IT’S PARADISE...IT’S NOT PERFECTION

My credit card

In preparing for our vacation to Paradise, Gerie had procured 2 Rotary Club coupon books that offered buy 1 get 1 free breakfasts, lunches, and dinners at various eating establishments in St. Thomas and St. John. Allow me to take a moment here and thank Gerie for her attention to detail vacation planning. This was her 9th trip and she is very, very good in preparing. I, on the other hand would have spent at least twice the amount of money, wouldn’t have seen half as much as I did, and would have been driving a crappy little Chevy Cavalier. Thanks Gerie...you really are appreciated.

Anyway, one evening, taking full advantage of the "buy 1 get 1 free" dinner coupons we went to “Iggie’s” for dinner. I don’t remember what we ordered but Dominick had a cheeseburger. Lara asked if she could have Lobster as she did everywhere we ate. We told her no, but that we would make certain that she got a Caribbean Lobster before the vacation was over.

When dinner was over the cute, pleasant, young waitress came to the table with the check inside those black imitation leather folders. While I reviewed the check, got the coupons, and placed my credit card in the credit card pocket of the folder, Gerie started a conversation with the waitress. They were talking about Iggie’s Wednesday night all-you-can-eat festival. I handed the folder back to the waitress which she placed with the other three folders from other patrons. The conversation between Gerie and her continued as she picked up the plastic glasses and napkins from our table. When the conversation was over, the waitress scurried off to the cash register at the end of the bar.

A few moments later she returned and apologetically explained that she was so busy “B.S.ing” with Gerie that she forgot to give me the check. I informed her that she had indeed given me the check and that I had placed my credit card inside. She opened the folder to show me that there was no credit card inside and asked if I was sure that I had put it in. A little irritated, and a bit more worried I assured her that I had put my credit card inside the folder.

After the waitress returned to the cash register to check if she had left it there we looked on the table and on the floor. No credit card. The floor at Iggy’s is a wooden deck with spaces of about 1/2 inch between the floorboards. I asked the waitress for a flashlight to check the spaces between the deck. The manager returned with a flashlight and began a slow search between the floorboards for my credit card. He and I were on our knees on the floor looking down between the floorboards to the ground about a foot beneath the deck. Had we spotted the card we would have had to pry up one of the floorboards to retrieve it.

The manager moved the table out of the way and he and now a security guard with his flashlight began another slow search of the ground beneath the floorboards. The search widened to the point of physical impossibility of a credit card dropping and bouncing that far into a space between the floorboards. In the meantime sweating from the humidity of the night and the thought of having to cancel my lost credit card I was fielding questions from Gerie and my kids.

“Are you sure you gave it to her?”

“YES!”

“Check your wallet.”

“I don’t have to check my wallet. I know I gave her the damned card.”

“Daddy, when the waitress was at the table...” Lara started.

“Look.” I said in irritation. “Enough of these questions, let’s just look for the card.”

Lara eventually caught me at a calmer moment and suggested that the waitress had in her hands plastic glasses and napkins when she took the check folder and possibly threw the credit card out into the trash.

It sounded plausible so I went to the cash register area at the end of the bar and started moving beer bottles, plastic glasses, and used napkins aside in the trash barrel that was filled to the brim with garbage.

The waitress stopped by with some rubber gloves for me to use. The type that the investigators on CSI use. I was a little irritated at the thought that the waitress should have been the one to rummage through the garbage but putting on the gloves with a snap at the wrists I did it myself. About a foot below the top of all that garbage was my Visa credit card. Thank God. Thank God I found it. Thank God for Lara’s observation powers.

So, about an hour after we had finished dinner I paid with my credit card. The waitress apologized profusely for herself. I told her not to worry about it, that it wasn’t her fault (although it was) and to be understanding about the 1% tip. Truthfully I did tip her the customary amount. We returned to Iggie’s the following week for the all-you-can-eat Caribbean festival and saw the waitress again.

“Hi. Have you blocked me out of your memory yet?” She asked very pleasantly.

“Not a chance.” I said. “But this time we brought cash!”

The following morning I went for a swim in that deliciously warm Caribbean water and forgot all about the credit card fiasco. Oh, that magic feeling!