Petrol + Plastic Bag + Taxi
When I was 17 my family upped sticks and buggered off to Rio de Janeiro for 2 years. My Old Man worked with a very nice lawyer whom I shall call Adailson.

We lived in an area of Rio called Leblon, and regularly drank in a bar at the very end of Copacabana next to the Fort. One blazing hot morning my dad had dragged me out of bed and insisted that I accompany him to a fairly high class jewellers in Centro as my parents wedding anniversary was coming up and he wanted to get my mother some necklace or something. This was a reasonable thing for him to do as his grasp of Portuguese never extended beyond "Gin and Tonic", "Double Gin and Tonic", "Steak and Chips", and "Fuck off", whereas I did have a reasonable grasp of the language.

For some reason the Old Man decided that we'd meet up with Adailson before going to the jewellers for a spot of lunch.

Lunch, with my dads limited vocabulary, was steak and chips. We finished eating and went to Adailson's car and started to drive up Avenida Atlantica along Copacabana. About 3 or 4 blocks up, the car started to cough and the engine died. We got out. It was about 38C and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We stared at the car. Eventually Adailson, with a Eureka look on his face, revealed that the petrol tank was empty. No matter, there was a petrol station about 8 blocks away so we could go there and buy some petrol, come back, and fill the car up. Adailson opened his boot, grabbed some bags, and we started walking.

I should've been suspicious when he grabbed the bags... I mean... why would you need a plastic bag when you're going to buy petrol?

Anyway, after a long, *hot*, walk to the petrol station Adailson reveals his master plan - fill several bags with petrol, get a taxi back to the car, fill it up.

But, said my father, why can't we just get a can. Oh, says Adailson, because then they'd send an attendent with us and we'd have to tip him, its easier this way.

So, there we are, standing and watching whilst this crazy bastard fills several medium sized plastic bags with petrol (he'd triple bagged them for 'safety'). Dubiously, we climb into a taxi, with Adailson resting his cargo on his knees, realise the Taxi driver is smoking, glance back at Adailson who is cheerfully spilling petrol over himself, turn back to the taxi driver and 'politely' ask him to get rid of his cigarette, and start the drive back to the car.

Any idea how hard it is to pour petrol from a plastic bag into a car?

Its not easy. It goes everywhere, and the crowd of people you attract is statistically likely to include smokers.

Statisically, its also probable that you'll attract the attention of a squad car from the Policia Militar who will take objection to people happily pouring petrol over themselves, their car, the road, whilst several onlookers blithely smoke.

I got home that night smelling like an Esso garage.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 2:42, 2 replies)

Excellent story!
In my mind Adailson is wearing a trilby and a linen suit. :)
( Evil Bastardo, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 16:28, closed)

Great
post, cheers!!!
( SpankyHanky, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 19:56, closed)