Desultory blogging

Posted on August 31, 2006

18


Last Saturday, I woke up in a desperate panic to capture (and beat down) what remained of my summer. I wanted to go to the pool but none of my friends were up for it, citing such compelling excuses as “I haven’t shaved my legs and I don’t feel like shaving them.” So I went on my own, to Novotel. Of course, the taxi driver rudely let me off around a mile from the entrance, because he didn’t have a license and did not want to go through security. The prick. And then apparently I was blamed.
It became obvious from the outset that this going by myself was going to disturb numerous persons. When I sat down and asked for a towel, I was treated to the following interrogation from the waiter:
“Lewa7dik?”
“Aywa.”

“Khales? Mafeesh 7ad tani?”

“Aywa.”

“Ya3nee mafeesh 7ad gai? Fard wa7ed bas?”

“Ma olna aywa.”

For example, two decrepit old men felt the need to engage me in conversation. One just said “hi” to me, but with such a depth of salacity and bushy-eyebrow-wiggling, and so much unnecessary follow-up gazing, that it was an outright insult. Plus his wife was right there ya3nee. The other had his swimsuit pulled up to his corneas and opened with the lamest possible chat up line about the possible origins of my accent, when I hadn’t even said anything to him. He had just overheard me speaking. I swam away brusquely. Otherwise, there was TONS of staring. I began to think that one of my fun bits had escaped its moorings, or that there was a ferocious bush of pubic hair sticking out. It wasn’t positive staring for sure.
However, there were two guys next to me who I couldn’t really get away from. They were Egyptian but had cockney English accents. One of them asked me a phenomenally large series of astoundingly personal questions all of which ended in “innit?” In the end I had to call him a rude asshole and a prick, to which he smugly replied that I must not be a very good lawyer because I was losing my cool, as if we were arguing points of logic. I hate people who think that personal insults are in any way to be replied to as one would an argument. His friend was experiencing serious discomfort at his rudeness at about this point, and apologized, so I talked to him instead. He turned out to be in the counter terrorism and narcotics authority here, whatever that is. He was the British liaison, catching terrorists and drug traffickers between here and there. On closer examination, although he was mad Caucasian-looking, he did have that look in the eyes that said “I can fuck you up, but until then I will be very polite” that you find in law enforcement officials here.
That story got kind of delayed in the production department. But my dad (the Original Funny himself) is here for two weeks anyway, so I probably won’t be doing anything worth documenting for posterity. You know, besides hostessing and cleaning.

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