Miercoles Negro, Parte Uno

As I get ready to leave my room for breakfast before my third day of Spanish class, I realize my ATM card is missing.
I go into the dining room, tell Silvia and Antonio what the deal is, and ask if either of them will go with me to the cash machine. Silvia's got a ton of cooking and cleaning to do, and Antonio has breakfast to eat and class to get to. Maybe it's too much to ask. I'm confident I can muddle through the search for the card on my own, go back to the grocery store where I probably left the card in the machine, etc... but someone with better Spanish could help me work out the nuances, the social finesse and patience that always get me the inside scoop and the better deal back home. Antonio looks at me like I'm crazy to ask.
If the situation were reversed, would I do it for him? Probably. At times I truly enjoy jumping into other people's problems as a means to forget my own. Unfortunately, thus far Antonio has only been good for 1) correcting my Spanish 2) commenting that I'm not learning Spanish quickly enough or working hard enough 3) interrupting to comment, "I don't think so," when I refuse a second helping at comida and someone asks if I'm on a diet. Because of the language barrier, the little bastard has been getting away with calling me fat.
"Fine," I say, "just tell me how to say I left my card." I know it's "salir" if a person leaves, and that "llevar" is to take someone somewhere or to wear or for takeout food, but...
"Dejar," he says. "Say, 'deje mi tarjeta.'"
At least he gives me that.
At the store, the security guard pulls out a long list of lost-and-found items, catalogued by date and area of the store. It looks very specific and organized. Maybe the old Chedraui is going to come through for me, I think. Maybe this grocery store will finally make up for having a name that's so hard to pronounce.
But no luck.
At home Silvia and I debate whether the card comes out before or after the cash. I'm certain that it comes after, that the outdated Chedraui machine is just like the ATMs of the 80s and 90s that suck your card in. I manage to call my bank via Skype and cancel the card, and luckily I have a second card to use.
A few days later, I go to get some cash with the other card and pay careful attention to when the card comes back out of the machine.
Yes, it does come out after the cash. And then as the card sticks out of the machine waiting for you to take it, a loud bonging noise sounds off, and a little disco light above the machine starts spinning around and flashing.
Apparently I had been so caught up in protecting my PIN and checking for fraud gadgets on the machine, I had ignored an entire circus.