Another working Saturday ended rather late today, at six, culminating in a consultation with Dr. Vilaremetaftia Kolodaktilo, Principal Secondary Assistant Mattachine Attaché for High Culture at the Greek Embassy here in Washington. His usual concern over the years has been the return of Greek antiquities from places like the Getty Museum to their rightful situations in his native land. Indeed, our consultation last Tuesday had been about such subjects – his nation’s recent success in doing just that, and where we might go on from there. I must confess I wasn’t expecting him to request another appointment so soon. But lately, I have observed, other matters have made themselves manifest in his estimation, and today, it was those which motivated him.
“Tom, my friend,” he fretted as he seated himself primly in the chair directly in front of my desk, his attaché case poised in his lap, “the Greek people are extremely disappointed with the rest of Europe at the moment.”
“About what?” I coyly replied.
“About the Euro!” Dr. Kolodaktilo declared in a slightly offended tone, as if his nation’s reason for outrage at all of its neighbors were not completely obvious. “Certainly, you have been following the development of such measures, as proposed by the Germans, which would have the Greeks living like… like… your barefoot, ragged rednecks in the mountains, in their trailers…” he gestured emphatically, pointing out from my office, with commendable accuracy, a dead bearing of two hundred and seventy degrees, “over there in West Virginia!”
“The Germans,” I observed, “show up on time, work hard, save their money, stay current on their loans, pay their taxes, manufacture excellent products, observe high standards of quality, provide world class services and mind their own business. On top of that, they’re a very respectable center of scientific and technological innovation, and manage all of it with what can only be described as a very admirable record of environmental responsibility. Have you considered, that if they’re willing to write the enormous checks which have kept the Greek economy from flushing down the global economic toilet bowl, maybe they have a right to require you to behave more like them, instead of, dare I say it… a bunch of lazy, feckless, tax-dodging Macedonian Gypsies?”
“The Greeks,” he indignantly protested, “work just as hard as the Germans!”
“Is that how,” I wondered, rhetorically, “you managed to run up forty thousand dollars in national debt for every man, woman and child in the nation of Greece?”
“The last time I checked,” Dr. Kolodaktilo sniffed, “the US national debt was in excess of fifty thousand dollars for every American man, woman and child. By your reasoning, the Germans should be imposing even more stringent austerity measures on you than they demand of us!”
“We Americans,” I proudly pointed out, “don’t owe our patooties to the Germans – we owe them to the Chinese.”
“So,” he huffed, “when the Chinese tell you Americans to stand on your heads and whistle Dixie, I suppose you’ll do that?”
“Of course not,” I assured him, “we’d send the Seventh Fleet over to the South China Sea to conduct joint maneuvers with the Philippine Navy. Nobody, on the other hand, is crazy enough to do something like that with the Germans. Not even you guys. So what’s your plan, anyway? The last time we discussed this, you were talking about leaving the Euro.”
“True,” he admitted diffidently.
“And I think the Germans called your bluff earlier today, didn’t they?” I sought to confirm.
“Meaning what?” Dr. Kolodaktilo muttered evasively as he averted his eyes.
“Well,” I began, “didn’t Greece just finish a nationwide parliamentary election?
“Yes,” he conceded.
“And,” I pressed, “isn’t it a fact that the newly elected members of the Greek Parliament were unable to form a government, and that therefore, President Karolos Papoulias dissolved the Parliament after only two days, appointed a caretaker government, and called for new elections?”
“Um… ah… yes…” he mumbled ashamedly.
“And,” I hammered home, “didn’t Chancellor Merkel call Pesident Papoulias today and suggested that, as long as you’re going to have new elections in June, you might as well include a referendum vote on Greece staying in the Eurozone, too?”
“That’s… what… the latest reports… said,” he sighed.
“Okay, then,” I continued, “given that, hasn’t Greece been threatening to leave the Euro instead of complying with German austerity demands? Haven’t you been taunting the world economic community with the prospect of Greece returning to the Drachma? And aren’t austerity and the Euro versus the Drachma the issues that made formation of a Greek government impossible?”
“Greece,” he thundered, “will not be dictated to by other countries, simply because they are bailing us out of a huge financial crisis! We Greeks have a right to our way of life! If the Germans want to work like dogs and be foolish enough to actually pay their taxes, that’s their problem, not ours!”
“Fair enough,” I allowed. “So how can I help you today?”
“With this,” he flatly stated, popping open his attaché case to reveal it filled with neatly stacked bundles of five hundred Euro notes.
“Where did those come from?” I inquired.
“Friends, relatives, associates,” he shrugged. “In Greece. Ever since this talk about reverting to the Drachma started, people have been going to the bank and taking out their money… in Euros.”
“And since,” I surmised, “you’re with the diplomatic service, they entrust those Euros to you so you can get the money out of Greece for them.”
