The Black Market

Before I set out to visit a particular third world country, I was advised by many to bring all my necessities with me, such as pens, papers, cough medicine, hair products etc since such items are quite inaccessable. I was also warned about the lack of customer relations and prevailing apathy in that country due to defeated motivation to work hard and achieve excellence.

Seeing that I work in a beauracratic system that takes its own time in getting things done and follows its own defined calendar that defies all laws of gravity, I felt I was well accustomed to horrific apathetic treatment and below mediocre PR. I mean, what could possibly be a more deplorable experience than dealing with a man whose paying job is to take care of my business ticket arrangements, yet refuses to do so without causing significant outlandish drama. Needless to say, my attitude was very bright and formidable despite all the various warnings as I felt confident and well prepared to any disheartening experience from somebody else's mediocrity or just plain indifference.
As soon as I checked into my celebrated 5 star hotel, I realized that the camera battery charger has a different electricity socket than the one used in that country, and despite my diligence in pakcing every decipherable item, I of course forgot to pack an adapter. So I freshened up, and went downstairs to the concerige to ask for one, and there I found sitting on the desk a young woman merrily painting her nails and chewing gum. She didn't even look up at me when I asked her for the adapter, and continued painting her nails while telling me that she has no such thing . Her blatant indifference was hardly a novel experiece for me, considering where I'm from, but I did find her unabashed, shameless attitude very amusing. At least in my country, people will pretend to give a damn. Maintaining my sunny disposition, I asked her sweetly to give me directions to any hardware electricity stores that I can go to buy an adapter. "I doubt you will find what you need in these stores" she responded, applying her last set of shiny polish on her red nails. "Well, I'd like to try anyway" I insisted. She rolled her eyes, angrily put away her nail polish, grabbed a pen, huffed and sighed and grumpily scribbled a few words on a scrummy piece of paper. She shot me a look like I had just asked her for her kidney.
So I trot cheerfully to the nearest taxi stand and give the taxi cab driver the directions to the store. He looks at me in utter disbelief, as though I had just suggested we jog naked together down the street, and asked me before turning on the ignition why in the world I was going to such an indiginous local, non touristy destination. I explained to him the deal, and he warned me that the place I was going to has no taxi stands available, that it can be quite dangerous, and that it would be wise for him to wait for me until I'm done. I felt like I was being duped into paying extra for a longer taxi ride with this dramatic outburst of concern, but I thought what the hell, so what if I pay a few extra bucks and have him wait.

At the hardware store, I was met with wide stares the moment I verbalized my request for an adapter. The old wrinkled man behind the counter indicated placidly that they have no such thing. So I asked for a connecting cable that would match my battery charger to their electricity. He told me I would have to purchase the entire $400 camera set to get the cable, and under no circumstance will he sell it to me seperately.

I then put on my well-rehearsed grand damsel in distress performance, with weepy eyes, eager smiles, uttering ego inflating requests such as "Oh can't you help me?" or "what am I going to do?" or " I really need your guidance". It appeared that none of that shit was working, but he did tell me to come back "later".
CD: "later" as in when?
Wrinkles: I don't know, later.
CD: Yeah, um, like today?
Wrinkles: or tomorrow if you want.
CD: how about in 20 minutes?
Wrinkles: I don't know, if you want.
CD: Ok, I'll be back in 20.

So I roamed around the run down streets nearby to kill some time, got freaked out a little bit by some of the beer drinking men sitting on the pavement, hissing and whistling at me and staring ever so blatantly, then panickedly rushed back to Mr. Wrinkles in the hardware store. Only, he wasn't there anymore, but in his place was another man, sucking on his ciggarrete under a vivid 'no smoking' sign on the wall, reading the comic strip of the newspaper.

Again, I asked him for the item I needed, and when he finally understood and stood up from his chair, a rough scraggy hand tightly grabs my shoulder from behind my back, almost causing me to fall on my side, and when I gain my balance and turn around, I find the old man with the thousand wrinkles streaming on his forehead fiercely glaring at me, with flared nostrils and a face that looked like it just jumped out of Dante's cantos.
Angry Mr. Wrinkles: Didn't you talk to me first?
CD: Um, yeah..
AMW: then why are you talking to him?
CD: Um, I don't know, you weren't there.
AMW: You can't just ask me to help you, and then talk to somebody else
CD: I'm sorry, I didn't know
AMW: Didn't know what? (Practically screaming)
CD: I didn't know! I thought you left (slightly frightened) I'm sorry.
AMW: (cursing at me in his local language) Come with me! (He grabbed my upper arm like a furious father would grab his deliquent son after catching him with dope, and pulled me out of the store)

I am not sure what is going on as he drags me into an alleyway through the eerie dark back entrance, but I pretty much have an idea that its very shady, and i prepare a clenched fist with one hand, and fish for a sharp eyeliner in my purse with the other, or anything that I could use as a weapon, just in case. In that milli second of mental panic, I reevaluated how much I really needed this cable to go through this, and decided that it definitely wasn't worth it.
CD: Um, you know what, its ok. I dont want the cable anymore.
(He pulls out a plastic bag from behind a case of beer, totally inattentive to what I just said, and aggressively stashed it in my hands)
Mr. Wrinkles: Hide it in your bag, now!
CD: Um, is this the cable?
Mr. Wrinkles: What do you think?
CD: Oh, Ok. Well, how much?
Mr. Wrinkles: First, hide it in your bag (I willingly obliged). Give me $10.

I pay the old man, flee the premises in the blink of an eye to my faithful taxi driver, (who is happily waiting me for with an obscenely jacked up meter), and tell him to drop me in the nearest commercial touristic area.