On a political level

As anticipated, last night was another prerecorded Saturday night. But it wouldn't have been completed had I not met new uninteresting people, which I did. Only one actually, but he was surely enough to prove the theory.

Khalil works for Cafe Najjar, a prominent coffee label in Lebanon. What does he do there? Well Khalil isn't your common employee, in fact Khalil is in charge of everything that has to do with the company: supermarkets? he is in charge. import and export? he is your man. Coffee shops franchise? Khalil is the boss. Anything else you might think of that is related to the coffee trade, Khalil is already on top of it. All this might give you the impression that Khalil should be at least 40 years old. Wrong. Khalil, by my humble estimation, is no more than 26 years old, 27 at most.

When Khalil used to work as a bartender at Movempick, he not simply doubled the sales and improved everything, he tripled the sales and took charge of everything. They didn't simply give him a good raise, they doubled his salary. Why he quit you may ask? We didn't get to that, so it is a question I won't be able to answer, not now and certainly not in the future, because I am hoping the future won't put Khalil in my path ever again.

Even before we were properly introduced, even before I knew his name was Khalil - and by the way, who in the world would name their son Khalil?? That is just mean! - and he knew mine was Mireille, he asked me where I lived, and when I told him I lived in Ashrafieh, he put a big goofy smile on his face and delight gushed out of him. Why? Because in such a judgmental, even prejudicial society, your neighborhood defines your political preferences.


Saying I am from Ashrafieh is equivalent to saying I am a follower of the Lebanese Forces, according to Khalil, a sample from the majority of our communities. His exact reaction to my statement was: "From Ashrafieh? That means you are a "camarade" (French for comrade)". Comrade is a word the Lebanese Forces have been using to define themselves for as long as I can remember.

And when I told him I wasn't, he was completely stunned, shocked even. What else could I be but a comrade? I said I have no political preferences whatsoever. He didn't buy it. I am Lebanese after all, following political movements should be installed in my DNA. I should be breathing politics, living for politics, and from politics, as is often the case. Khalil insisted I was hiding my preferences. He even went as far as asking everyone I knew that was there if I was telling the truth. Everyone having confirmed my declaration, Khalil went to the next step. He gave me a sermon which he was hoping would give the desired result of converting my allegiance and join his ranks.

Khalil wasn't the first person who had tried, over the years, to convince me to march demonstrations along their side in favor of this or that political leader. I never budged, and I sincerely hope I never will either.