“Yes,” he nodded, “that’s it exactly. I have a little black book full of figures – who gave me how much, and so forth. Everyone in Greece knows that if we return to the Drachma, we will be like the United States – a truly sovereign nation again, able to print our own money. Then, like you, we will, as you Americans say, be able to have our cake and eat it, too. For we are not so different, you Americans and we Greeks – each American or Greek, he or she is both in favor of largess and parsimony, are they not? In general, each wants to cut government spending – but in the particular, each wants to receive various government benefits and subsidies. Such policies, however, are not possible unless your nation can print its own fiat money, as does the United States. And when Greece rejects the Euro and goes back to the Drachma, that’s precisely what we will do – emulate the United State of America and assume complete control of our own fiscal and monetary policies again.”
“But your friends, relatives and associates,” I observed, “are smart enough to realize that when that happens, the value of their wealth, as measured in Drachmas, will be a pitiful fraction of their current wealth, as measured in Euros. So they are withdrawing billions upon billions of Euros from Greek banks, even as we speak, and doing everything they can to hide, transport or transform those Euros before the Drachma… hits the fan, as it were.”
“So they are,” he acknowledged. “And so, here I am, in possession of four million, three hundred and sixteen thousand Euros – at the moment – and receiving more and more every day. But Tom, you know as well as I do, my expertise lies in the fields of archeology and the arts. I’m no financial expert, by any means. Please, tell me – what in the hell am I supposed to do with all these Euros? I’m afraid that if I take this to the Citibank down the street at 1775 Pennsylvania Avenue, for example, and open an account to deposit it, your Federal Bureau of Investigation will be calling your State Department, asking to speak with Ambassador Kaskarelis about just what sort of shenanigans to which I have been up. And I would hate to have all that money confiscated and end up owing it to my numerous Greek friends, relatives and associates.”
“Your misgivings are well placed,” I advised. “In America, all cash deposits in excess of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine dollars are reported to numerous federal authorities, including the FBI, the SEC, the DEA, the CIA, the DHS and the IRS.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Dr. Kolodaktilo uttered with a visible shudder of palpable apprehension. “My friends, relatives and associates in Greece all seized upon my situation with the embassy here in Washington as the perfect way to get their Euros out of the country before the Drachma replaces it, but I suspect they all assumed once the money got here to America, I would know what to do with it; but frankly, I don’t.”
“I am not a lawyer,” I cautiously qualified, “but I’m pretty sure that any suggestions I might offer you which pertain to conversion, purchase, exchange or securitization actions involving those Euros there in your attaché case would amount to you and me engaging in an international financial conspiracy. So, although I can, in fact, think of a number of things you might do with that four million, three hundred and sixteen thousand Euros, my innate sense of self-preservation prohibits me from telling you what they are. On the other hand, may I inquire, do you have a garage?”
“A garage?” Dr. Kolodaktilo stared at me, mystified. “Why, yes, I do.”
“And what sort of car do you drive?” I asked.
“A Mercedes Benz SLK R-171,” he replied.
“Nice ride,” I commended.
“It’s fun to drive,” he smiled.
“German,” I noted.
“Um… yes,” he blushed ruefully, “I know… I know… how ironic and all that.”
“And,” I emphasized, arriving at the nexus of my message, “do you park it in your garage?”
“Ah… no,” he mused, “as a matter of fact, I don’t.”
“Why not?” I politely demanded.
“Er… because… um… that is… well, it’s full of junk… my garage, that is… at our house in Foxhall Village.”
“Of course it is,” I chuckled. “After all these years living here in the United States, your garage is just like any typical American’s – so filled with crap you don’t really need you can’t park your car in it. Congratulations.”
“Right,” he laughed. “I see what you mean.”
“So you know what you need to do, now,” I commented, slowly and deliberately.
“What’s that?” Dr. Kolodaktilo stared at me, more mystified than ever.
“Wouldn’t it be great,” I prodded, “if you could park your Mercedes Benz in your garage again?”
A long, pregnant moment ensued.
“That’s right!” Dr. Kolodaktilo shouted excitedly at last. “Absolutely right! I think I need to move all that… what do you call it? All that bric-a-brac that’s cluttering up my garage into a nice, secure storage locker in a sturdy concrete storage facility located somewhere safe, like Chevy Chase, Rosslyn or Bethesda! Yes – somewhere with twenty-four hour security and multiple story, above ground units! I’ll get something with full climate control on the second or third floor and move everything that’s in my garage there!”
“Good idea,” I opined.
“And I’ll bury a suitcase full of Greek Euros underneath all of it!” Dr. Kolodaktilo exulted. “And the transition to the Drachma be damned!”
“What?” I implored. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear that last remark.”