Adventures in Banking

When we first arrived in Costa Rica, I noticed that every bank has a special teller window for “older folks.” I knew I was old enough to qualify but my pride wouldn’t let me take the short cut. As a result, for several months I waited in the “normal line” (sometimes for a very long time) before I could see a teller.

Eventually, I got over my pride and started using the “older folks’ line.” Sometimes it’s faster and sometimes it’s not. Like last week, for example.

I went to the bank to take out cash. However, the cash machine gave me all large bills, so I was forced to see a teller. Swallowing my pride, I sat in the “older folks” line. There were three people in front of me. I thought it might take 10 minutes tops. I was wrong.

As I sat waiting, I noticed the older gentleman at the window having a leisurely talk with the teller about his kids, his grandkids and any number of other topics. I kept trying to make eye contact with the teller to visually nudge him along. After all, I was waiting in line. Impatiently.

As I sat there, another older gentleman sauntered up to the teller to ask a question. As he walked past me cutting to the front of the line, he mentioned under his breath that he just had a “small question.” But it turned out that he, also, engaged the teller in jovial banter about local soccer teams and grandkids.

By this time, the gentleman sitting next to me assured me that he had very quick business. He would only be with the teller for a moment.  

I’m not sure how, but people here seem to have radar that I’m a gringo. I think I dress and look like everyone else around me. But something about me appears to scream that I’m not from Costa Rica. The guy next to me apparently sized up the situation: an impatient gringo was frustrated that the line was not moving more rapidly. He was right.

He looks at me and says, “Don’t worry. My business will only take a moment. I just have to pay my insurance bill.”

So, imagine my shock when he begins to chit-chat with the teller about his kids and grandkids and politics and sports. My eyes were drilling a hole through his head from the back side. His business may have been short, but his conversation was way too long for my taste.

Finally, it was my turn. I spent less than two minutes with the teller getting my change and I was gone. No small talk. No idle chatter. Just business.

I thought about it later and wondered if I had missed an important cultural nuance. People matter. The bank teller knew his clients and they mattered to him. The small talk I witnessed was important to everyone. It was a social hour. I was the only one bothered by it. No one else seemed to care about the wait. It was life. And a pretty nice life at that.

My mom used to walk quickly. She was always on a mission to get somewhere fast. I picked that up early on. For most of my life, I have wanted to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible.

But quicker is not always better.

Connection matters. People matter.

Costa Rica has a lot to teach me. I hope I learn.