Most mothers I know are task-master wizards. I fall in that group. In some ways, it is a requirement because otherwise our planet would fall apart. And I am not being metaphorical here. So it always takes me by surprise when the simplest of ventures can make me cry.

Banking in Costa Rica involves waiting in line. Since going through a divorce, I’ve had to go out and do all those things that once we, as a couple, had taken care of years ago. I needed a new bank account; credit cards; and checks. I’ve approached each banking task with great caution, carefully monitoring my actions, feelings and connections to money as I go. I’ve been a culprit and victim of financial chaos and am determined to never have that “happen” to me again.

This morning the line was short at my bank. Good time to get those checks. Checks are rarely accepted here in Costa Rica, but they can be written for such things as rent, school tuition, etc. I sat down in front of the well-groomed clerk. Although she had helped me open my account, she didn’t recognize me (must have been the new haircut*). Though this woman was young, her hair was pulled back tight and her brow furrowed when she spoke. It added ages to her soul. I began to stumble about in my use of the Spanish language. She corrected me several times and then just stared at me. I suddenly felt as though I was sitting in front of one of those stern nuns I’d had in grade school.

What did I do wrong?

that little voice said in my head.

I repeated what I had said and began to add hand gestures, which is a sure sign of losing a grip. The clerk was offering me no relief in my struggles.

The little voice, otherwise known as the bad witch, now sat right on my shoulder, said:

Stupida! You do not deserve such things as checks. What were you thinking?

Then, this other voice (we’ll call her the good witch), takes a bit longer to wake up because it usually goes to bed later at night, said:

It’s only some lousy checks for goodness sakes! Keep going or you’ll be a weiner!

After continuing along like this for a few more minutes, I realized we were stuck on a content issue. I wanted to know if it cost more to order less books of checks, or if I got a discount from ordering more checks.

No. The checks cost the same regardless of how many you order,

said the tightly wound clerk while tapping on the computer keys and avoiding eye contact.

See! You’re getting somewhere!

said the good witch in my head. I sat back in my chair and took a breath.

See that wasn’t so hard

The clerk looked up at me and said:

You have an account that doesn’t allow for checks. You’ll have to open another account to permit the writing of checks.

I gathered my bag and said thank you. The bad witch sat on my shoulder and chuckled.

See! Stupida!

My eyes welled with tears. I left the bank thinking I’d walk out with an order for a few checks and instead faced a demon in my soul. It has nothing to do with checks. This teller probably had a fight with her boyfriend before she left for work and is past due on her water bill, plus her dog has a cold. I’ve probably opened a hunderd checking accounts in my lifetime; I was caught off-guard and found a lesson at the bank. I wanted to know about my issues with money and boom! There it was. I don’t feel worthy, yeah…that’s it.

Guess what you bad little witch? I am.

I am.

*words still out on that haircut.