Cristina kills 9 firemen to destroy evidence

On the 5th of February (yes, two days ago; I am starting to become South American. I’ll get to it mañana…) a fire in the Iron Mountain archive building killed 9 firemen and first responders, and injured 7 more. Despite the unnecessary loss of life, this is interesting in several ways.

First, the building had an advanced fire suppression system, built to be able to not only quench fires but keep documents intact. In addition to multiple other methods to prevent and stop fires. Seeing as it *was* an important document archive.

Secondly, this particular archive housed quite a lot of bank documents.

Thirdly, the fire happened at the announcement of new foreign exchange regulations, in which banks are now required to limit FX positions to 30% of their assets, and FX futures to 10%.

So, how convenient that the destruction of official bank balance data (at least *this* copy) coincides with new bank compliance which coincides with Argentina being called out on fudging its Forex numbers, and having the honesty of its bank reserves questioned.

“Well, we would show you, but oops, it all caught fire last night!”

More info here and here.

Hunting for the Paraguayan Embassy

It seems that the Paraguayan embassy in Santiago is as elusive as Bigfoot. I have to get some documents legalized there and so I began my search on The Google.

The first address that comes up turns out to be an abandoned office in a dark building downtown, with decor that looks like it belongs in a 1940s film noir hard-luck detective movie. This is the kind of door that shows the silhouette of a woman in distress, knocking; a few moments later it swings open to reveal a sexy dame who promptly lights up her cigarette and pours out her lies as she begins her process of ruining the detective’s life more than it’s already been ruined. Maybe the door has been kicked in a few times; definitely seen a crow-bar or two. I look through the crack between the door and the frame, and there is nothing inside. Empty office.

I go back outside into the bustle of downtown. I cough in the smog-heavy air and the diesel fumes, and light up my own cigarette. The smoke washes away the city, clearing my lungs. Ahhhhh, much better.

I didn’t really smoke, but I should have to keep with the theme.

So I got my gumshoes walking to try the second address. Sure enough there is a Paraguayan flag in front. Nice-enough looking house. Signs point to go around the back. Around said house, in the pool house, is the consulate.

I go in, and it’s clean and orderly. Smells good. The nice girl at the desk greets me, and I sit down to present my papers like a good worker drone. Sharp fees, USD$95 per document, not payable to the consulate directly. I will have to go to the bank, and do a deposit in dollars, and bring the deposit slip back. But not today. Today after 12:00 the receiver of papers turns into a pumpkin, their inbox turns into a pumpkin, and a field of dense and unmovable spacetime forms around them which completely forbids any submission of documents until the next morning.

No sense in leaving these for pickup later tomorrow then?

No.

Because leaving papers-that-are-ready, today, to be processed tomorrow, so I only have to come back once tomorrow, and they only have to see my ugly face once tomorrow, is an act of efficiency and logic that is entirely unwelcome in a bureaucratic office. So I shall just have to bless them with my unique and sunny presence twice more.

As I shriek inside my head “Why, God, WHY?!?!??!!?!” I smile and nod and save up Postal Points for later when I go on the rampage which will be echoed throughout eternity by generations of fearful and fascinated historians. Vlad the Impaler will be forgotten and I shall be his replacement.

So tomorrow I shall need to wash, rinse, repeat, and make sure to shove the papers into the black hole before it closes.