. Right. So here I am, stuck in a remote town in the middle of nowhere, half way through a week's trip and with no cash and now some machine has decided to eat my card and play peek-a-boo with it. I'm not impressed. I may have even sworn a little. The bank is, of course, closed. And even if it was open, my Hungarian for "Sorry, but your machine has eaten my card and could you help please" is a bit rusty. Then I engage brain for a minute and think. I can't get my fingers in to get my card out - the slot's too narrow. Fine. But I CAN get my Leatherman's needle-nose pliers in, can't I? I unclip it from my belt, whip out the pliers and try. YEEEESSSSS!!!!!! It works. Of course it works. The gadget that's fixed motorcycles, aged Morris Minors, and anything else I've ever owned with engines has come up trumps. I carefully edge the card out. The machine stops beeping and gives me a wad of notes.
I go and have a very good lunch in celebration. Seems fitting that the guy at the restaurant wanted to use the Flair to open the first bottle - he'd not seen one before. Thanks for getting me out of a very tight hole. Not life-threatening, but nasty all the same. My Leatherman's barely been out of my sight since.
Mark M.
Bampton, Oxfordshire, England
OK, you voyeur, you. Enough of reading other people's stories. It's time you told your own tale of gripping heroism or even just neat DIY'ism. We know there's a Shakespeare in you somewhere. Don't make us use the Steens to find it.