pasakojimai

Private Banking

The Bank looked as an important financial landmark of the city should: big and imposing columns and western style facade made the building stood out of others in the dusty Chinese town.
Out of the sleepy darkness of the bank he came – a short and chubby man, wearing navy trousers, worn out khaki jacket and money belt on his waist, which he was touching all the time, as if it was the symbol of his power. His whole posture was oozing confidence - he was familiar with the place.
-Hello, laowai – he addressed me with curiosity. – American? Change how much money? Me – private bank, more money - and opened his jacket to show banknotes of various currencies, tucked into the pockets of his vest.
I was taken by surprise - in the middle of the National bank a man, private banker, was offering me his service. Was it legal? Was it safe? Was it really happening? – questions were pouring out of my mouth. The man understood my concern, and tried to reassure me in his broken English: - Safe! But I wasn’t so sure about the safety of this operation, and thoughts of gangster movies, marked bills and police officers were running through my head.
-Look! – he tried his best to persuade me and took out his calculator to make simple subtractions. It was obvious – his private bank would allow me fast train ticket home. With my heart beating faster, I agreed. The deal was sealed in a minute and I was handed a bunch of green coloured bank notes. The exact same moment, scary thought hit me: I had no idea how real USD dollars looked like. Sure I had seen them in films, but up to that point in life, my financial wealth was measured in pounds, euros or franks. I felt devastated, but he came to my rescue again, taking my hand and leading my way to the cashier, and to my even bigger astonishment, he handed the bills for the check up.
The money was good, and when I turned to say my thanks, the man had gone.