KEY POINTS:
"In bulletproof clothing, you don't get a second chance," said Caballero, a smartly dressed Colombian businessman, who makes the world's most fashionable bulletproof suits, ties and even undewear that will stop a bullet.
Just below us, dozens of seamstresses are bent over their machines, making glamorous suits for Hugo Chavez and the Prince of Asturias. The clothes look like just another $3000 suit, but hidden inside each garment is Caballero's secret weapon - panels of flexible kevlar-like material, almost as thin as a floppy disk from last century and capable of stopping even a point-blank shot to the chest.
The business was born in the Colombia of the 1980s when car bombs, kidnappings and mayhem led thousands of ordinary Colombians to wear bulletproof vests. These vests, however, were bulky, heavy and totally not cool.
Enter Miguel Caballero, a young college student who decided to revolutionise the industry. He added a tailor's touch to the armoured plates and voila, a legend was born. He merged the styling of Armani and the survival properties of kevlar.
The result is now a multimillion-dollar operation that makes bulletproof jackets, cocktail dresses, ties and even bulletproof underwear.
For customers who have been shot and had their life saved by the bulletproof clothing, Caballero adds their name to the Survivors Club, which now numbers in the dozens.
I did not doubt Caballero, and the 169 workers I saw inside his factory were diligently churning out dozens of top-quality jackets. But how could I really be sure they worked?
"Will you shoot me?" I ask Caballero as he finishes his sales spiel from inside his fortress like office in Bogota.
Suddenly his brave demeanor shrinks. He looks pained. Stressed?
"This is not good," I think, as I flash back to my children, my girlfriend. Even the cute LanChile stewardess suddenly seems important.
"Okay, but you have to sign this," a beautiful blond assistant shoves what looks like legal paperwork my way. Probably saying 'whatever happens it ain't his fault'. Duh! I asked him to shoot me, no problem signing that.
While I fill out the paperwork, Caballero explains that his clothing is barely known in Colombia. Despite media stereotypes and bad Rambo movies, Bogota is less dangerous than many other cities. Even US cities like Washington D.C. have two or three times the crime rate.
Today Bogota is so safe cruise ships regularly stop at Cartagena, tourism is booming and US college students visit during their spring break.
The national tourism board has come up with the catchy slogan: "The risk is you want to stay."
So selling bulletproof clothing in Bogota is not profitable.
"No one even knows me here in Colombia," said Caballero.
"But thank God for Mexico. They have a serious security situation with kidnappings, and it is pretty dangerous."
So with his credentials as the world's top bulletproof tailor, Caballero is branching out to the world's hot spots. He now has operations in Mexico, Guatemala and South Africa. VIP clients include Stephen Seagal, who has bulletproof jackets, sweatshirts and even a bulletproof kimono.
As the assistant fits the brown leather jacket over my shoulders, her smile looks botoxed, like she is straining to relax. I keep flashing to Brandon Lee (the son of Bruce Lee who was accidentally shot to death on a Hollywood set by a gun that was supposed to fire only blanks.) My daughter Susan's words echo in my head - "Dad, have 'em shoot the photographer, he has fewer kids".
Too late for those words of wisdom. Caballero is asking me to pick out the bullet - a bit grim if you ask me, like letting the condemned prisoner screw in the fuses to the electric chair.
It seems like half the company has gathered in the conference room - a place where many a worker has surely fantasised about shooting a colleague, but rarely gets the chance.
The photographer jokes that they want to see the idiot who asked to get shot. Solemnly the TV is turned off, the shades drawn. It feels a bit shady.
"What's to hide?" I think.
Now Caballero is sweating. Then quickly he raises the snout of the .38, shoves it just off my ribs and pulls the trigger.
"Boom!" it feels like a mule kicked me. Not enough to knock me over, but shock waves ripple through my chest for the next 48 hours.
But it worked! The jacket showed a nasty hole.
"We fully trust every product," says Caballero, who admits he was nervous when he shot me.
"I never shot someone twice before," he confessed as we laughed about the first bullet to the stomach - the nervous Caballero shot before my photographer was ready, leading to a tense scene as they blamed each other.
I, meanwhile, was celebrating loudly, until I realised I would be shot again.
The second shot was worse. Like tempting fate, I thought. The assistants were so nervous, several of them left the room.
Caballero lowers his head, like he is praying or asking for forgiveness, neither of which bring my comfort level any higher.
Boom! Again, the mule kick, but now I smile.
This time it's over. He lowers his head, like he is praying or asking for forgiveness, neither of which bring my comfort level any higher.
The bullet flattened like the proverbial pancake and I started to celebrate the cold margarita that the photographer had promised me.
After being shot, even little pleasures are tasty.
