Johanna pushed the gun-waving man blocking the tinted glass door and squeezed herself inside. Then she skipped everyone in the queue. 

“I want a six-month statement,” she huffed, throwing her driver’s card towards the teller. The pencil-thin-nosed teller raised her eyebrow-like eyebrows and punched her name on the keyboard. “You have a spending problem,” the teller said, tapping the buzzing machine as it vomited a 3km roll of printed papers. “Numbers don’t lie,” said the security guard, wiping litres of blood raining from his nose after the scuffle with Johanna.  

“The papers are finished,” said the teller, biting her red-dyed nails. By now, the queue behind Johanna looked like the train’s coaches.  

Johanna nudged her star-plated teeth into her bottom lip and banged the wooden counter, scattering the pamphlets on how to keep your money. “I’ve been waiting in this queue for a year,” Johanna shouted, mining sandals from her shoulder bag. “Still printing,” the teller whispered, measuring the 10km statement with her popped eyes. 

“Sorry, we’ve run out of ink,” cried the teller, and the puzzled faces in the line schooled her with insults. “We’ll charge you for paper and ink,” said the teller, blowing a netball-size bubble from the chewing gum. Suddenly, a cane-walking woman skipped the queue and recited the fourth commandment. Later, Johanna shot out of the bank and ran to a healer. “I’ve money issues,” she confessed to an ash-faced man. “Many issues,” the seer foretold. “Do you have a pin?” asked he, blocking a giggle. 

Johanna plucked out a hairpin and gave it to him. The fortune-teller shook his head and kicked her out. Afterwards, Johanna ran to another sangoma. “I’ve problems with money,” she said. This witch doctor scooped a hand-sized mirror from his torn shirt. Then he faced the mirror towards Johanna. “Where’s the problem?” Johanna asked, squatting in front of the seer. 

This time, his breathing misted her face. Then he tapped her chin and turned the mirror towards her. “What can you see?” asked the seer. Johanna pressed her eyes at the mirror, but couldn’t recognise the swollen eyelids, the strawberry eyes, and the sticking-out vein in the mirror. “Who’s this?” she asked, cupping her mouth with both hands. “It’s you,” revealed the wise man. 

“Where’s the problem?” Johanna quizzed. “It’s in the mirror,” the seer prophesied. “How much do you charge?” she asked. “Buy yourself a wall-size mirror,” chuckled the seer.