According to a quiz I took on the Intertubes, I have the organizational style of a chipmunk. Which sounds cuter than "packrat", I suppose. The defining feature of my lack of organization, according to this quiz, was that I like to keep my affairs in disarray because I enjoy drama. Therefore, when I lose my keys, I create drama. Today's drama is The Case of the Missing Checkbook. It is relevant because we must pay for Montessori today, after many years of being spoiled by having the unsettling sum removed from Chip's paycheck before we ever encounter it. It is hard to write a check to the Montessori when ones checkbook has decided now would be a good time to go on walkabout.
Checks, schmecks anyway. One of the great things about living in a post-communist country is that their banking system had to start from scratch, in a way. In the olden days, people would pay bills by standing in line at the post office. (Some still do. It's mysterious.) Today, most everybody lets their money whiz about the international electronic banking system, getting their salaries deposited into their accounts, paying their rent with their mobile phone, and maintaining five separate currencies in the same account. Every time I trudge to the credit union with my mini-stack of freelancing checks to pay the mortgage in person, I feel like some kind of technological demotion has occurred. I think I entered our bank in Prague about four times, and one of those times was to open the account.
I'm not against personal service. And the credit union has great cookies in the lobby. But I could do without the whole check system, especially since the banking lobby has removed the fun of the float. Used to be you could write a check on a Friday afternoon and feel secure that it wouldn't reach your bank until Monday after you had gotten paid. Try that now and you'll be feeling the sting of the overdraft.
But writing about it isn't helping me locate the damn checkbook, so I should probably return to the good times of tearing apart my kitchen drawers and bellowing. Do you think the Montessori directress will believe me if I tell her that the check is in the mail?