The Albanian Maneuver
“Too much.”
“Too much?”
The gas station attendant thumbed through the crumpled bills stuffed into an envelope he held and shrugged. More lek. The last thing we needed was more Albanian currency. We were leaving the country in an hour. The car didn’t need much gas, but the rental agreement demanded it be returned with a full tank. The €50 note I had given him glowed red in the midst of the pale blue Albanian money.
“Let me see if I have anything else,” I said. The man shrugged again as I turned towards the door. His dark eyes gave no sign that he understood a word I was saying.
“A” was waiting in the car, the windows lowered in the intense heat. She handed me a €20 note, and I returned to the store and gave it to the man inside. He gave me my change in lek, useless to me except as a souvenir. Then he stared impassively at me as I waited.
“And my 50,” I said.
He shrugged. He didn’t understand.
Reaching across the table between us, I slid my hand into the envelope and pulled out my conspicuous €50 note. He smiled at me, as though it had slipped his mind. In a country where the average monthly income is €330, it was hard to believe. But you can’t blame a man for trying. Inwardly congratulating myself on my street smarts, I headed back to the car and drove…
