Once upon a time, I wanted to pick up a skincare prescription in Colombia and everything went wrong.
I was already planning a Colombian vacation so my dermatologist (who's Colombian, and amazing) called in a skincare prescription to a pharmacy in Medellin where this little tube of lotion cost a FRACTION of what it costs in the US. All I had to do was wire $50 to a Colombian pharmacy and they'd send my prescription to my hotel (I realize this sounds shady AF but I assure you it's totally legal).
Here's how it went down:
I walk into my bank in Sunnyvale, CA and explain what I want to do. My bank says it will cost $50 to wire $50 (WTF? but okay). However, they CAN'T tell me what the wire transfer fee is on the Colombian side ("because it changes"), so they can't guarantee the final deposit. I pay $50 (product) + $50 (my bank fee) + an additional $25 (my best "guess" for the Colombian transfer fee).
After the $125 transfer goes through, the final deposit is only $45 (F#*K!). Apparently, the Colombian transfer fee that nobody could tell me about was $30. So now I'm $5 short on my payment and not only am I unwilling to pay $50 to wire another $5, the MINIMUM transfer at my bank is $50, so I'm SOL in more ways than one.
With the help of my dermatologist, I manage to communicate with the Colombian pharmacists and we agree I can make the remaining $5 direct deposit once I'm in Colombia.
NOW IT GETS GOOD
Once in Medellin, I set off on foot to find a bank near my hotel. According to my map, there's one about a mile away.
The bank is an ATM-style teller in a "sketchy/ definitely not tourist-friendly" part of Medellin. There's a single teller behind bulletproof glass with a line of people out to the sidewalk. I'm last in line. The first guy in line is holding a gun (correction: a hand cannon) while a bigger guy (who clearly works out and eats a lot of protein) stands guard outside with an automatic rifle and extra clips like he's preparing for Pablo Escobar to roll up. But everybody is acting cool, so whatever.
Rambo and his friend finish up and run off, presumably with a sack full of cash and I finally get to the teller. But he can't help me. Because I'm at the wrong f%ing bank branch. The "right bank branch" is at a mall a few miles away.
After making a few wrong turns (30-minute mistakes) I find the mall and locate the bank inside. The problem is, the bank is like a DMV. Like, literally they're CALLING alpha-numeric numbers and it's not at all obvious where to get a number. I wander around looking very blonde and lost until an English-speaking employee takes pity and helps me out. Two hours later, with no. B72 in hand, I make my $5 deposit and seriously have never felt more liberated in my life.
Five days later, a pristine package arrives at my Cartagena hotel (I've left Medellin at this point and I'm in Cartagena now). It's my skincare. The battle was hard-fought, but I've finally won.
HERE'S HOW CRYPTO COULD HAVE SAVED MY ASS
Upon finding out I needed to transfer $50 USD to a Colombian pharmacy, I simply would have transferred $50 USD to a Colombian pharmacy.
The end.