“Tiene usted un… esfero?” I squeak. Please, I pray. Don’t let my breath be as bad as I know it is. Everyone in this room– all 150 of them– seem to be five inches from my face.
Not to say that some of them actually aren’t. I continue in my head. We’re packed in here like sardines. And there are more than I can even guesstimate waiting outside.
“No tengo.” barks a business woman in heels like a whole foot tall.
“Huh?” I’m lost in the effort of counting heads.
“No tengo!” She repeats, hoop earrings swinging around. Oh, I wanted a pen! I remember. Still I’m trembling. I am much more accustomed to the Kichwas.
“I am not trying that again,” I declare in my mother’s direction. “And why didn’t we bring our own pen?” I add, aggravated.
“Like I could even reach a pen if I had one,” Mom answers.
She’s right. We are too close to our stranger neighbors to shift our weight without knocking someone over.
I can see it now: “American girl gives the domino affect to hundreds at the Pinchincha bank in Tena” on the headlines. I shake the thought out of my head.
Still, this is the worst, the most unhygienic, the most terrifying experience of my life. Save a few other incidents.
But this is a bank! I scream inwardly. It’s supposed to be nice!
“This is uncomfortable.” I announce.
“Sh,” Mom warns. An booming voice comes through the crowd. Dad would have answered it by yelling “Brah ca ca ca!”, but he was saving time by shopping at Tia while Mom and I finished the transfer. This horrible, life-altering transfer. And screaming brah, ca, ca! was not going to fix this.
“I think he’s saying we all have to get an extra slip from that table over there,” Mom told me, referring to the guard in the front. “Madeline, sweetheart, would you mind–”
“No way!” I interrupt. “Do you want me to get kidnapped?”
“The table is ten feet away.”
“And there are like two people per square foot in here,” I remind her.
“Okay then, I’ll go get it. But you stay here and keep our spot.”
“Sure.” I say. People crowd around me, and I start to doubt if Mom will be able to locate me.
Feet shuffle. I gasp with disbelief. Someone cuts in line. In front of me.
This is normal. It’s happened about 70 times today. But not to me.
I glare at the sneak-ster. How dare you… my blood boils. Take my spot… This is getting dangerous. I worked hard to get here! You can’t image how hard–
“I’m back!” Mom says, squeezing her way back through to me.
Another announcement. Everyone huffs and starts towards the doors to leave.
“The system’s down.” says a guard to our left.
We hear: “oh wait– it’s back up!” and we are crushed and trampled as everyone makes their way to the back of the bank. All the way to the front. Where they weren’t yet.
Claustrophobia had its ugly jaws locked until…
After close to 5 or 6 hours (I have a watch, I’m not joking about the time) we finally stepped up to the teller.
“ah-me… stuh-deh-bah-ker.” she says slowly.
“Amy,” Mom corrects her. “Amy Studebaker.”
Finally.
-Madeline Studebaker