A Lebanese Anecdote

Time for a random, genuinely Lebanese anecdote. This may seem a bit silly, but this woman brightened my day with a laugh this morning. If you are not Lebanese, there is a rare probability that you have ever experienced a chronic power cut, and this little tale will seem baffling to you, but if you are, this is exactly the common everyday story you may usually encounter.

A little background for the foreigners first: To avoid numbing details, I will just tell you that due to repeated strikes and raids over power supply stations, and due to constant shortage in fuel, we don’t get electricity in Lebanon 24/7; instead, the small amount of power supplied is divided between the various areas with the power being cut anywhere between 3 and 24 hours per day depending on the region on a daily basis.

The above hopefully explains why the revered power company in Lebanon receives countless phone calls every day from complaining citizens hoping for an explanation as to why the power was cut longer than usual today, or why the broken transmitter hasn’t been fixed yet, etc…

Now, we live near the power company’s main branch in the capital, and thus, we share with it the same area code, as well as the same first four digits and, as luck would have it, the sixth or last digit in the phone number too. This means that our home number differs in a mere digit to the company’s, and as luck would have it once again, it seems that many, many years ago, the company had what feels like millions of billing forms printed out with the wrong fifth digit assigned in the number listed as its hotline on the bottom of the form. The fifth digit printed coincides with ours.

Maybe the company has since printed new forms, or maybe it is still using its stash of old ones with our digits, but at any rate, it seems that there is a huge amount of people still referring to those forms and dialing our home number every time they encounter additional power trouble or simply feel like ranting over their broken washing machines, their melting ice cream or their wasted leftovers.

I would say 50% of the calls we get at home are meant for the company, and every single day we are subjected to hundreds of ever so funny yet saddening insults before we get the chance to tell people on the other end of the line that they dialed the wrong number. And even then, most people don’t believe us and suggest that we are indeed the company and that we are just making pranks on them and that this is simply outrageous of us. Imagine! J

My brother recorded his voice on the answering machine a while back, and since then, many callers who get the voice mail in which my brother sings Na na na nan a, we are not home, leave us a messaaageee – in Arabic of course and with irreparable cords – leave us really, and I mean really angry messages, which are hilarious to hear, since even with that silly voice recording, they still believe that the power company is mocking them J

So if you have ever wondered – which you probably haven’t – what an upside down prank call might be like, this is it.

But let me get to the story before I forget it.

This morning, the phone rang and I picked it up. The 50 something lady on the other end of the line didn’t even bother with a hello before unleashing her wrath over the power company, its employees, the government, the minister, the citizens, etc…You name it and you can bet she insulted it. And when she finally had the courtesy of taking a breath between rants, I took the opportunity to calmly try and explain the situation, which she laughingly interrupted saying: I know my dear, I know it is the wrong number, I have called here before and you have explained it to me already, and she went on heartily laughing. Baffled and completely dubious, I inquired as to why she would call us again if she indeed knew all about it, to which she replied: Well at least with you someone picks up!

No comment J The end.

A Slave of Complaint

It has been an ultra redefining week on so many levels. Well I haven’t exactly discovered anything I wasn’t previously aware of, but everything that had been happening with me or around me has reconfirmed some old theories and feelings.

I am a slave of my routine. Anything that interferes with my daily habits one way or another automatically tends to go on a blacklist that ranges between dislike, discomfort and disassociation altogether.

For those of you who don’t know me in person, here is a concise summary: I am your basic heavy smoker/insomniac with no car. That being said, it is quite understandable how a 24/7 coffee shop near home with an indoor smoking section can work perfectly well for me.

I have been almost living in the same spot for the past 10 years or so. The coffee shop itself changed, the people changed, the cab drivers even changed, but I am still the same. I come here religiously, every night, for the same experience, the same enjoyments, with the odd twist here and there of course.

