GITEX Aka The Straight Story: Days Four through Five of Seven

No, I didn't forget to write yesterday, but not a lot happened really, and I'm trying to avoid repeating myself.

Needless to say, today more than made up for it. Let's get the heavy stuff out of the way first.

First off, I made the huge mistake of abandoning my absolutely awesome parking space *right next to the entrance* in the exhibitor car park to go back to the shop and restock. Bad enough that it took one and half hours to make the round trip, but on my return a car space couldn't be had for love or money.

What incredibly shortsighted planning by the organisers, who have three huge car parks but close one off to VIPs, who never seem to show up, leaving what must be at least thousands of visitors scrounging around for a space. You want to have a cheap laugh, wander around the car park with your remote and hide in a suitable location, then whack the unlock key. Chortle with amusement as the hapless shoppers double up by your car and desperately crane their necks looking for an approaching driver. One doesn't even need to be that covert - just walk around with your keys out and prepare to be everyone's best friend.

But back to my story. Rather than circling near the entrance end of the car park like the everyone else, I decided to go in the hinterland of the other end.
Now, I'll try to relate this as fairly as possible - but pardon me if some anger creeps in.

From the outer circle, I had just turned into one of the empty inner lanes. Dawdling along in my van in second gear, the nose of a Merc appeared from behind a large van. I surged up to him, put my indicator on and waited patiently till he left to park. This is really important to know - I didn't see anyone else around. Job well done, I dismounted my really quite filthy van and turned in the direction of the exhibition center, when a white Infiniti FX35 with a tricksy looking plate and a fat VIP badge hauls up. Cue tinted window dropping, and two locals inside. The driver beckons to me.
Figuring he needs some directions or something, I walk up.
"How you came here?", he asks. Huh? I drove here from the entrance. Nonplussed, he keeps repeating the question, and I keep repeating the answer.
"You cannot come this way." What? How? I had no idea what he was talking about. He insists that I "explain how I got here."
Now, you should know, this was 3:30 in the afternoon and the sun was against me when I turned into this lane. As I turned around to see the way I came, it became obvious that I turned the wrong way down a one way lane.
Ah, Ok, I agreed. Looks like I goofed. I explained I couldn't see the faded arrows on the road in the reddish afternoon light. By this point, I was wondering who this fellow was. Copper? Nah, all of them were on the main road. CID? Here? Policing traffic? He had some sort of exhibitor badge on but I couldn't read what it said.
But he was adamant that I had made a mistake. And what's more - and here's the fucking kicker - he insisted that I remove my car from the slot as penalty. Oooh, but insisting would be a nice way of putting it. What actually happened is that he waved his finger, turned his face away and said - as you would to a dog - 'Remove your car."
Remove your car. He repeats again, in a tone that suggests he is not used to being disobeyed. He adds he was waiting in the lane for a long time - even though I never saw him - and he was saving the spot for a "friend".

Here's where intelligent Marwan and coward Marwan separate. Intelligent Marwan thinks, well, he's not a cop. It's his word against mine that I broke any rules. No witnesses. And even if I did travel the wrong way up a one way street, that hardly entitles him to my hard earned parking spot.

Ah, but coward Marwan squeaks, you have no wasta. That's a lowish plate. If he wants to start trouble, not hard for you to be the loser. And you look like a driver, not the owner of a stall. Not that that should be a crime - I'm out here doing a job like everyone else. But if he wants the spot - give it to him. That's how things work out here.

I honestly don't remember what I said next. I tried reasoning with him but to no avail. To him, I was no more than an insect. So what does one do?

I gave it to him. I pulled out and drove off. Because that's the way things work out here. Because the colour of my skin does not entitle me to a rejoinder. Maybe I don't even blame him - bullies are used to being listened to, and I capitulated like a right fairy. I think I am ashamed of myself more than anything else - ashamed of not standing up for my rights as a person, ashamed of the colour of my skin, ashamed of the way things work out here.

You know what, fuck it, there ain't anything else left to say about today. It was that shitty a day.

* GOD Updates: Christ, can I get away from this woman? Look, I'm honestly doing my best to avoid her. For the love of pete, her booth is on the opposite side of the stall from mine. And I'm usually looking the other way anyhoo. But heavens to Murgatroyd, everytime I turn my head there she is. Either she's parked at the back of her stall looking in my direction, or she's taking a break and walking past my area.

Goddamn my nerd genes. What's more, I've just realised something. Whenever she looks in my direction, I instinctively jerk my head away so there can't be any eye contact. Ok, I know why I do that, but way to go Marwan - that doesn't look suspicious or pervy at all! Aack. Fuckity Fuck Fuck. I feel like I am in a rapidly contracting Iron Maiden of my own creation. I know nothing at all about this girl, who she is, what she does, or if she even notices my bald ass at all and yet I find myself trying to hide from her at every oppurtunity.

Which wouldn't be that hard, you'd think, in a freaking EXHIBITION HALL. But nope. It's like crush zen radar - everywhere I look my eyes seem to find her. I go to my van to get stock, there she is parked on the curb talking to her friend from ShDG. Walk out of the stall to look for laptops, turn around, and she's fucking right behind me. No jokes, my heart musta moved a couple of centimeters out of place.

You're a fucking idiot, Marwan, and you're too old for this adolescent shit. If you could deal - or at the very least, communicate - with all those girlfriends before, then what is so fucking hard about this one anonymous girl? Is it that I'm just intimidated by how beautiful she is? In five days, I've never even been close enough to hear her speak.

For fucks sake, says my tired cynical half, do something or shut up already. Yeah, what, Trigger, says suddenly-sarcastic sappy romantic remainder. Open lips and let tongue do the walking, says cynic.
But what if it's the wrong thing? worries Cyrano De Marwan.

It's never the right thing. All you can be is yourself.

But what if myself isn't what good enough?

Well, then maybe it wasn't supposed to work out. But you gotta take a risk.

But she's married!

You don't know that for sure. Where's the husband? No phone calls. No overt signs of an other.

Left Freaking Hand, Genius! Hard to fuck up that analysis.

Heyyy...aren't I supposed to be the mean bastard?

Uhh, oh yeah. Anyhoo, what do I do?

T-A-L-K to her.

Easy for you to say.

Loser. Confidence is for winners.

Yeah and based on today's parking special episode, I've got real podium potential, don't I?

There you go again with the negativity.

Fuck it, nigger. Romance is dead.