To the Bank, to the bank, to the bank bank bank

I have accomplished great things, dear readers. I have graduated from college, I have moved across the world with minimal catastrophe, and a week ago, I managed to break an ATM. In Korean.

Needing, as many people do, money to go about my day, I left my apartment early enough that I could go to the bank, take out money with my handy-dandy passbook, and be at work right on time (the bank being closer to work than the apartment). First, a moment of triumph as I successfully traversed the narrow, twisting ways of reiterated food outlets and got to the bank on my very own. Full of confidence, I approached the ATM. I informed it that I wished to take out money from my account. It requested my passbook, which I inserted correctly. I was then asked for my first code (4 digits).

It bears saying at this point that when I went in to create this account, I went with a TA whose English was not the best I've ever come across, and we spoke to a bank employee whose English also left a deal to be desired. There was great confusion over my 4 and 5 digit codes (I needed to have both), because apparently, one of them was too similar to a number on some piece of personal i.d. (I never use my birthday, dear readers, it does not make me feel nearly crafty enough). I entered three different codes, and thought I knew which had been accepted for the account-founding.

So I gave the machine my 4-digit code. Immediately, I was presented with options for quantities to withdraw. I made my selection and was asked for my 5-digit code (over which there had never been confusion, and which I entered with great alacrity and, dare I say, skill). The machine whirred, spat out a receipt and my passbook, and promptly went back to its home screen. You may have noticed that at no time did it give me money. So, thinking I had, perhaps, misunderstood something, I went through the whole process again, reading extra carefully, only to have the exact same outcome. At this point, I became concerned that, in fact, the school had not deposited my paycheck and something was seriously wrong.

I took my passbook inside the bank proper and took two numbers, one from each machine (which were thoughtfully labeled very clearly in Korean) just to be sure, and accidentally asked to speak English in Chinese to the first lady who saw me. She directed me to a woman with quite passable English to whom I explained my problem. She looked up my account, saw that indeed, I had money to withdraw, frowned a bit, and then came out to see if my experiment was repeatable. It was! When it gave me another receipt sans money, she read it and informed me that I had been entering my 4-digit code wrong. Remember, that's the first code you enter. So the machine had gone along with this charade of service after that, giving me three screens of false hope before telling me what I'd done wrong. In Korean. The lady was very nice, and said she could help me reset my code to a new number. After she had, we trotted out to the ATM again, where I inserted my passbook and told the machine I wanted some of my money. It asked me for my passbook. Yes, after I had already put it in.

It was, at this point, the time I was supposed to be at work. My lovely bank shepherd ushered me inside again and opened the closet that led to the back of the particular machine, whereupon she immediately commenced poking its innards, and I immediately commenced biting my lip and looking terrified. Some fifteen minutes later, with the help of two other smartly dressed ladies, the last of whom apparently hip-checked the ATM into submission, I got my passbook back. Still hadn't got any money, though. My savior slogged out one last time to the ATM bay and (using a different machine!) managed, at long last, to extract cash.

And you thought blood from a stone was hard.