So could somebody please tell me why am I having to undergo a relatively massive change in the space of less than a week? It simply isn’t conceivable in my mind; having to go from devotedly smoking indoors 24/7 to shamefully smoking outdoors 21/7 is just NOT fair!!!! Not to mention that I have lost the place as a depot as well! I know an explanation is due now and it goes – or used to go to be more precise – like this: The fact that I have no car and that I feel lost without my huge laptop makes me carry it with me wherever I go, and since on some rare occasions I actually have plans elsewhere, but must – and I mean MUST! – come to the coffee shop before AND after the night out, I would usually keep the laptop with the staff for the duration of my plans, and then come back, retrieve it, use it and go home with it. Now what do you suggest I do with my humongous laptop when I need to go out?? And how am I to use it before leaving and dispose of it then? And why oh why don’t I get the chance to use after all my boring plans anymore??

Rant, rant, ranting I do best! I know. But in this case, I have earned the right to do it, haven’t I? I mean come on, after all those years, you chose this week of all weeks to start closing at 3:00 a.m.? What does it even denote to close for 3 meager hours when you need an hour to close down and another to open up? Isn’t it enough that I now have to sweat in the heat and shiver in the cold just because I have been dubbed as an uncivilized smoker? I ask you, isn’t that a sufficiently undeserved and uncalled for punishment?

On another note, I may have become slightly superstitious this week as well. It all started when I caught the bouquet my friend threw on her first wedding anniversary. Does catching the bouquet really mean I am going to meet someone and be the next to walk the isle? And what exactly could it mean that I caught it one year too late?

On yet another note, there has been a lot of dreaming going on. Between the dreams of my relatives, those of my friends and my own, I have been stealing cars, secretly buying cars, and attending some very fishy gatherings. I have also been misplacing my clothes and walking on red sand.

Now link the dreams to the rotting flowers, deprive me of smoking altogether, send me to bed at midnight, and drive me off tomorrow to the nut house in a stolen green Renault. How about that?

Nope, Can't Shut Up About It After All

I thought I could, I really did. I had promised myself this was going to be a battle I will refuse to take part in. But I’ve had it! I feel provoked! And damn it, I should be!

Stop trying to deny me every little pleasure I have left in this godforsaken country. Stop trying to deprive me from one of the few - and I mean few when I say it - things I still get to enjoy in the grimmest of the so called green nations.

Do you remember how I kept silent when you tore down the beautiful old buildings in my neighborhood and built your ugly centers instead? Do you remember the way I kept my mouth shut when you sealed the bad meat file as if nothing had ever happened? Can you recall the way I didn’t utter a word the day you decided to just forget about the civil marriage file?

I didn’t choose the above cases randomly. Those happen to be three of the many, many cases which were, in my opinion, used by our devious government to distract a predisposed people from much more important and relevant issues that were eating our country up, and still are.

Those subjects were magnified in the public’s eye for a given period before they lost their value. I love my memory of the few months during which you all religiously wore your seat-belts while dodging a ticket instead of an accident, just love it. I still quite enjoy myself and snicker a bit every time you pass a roadblock and buckle up 2 feet away from it, only to free yourselves again just 2 other feet ahead of the checkpoint. Sensational for a nation; hypocrites roaming the streets and pretending they want a European lifestyle, pretending their aim is to bring this country forward, claiming they are sick with the situation as it is. Shame on people who wouldn’t dare as much as flick their cigarette’s ashes from the car’s window in any other country while they take some sort of pride throwing whole garbage bags out of their houses’ windows in Lebanon. I pity my motherland when I know for a fact that only the poor and the weak will be suffering from nicotine withdrawal symptoms while the rich and the powerful will terrorize any policeman who would think of attempting to get his ticket book out in order to write them up for smoking their luscious cigarettes. Isn’t it just merely funny when you think about it?

You know I am 100% right when I predict that almost every individual involved in the matter will be on the take from bar and restaurant owners to let them run their places smoothly. You know I am more than correct when I expect a huge economical shudder due to this hasty decision. You know for a fact that while you and I might comply because we can’t afford 90$ tickets over cigarettes, Abou Koko and Abou Ahmad will simply beat down any, yes any person who might try to ask them to take their smoking outside. Funny, super funny!

I am writing all of this down tonight not only to express my dismay over the smoking ban effective as of September the 3^rd, but also to pour my blame over a nation that is relentless when it comes to disappointing me on every possible level.

