Day Three: October 8, 2009 5pm - Panic in Parsons

My exhausted, soaking body pulled the heavy bicycle away from it's leaning state against the stone wall outside the Parsons, Kansas chamber of commerce. I threw my leg over the cross bar and felt a day's worth of water slosh between my toes when my foot landed on the other side. I looked down at my shoe and wiggled my foot inside it's soggy sarcophagus, water bubbled out from the seems and ankle. Cold water dripped off my soaking hair and ran down my back. My fingers looked bloodless and pruned. I rolled slowly to the curb and out into the street.

The hotel was a mile away, a short distance back to the north and on the eastern edge of the town. I used the powers of my imagination to turn the still pouring rain into the hot shower I desperately needed. Thinking warm thoughts of beds, pillows and fluffy white hotel towels, I pedaled through the dark early evening.

I passed strip malls, fast food joints, gas stations and cars all filled with dry, warm people. I passed a large high school football stadium whose parking lot was nearly submerged. I passed gawkers, at red lights on cross-streets, who stared mouths agape through wind-shield wipers at the hapless, soaking, pedaling personage that was myself. I passed more distance than I thought necessary and wondered if I was on the right street.

Eventually, and with relief, I saw the towering, glowing beacons of the hotels, grouped together for traveler's convenience at the edge of town. I recognized the name of a recommended economy establishment and pulled my bike up just outside the front door. I made a futile effort to shake some of the excess water out of my dripping clothes, gathered my wallet and entered the lobby.

A small Indian woman greeted me without a smile and asked, in heavily accented english, if I was looking for a room. I smiled as pleasantly as I could and said I was and asked the rates. She quoted a price in the mid-fifties and I accepted, handing her my debit card. She pointed the direction of the room and programmed a key as the credit card machine ran my information. The receipt printed and she looked at it with a frown.

"Declined" she said.

"I'm sorry, what?" thinking I'd misheard her through the accent.

"The card was declined" she said again with unwavering sternness.

My heart skipped a beat and I struggled to catch my breath. I mumbled a few brief words about making a phone call, excused myself and walked outside in mortified, head-spinning confusion. I knew I had money in my account. I wasn't a fool and had double and triple checked it before I'd left home. My hands were shaking as I groped through my handle-bar bag for my cell-phone. I found it, in it's zip-lock sack, which sparkled in an un-nerving way with condensation. My breath was rapid as I dialed in the 800 number on the back of my card, hoping the problem would be easily resolved. I punched the Send button and waited. Nothing. I glanced quickly at he display, listened again and waited. Nothing. I re-dialed, waited. Nothing. I stared, horrified at the phone in my hand and ad-libbed a profane mantra, leaving no curse unturned in my useless, repetitive search for mental comfort.

I pulled up the number for my parent's house back in Leawood, dialed and waited. It rang! Twice. Three times and then I heard my sister's voice.

"Hello?"

"KATIE! It's Tom! I'm really screwed ri...."

"Hello?"

"Katie! Katie, can you hea..."

"Tooom are you there"

"Oh shit"

"Tom? Hello?"

"Oh shit, shit, SHIT!"

I punched End and felt like crying. I dialed again, it rang once.

"Hello? Tom?"

"Katie! Can you hear me, Ka..."

"I think something's wrong. I can't hear you"

"SHIT!"

I hit End and stared hopelessly at the broken betrayer. I was shaking all over. I was breathing rapidly and couldn't organize my thoughts. Why wasn't my phone working? Why didn't my card work? Where the hell could I sleep with no money in a thunder storm? A melodramatic vision of dying alone and wet on a park bench in a small foreign town played out in my head. I realized I was still standing embarrassingly in front of the hotel. I decided to preserve some semblance of dignity and not suffer a break-down on the door step.

I climbed back on my bike and headed nowhere, in the direction that I'd come from. I had trouble balancing and couldn't keep a steady pedal-stroke. My throat was tight with anxious sobs, waiting for release and I couldn't stop shaking. I had no plan. I had no significant funds. I had no way to call for help. I was terrified.

I pulled up to a gas station and went inside. I fiddled pointlessly with my phone for a few minutes while a puddle gathered at my feet and I tried to calm down. I glanced around, pointlessly hoping for a deus ex machina to lift me out of this hell. I thought of asking to use the phone. Not here though, another gas station I didn't want to embarrass myself further, having already stood there awkwardly for too long.

I went back outside and rode a little further down the street to another gas station. There was an older woman working behind the counter. I asked her if I could use her phone to call an 800 number. She kindly pointed out a pay phone, not three feet to my left. I shook my head at my lack of awareness and thanked her. I called the number on the back of the debit card and waited uncomfortably on hold for a few minutes. Finally someone answered. I explained my situation and gave her the necessary identification to pull up my file. She told me that a hold had been placed on my account.

