Buy me a coffee?
He arrived at the bank just after it opened, wearing a straw hat and carrying a weathered smile that had seen more sun than shade. The guard nodded and held the door as if he already knew the man wasn’t there to rob the place, just to borrow a little.
At the counter, the receptionist listened to his request and said, “You’ll need to speak with Doña Marta, our loan officer.” She pointed him toward an office with a fan that squeaked on every rotation, like it had been complaining for years.
Doña Marta looked up from her paperwork and gave him the kind of smile that said she’d seen every excuse in the book. “So, Don Carlos, you want to borrow five hundred dollars. What for?”
He adjusted his hat. “I’m heading to the airport to sell the Guanacaste carvings I made this rainy season. Gringos like that sort of thing, and they pay in U.S. cash.”
She began filling out a form, nodding politely until she reached the next line. “And what are you offering as collateral?”
Don Carlos blinked. “As what?”
“Collateral,” she said, trying not to sound impatient. “Something valuable you leave with us, in case you can’t repay the loan.”
He thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve got a rooster that wins every argument with the neighbour’s cat. Does that count?”
She chuckled. “Not unless it lays golden eggs.”
“Then maybe my old Toyota truck,” he offered. “It still starts, just needs a hill for encouragement.”
After a long sigh and a few taps on her keyboard, Doña Marta approved the loan. Maybe it was his charm, or maybe she just wanted him out before the fan stopped turning for good.
A few weeks later, Don Carlos returned. Same hat, same smile, but this time with a thicker wallet. He placed a neat stack of cash on her desk, repaid the loan with interest, and tucked the rest into his shirt pocket.
Doña Marta raised an eyebrow. “You did well, I see.”
“Sí, señora. Tourists love souvenirs. I told them each carving was blessed by the volcano itself. Sales went up instantly.”
She laughed. “You’re quite the businessman. You could keep your money here, you know. Open an account, let it earn interest.”
Don Carlos nodded slowly, pretending to weigh the idea. “And the bank would keep it safe?”
“Of course,” she said. “Anytime you need it, you can take it out.”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That sounds nice… but tell me, Doña Marta, what would you give me as collateral?”
For a moment, the only sound was the squeaking fan. Then she burst out laughing. “You got me there, Don Carlos.”
He tipped his hat. “That’s alright, señora. I trust my mattress more anyway. Pura Vida!”
When he left, she found herself smiling at the empty doorway. There was something about the man, something money couldn’t measure.
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