A bank like bigfoot

I wasn't sure why the police officer had taken my bank card, or if the middle aged woman who'se ID information he was taking down was mad at me, or if she'd even been in the bank the entire time that I was.  I had been wrestling with the ATM to try and transfer money to a travel agent for a summer escape to Taiwan.  When I hit cancel the machine had made a noise each time, but a police summons?  All my attention had been focused between the blinders of the automatic teller, and now I was being asked questions that didn't include what's your name, where are you from and what are your hobbies.  So of course I couldn't answer.  Instead I smiled.  I smiled at the police officer, I smiled at the woman who just went on and on, and I smiled at Brittney to make sure she was smiling too. 

Was I being accused of stealing this woman's card?  He looked over my card and her ID, writing things down.  My ID was not signed, I knew, because I have yet to find a pen that will write on the ultra slick surface furnished for one's John Hancock.  I phoned one of my teachers and then the next, looking for a translator.  No answer followed by no answer.  My smile was wearing out. 

"Password", the police officer said, holding my card up.  It was the first word of English he'd mustered.  My smile wore out.  And then, in comes my Korean deus ex machina.  Another officer, a flurry of words, what I preceived as a nod of his head signalling "over here", but who knows.  And then everyone's smiling, and my card is returned to me, and they're backing out of the bank repeating everything's fine, everything's fine.

I am left so confused.