"What, why?" I asked

"Apparently, your bank statement was returned to the bank unopened by your postal carrier and thinking there may be something wrong, the bank ordered a hold on the account" she explained helpfully.

I verified the address on file was correct and we agreed that my postal carrier was an idiot. I felt better and asked if she could remove the hold so that I could use my card again.

"Of course" she said "I'll send a request to lift the hold immediately"

"Great, thank you!" I said feeling relieved "When can I use my card again?"

"Oh, it should only take two or three business days once they receive the request." she replied cheerfully

My knees buckled and I caught myself against the wall.

"No, no, no that won't do" I said and then explained my exact predicament.

She was very kind and understanding in her response but explained that she was merely a call-center representative and had no actual control over the account. I thanked her and remained friendly despite my immense disappointment and anger.

After hanging up the clerk addressed me and asked if I needed any help. I told her about the debit card, the phone and my miserable day. She told me that there was a church in town that would put up traveling strangers for the night but couldn't recall which church it was. She asked a customer who'd just come up to the counter if he knew the church she was thinking of. He didn't. I thanked her and said I was going to use the phone again to call my family. I followed the instructions for making a collect call and waited for the phone to ring. While on the phone the clerk continued to ask everyone who came in if they knew of any service that could help me out.

Finally, my sister answered. I quickly explained my desperate situation and felt much better commiserating with someone I knew. She asked what she could do to help and I explained the plan that I'd come up with.

First, I asked if she had a sum of money in the bank that she didn't immedietly require. She said she did and I asked if she would be willing to wire me a loan via Western Union. She said that she would and asked what she needed to do. I had her go to a computer and look up Western Union locations in Parsons. Then I asked her to relay the address to me, which I found easily on the map I'd acquired at the chamber of commerce. I told her she would need to find a Western Union location in Leawood, go there and have them send the money to the location she'd found for me. She agreed. I thanked her profusely and told her I would call if and when I got into a hotel.

I hung up the phone with a sigh of relief. I was still uneasy because I'd never sent or received money via wire transfer and hoped it would work as smoothly as I needed it to. The clerk, who had been questioning all here customers about possible aide, was glad to hear that I had my situation nearly resolved. I thanked her warmly for all her help and said that I should be all right now.

An hour and a half had passed since I left the hotel in dire straits and it was now very dark. The rain was still falling as I rolled up to the grocery store that housed the Western Union office on the other side of town. Inside, I found the yellow and black signs designating my goal and waited for an attendant. She arrived shortly and I told her I was expecting a money order and asked what I needed to do to receive it. She explained that it usually takes a half-hour after a money order is sent before it can be excepted. I went back outside to wait with my bike.

I sat on a bench outside of the grocery store and ruefully contemplated the events of my miserable day. I wondered if my phone would start working again and whether or not the money being sent would be enough. I watched happy, dry people enter and leave the grocery store. Pangs of hunger helped to diminish my already bruised mood and I snacked on trail mix. I was still worried that something would go wrong with the wire transfer and I cursed myself for undertaking the stupid trip in the first place.

After a painfully depressing half-hour, I went back into the store and up to the counter. The clerk looked up my information and told me the money order had arrived. I calmed down as I filled out paperwork and happily excepted the cash she handed me. Feeling, again, the comfort of money I left the store and steered my bike back across-town. This time I didn't indulge in hot shower fantasies or thoughts of a warm bed. My mind was still reeling from the panic of the evening.

I was still feeling the embarrassment of the declined card and decided to go to another hotel across the street from the first. I left my bike outside and rang the service bell on the counter. A young woman appeared out of a doorway behind the counter and looked startled at my appearance. I smiled sheepishly and asked her the rates. They were higher than the previous hotel but I stopped myself from even thinking of shopping around. The clerk was full of sympathy and listened with compassion to the story of my night. I paid for the room and asked if I could bring my bike in with me. She said that that would be fine and even came around the counter and held the door as I rolled my bike inside.

Once in my room, I stripped away my soggy layers of attire and proceeded to unpack my bags. I wanted to lay out all my wet gear before anything else so that it would have as much time as possible to dry. Luckily most of the things in my bags were still dry. I placed my shoes and socks over the air vents and draped my hammock and wet clothes throughout the room.

I remember looking into the mirror, seeing mud splattered on my face, legs and fore-arms, rubbing both my hands over my wet scalp and allowing myself to finally relax. I considered calling my family but decided I could no longer post-pone the long over-due shower.