Saturday In The Park
Today I saw:
A nice spot to park my car in Deira, under a spread tree. If you have been to the Salemiyah Tower in Maktoum street, you'll know where I'm talking about. Having concluded my appointments, lunch beckoned. But the dusty windshield had been bugging me all day (I have OCD) so it was time to whip out the feather duster and give the old girl a quick once over before starting for home.
The dust was fairly flying, when a middle aged kandoura clad local walked past. He glanced at me, did a double take, then came back. He seemed to be sizing me up.
"Your car?"he asked finally.
Yes, I nodded.
This seemed to take him aback somehow. He continued on his way to the meter to get a ticket. What a peculiar question, I thought.
On the return journey to his vehicle, he again questioned me.
"Sure this is your car?"
Uh, yes, definitely. I tugged the keys at my waist to emphasise the point.
He then began to apologise. "I'm sorry..when I saw you, I thought you were a cleaner...I was going to ask you to clean my car...sorry, ah?"
It's ok, I shrugged. As he walked away, I put the duster down. Didn't really feel like it any more.
Today I learned.
That some things never change. And perhaps I should dress better.
A nice spot to park my car in Deira, under a spread tree. If you have been to the Salemiyah Tower in Maktoum street, you'll know where I'm talking about. Having concluded my appointments, lunch beckoned. But the dusty windshield had been bugging me all day (I have OCD) so it was time to whip out the feather duster and give the old girl a quick once over before starting for home.
The dust was fairly flying, when a middle aged kandoura clad local walked past. He glanced at me, did a double take, then came back. He seemed to be sizing me up.
"Your car?"he asked finally.
Yes, I nodded.
This seemed to take him aback somehow. He continued on his way to the meter to get a ticket. What a peculiar question, I thought.
On the return journey to his vehicle, he again questioned me.
"Sure this is your car?"
Uh, yes, definitely. I tugged the keys at my waist to emphasise the point.
He then began to apologise. "I'm sorry..when I saw you, I thought you were a cleaner...I was going to ask you to clean my car...sorry, ah?"
It's ok, I shrugged. As he walked away, I put the duster down. Didn't really feel like it any more.
Today I learned.
That some things never change. And perhaps I should dress better.
posted by marwan | 2:34 PM
4 Comments:
Haaaaa
I assume you have been out clothes shopping then?
You must be one heck of a good car cleaner.
People say in my work clothes I resemble a certain famous tramp.
Do I have to wear a suit to be taken seriously outside of the office? Or perhaps I should have produced my labour card.
LOL...
I've been mistaken for a sales girl countless times by Emirati women. Some caucasians too. Except it's a little weird...
I'm the antithesis of a saleswoman; anti-social, too casual for comfort. I know my ethnicity has a lot to do with it, but I've stopped caring. If they make rude comments, I'm rude right back.
I'll say, dress however you want to.
People will always comment no matter how you look.
How true!
It's a bad road to go down if you start changing yourself to suit the views of others.
I find it funny that people would mistake me for menial labour, because 98% of the day I'm practising my fuck-off look or its youhful ward, staring-into-space-indifferently. Not to demean those who do manual labor of course - but one must wear the job as much as do it.
In my youth I would bite back, but these days find me rather indifferent. It may just be a Dubai thingy though - here in Oz I don't take any guff from anyone. Peculiar how countries can shape your relations with societies.
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