For everyone who is so ecstatic about the smoking ban on health basis, I urge you to read up on lung cancer’s relation to cigarettes. Although the two may be connected, smoking isn’t the direct or the sole cause for the sickness, and in case you aren’t aware of it yet, toxins you inhale from running cars and from highly health conservative electricity plants are much more harmful to your lungs than your friends’ smoking.

For the people who were quick to judge this ban as a “civilized” move, I would like to point out that no move, no matter how highly symbolic and effective it may be to you, can be described as such in a country that forces its gay community to undergo shameful tests under claims of “protective and preventative measurements”. May you also kindly note that, once again, this is yet another deceitful move taken by our dear government to distract us from issues that truly matter.

And to those of you whose adrenaline just notably rose up on the mention of the gay tests as not being of major importance, please do not get me wrong; this is actually a subject that advocates my cause. And you do have a right to wonder what my cause really is after all the jabbering that I just made you read through. For those who are still reading, my cause goes as follows:

No matter who you are, no matter where you are, you are entitled to act however you wish to act, the right to be however you wish to be, the right to do whatever it is you wish to do in any manner you see fit, all as long as you are not stepping on anybody’s toes while at it.

Are you a non smoker who is sick of having to inhale every “uncivilized” person’s smoke in this place? Why not call for a movement that satisfies both parties by creating smoking and non smoking corners in every place? That is a lot more refined than judging and labeling people who dare differ in their habits as uncivilized.

Actually, come to think of it, it is going to be a lot more uncivilized and coarse, harsh even, to send all those smokers to sweat under the burning summer sun (which could be a factor in causing skin cancer for all I know – since smoking can be a factor in causing lung cancer), or to freeze under the overflowing winter rain (hey, that could seriously cause lung diseases!).

I haven’t written that many lines in ages, I am really getting worked up about this topic. But please note that the upcoming sentences aren’t meant to try and draw the reader’s pity or sympathy for that matter, in any way, but governmental conspiracies and civism lessons aside, I love smoking. As I have emphasized multiple times before in this blog, my cigarette is my companion, it is somehow part of my hand, an irrevocable part of who I am, of what I represent in my society. It is hard for some people to imagine me not holding a cigarette; sometimes it is hard for me to imagine it as well. And if you think that quitting smoking would be beneficial for my health, think again. If you think that once I at least cut down on my smoking I will be running up stairs, also think again. Smoking a cigarette has kept me from going insane many a time, it has prevented me from feeling totally and utterly abandoned more times than I care – or dare - to count. My mental health, which is questionable I admit, matters a lot more to me than my physical one, which will deteriorate one way or another, one day or another, for one reason or another. A cigarette joins together the beginning and the end of any creative process for me as well. With all due respect to my fellow non smokers, try smoking and you just may – emphasize on may – become as good as I am someday :P

Status: Update

It seems that the best stimulation for a Lebanese mind is none but war. We thrive at the mention of a weapon and soar to the sound of a bullet.

I am not totally basing this article on a random opinion; I actually have thousands upon thousands of FB timelines to back me up.

I hadn’t seen that many creative statuses in so long! It is as if everyone had a bunch of fabulous ideas and was just waiting for a relative event to publish them!

It saddens me that almost all our movies, all our independent music and book productions are war related. It is true that art forms are highly dependent on one’s reality, but our reality is much more than a few stray bullets and burnt tires every now and then!

Why don’t you get creative about, say, the beach resorts that are robbing you blind for instance?? How come you are not inspired by everyday events and simple day to day struggles? I haven’t seen a personal joke in a status in like forever, and rarely do you feel up to posting comic situations you went through or a new info you came upon. Why is that?? Are these sorts of statuses irrelevant, while the fact that we have no electricity is? Well news to you, everything is relevant and is worthy of a head scratch.

Some of you will criticize me on the basis that I rarely ever update my own status, but I have my excuse right under the arm: I write a blog! If I have something to say, then I say it here and elaborate on it, no better even, I dwell on it.

Alright, I have said my share, but since I am at it, go Italy and go Spain statuses also annoy the hell out of me. That said, it actually was a nice win for Spain tonight.

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.