I Remember...

This week's WoW is open and so I chose 'I remember':

Imagine a large bowl of lukewarm porridge; not thin and wet like grandma likes but the thick, stodgy, sort that you could stand a spoon up in. The type of porridge that sticks to the roof of your mouth like wallpaper paste. Now imagine that gloopy mass suddenly materialising inside you: a heavy, nauseous, feeling in the pit of your stomach. That is approximately the feeling I felt as the draw on the opposite side of the desk to me was shut with a firm thud and metallic scrape as a key turned in the lock.

To be honest I hadn't really seen that coming. I look back and marvel at my innocent, naive, eighteen year old self and wonder if I really had been that stupid. I mean would you hand over US$10,000 in new notes to a shady looking Brazilian in an ill fitting suit? No, I thought not. Especially not when you are locked in a small office behind two, inch thick, steel doors.

I had thought the taxi driver with the eye patch had seemed a little eager in taking us to that particular travel agent. Gleeful in fact.

The exchange had started out in the normal way. A cashier started to count the money; all was looking good. That was until my shady Brazilian captor appeared, grabbed the money off the desk and beckoned my friend and me to follow him quickly.

Once he had locked our cash in the desk he looked at me and said with a heavy accent,

"A man is coming with Reals, he will be a while, I will get us lunch"

With that he ordered us some hamburgers and began making small talk as best he could. After half an hour or so of forced pleasantry, interspersed with moments of watching the local news on one TV and the CCTV footage on another, he turned to business.

"In England if you have an old dirty bank note can you take it to a bank and change it for a new one?" he said.

"Yes" I replied, stupidly not seeing where this was leading.

"Good. My grandfather, he found a one hundred thousand dollars buried on his land. They are dirty and I want to change them for new ones for him. If I give you five thousand dollars could you take them back to England and get them changed for me? I will pay you." he said.

The penny dropped. The porridge turned to cement. I was now involved with Brazilian black-market money laundering. What should I do? If I said no he might conveniently forget that he had our money in his desk. If I said yes, well, my career as a criminal would get off to a flying start.

"I don't think that I can do that" I replied in the most polite tone that I could muster.

An amused expression crossed his face,

"Ok"

Suddenly the door to his office flew open and someone said something urgently in Portuguese. A red-faced man burst into the room and threw a carrier bag on the desk before disappearing as fast as he had arrived. The Brazilian pulled out a thick wad of Reals and started counting quickly, as he reached R27,000 he scooped them up and put them in a carrier bag. He pulled me up roughly and led us out of the building; he looked furtively up and down the street.

"Be careful" he said as he vanished back inside.

Opinions, comments and criticism welcome below!