Lorena's Epiphany

Mouwathafeen

Taxi at Your Door
June 4, 2010

At Spinneys’ door, to be exact.

Meet Majnoun, Kherfen and El Istez (as they introduced themselves to me) – the trio who’s target clientele are grocery shoppers. Much in the same way a stranger will say “Hi” or nod their head when they pass another person, El Istez will shout “Taxi”.

The rowdy, talkative trio don’t need to worry about rent or food. Their office desks are the plant pots by the door and they have a breathing, living vending machine (Spinneys) five steps away. Approaching them, one feels like they’re entering an old man’s barbershop. They gossip about passerbys, gawk at attractive women and tease each other with puns.

There hasn’t been a time I haven’t walked into Spinneys without spotting one of them sitting behind their office desk (the pot). Just as I was coming towards them, Kherfen got a client. As he helped an older women with her bags of grocery, the others turned back to their popsicles. Another day on the job.

“Taxi?”

Khalil and Boutros
January 25, 2010

Although I’m no longer working the full-time gig, there are still lots of stories to tell about others working around me.

Take for example the two men I met this morning. Let’s call them Khalil and Boutros for lack of their real names. Right around the corner from my office is an unidentifiable little shop that on the outside looks like a hairdresser shop, but on the inside is actually a Dekeneh (a mini grocery store). I’d always walked past it thinking it was a hairdresser’s because of all the hair products on display, until I accidentally took a peek one day.

With a few shelves and some recycled display tables, it’s home to Khalil and Boutros’ “business”. They have a small fridge, newspapers and magazines, cigarettes, hair products and god knows what else in there. (It was too dark to see it all) I walked in this morning to pick up a pack (I’m hopelessly failing at quitting), and saw the tiniest old men crouched over a 8 inch television with shaky reception. They obviously didn’t enjoy being disrupted from the horse race that was playing on the screen. As I was paying Boutros (the owner, I presumed), I caught Khalil jotting down Arabic numbers on a wrinkled paper.

I’ve never been to a horse race here in Lebanon and was surprised to find these men so actively involved in the results. I wondered which horse they were betting on and if they ever won. Or maybe this was just a hobby. Who knows? More than anything, I wished I was carrying my camera to capture their unfaltering gaze at the screen. Both in their knitted sweaters and low chairs, they were quite the sight.

An old couple of men trapped in time, enticed by a sport so many have forgotten. One day I’ll visit the races here, but until then, I’ll keep updated through Khalil and Boutros.

Office Boy
October 28, 2009

One of the first questions I got asked when I started work was how I liked my coffee. Every morning at 8.30 on the dot, Zaher drops off coffee for every employee on the first floor. Whether you like Turkish coffee (dark and strong), mixed with powdery coffee mate, or even some Lipton tea, he’ll make it for you.

The whole concept of an “office boy” is new to me. He asked if I wanted him to prepare me some, but since I’m drinking 3-in-1 lately, found no need. All I need is hot water and a tiny sachet. It tastes like crap, but does the trick.

Zaher’s kitchenette somehow transformed into an office. He has office chairs, plenty of storage space, his own phone extension (I share mine with Zahi in my office), and has even hung a bunch of photos of himself on the cupboards. And rumor has it, he won’t allow any of the other office boys touch his equipment. Ok, that came out a little bit wrong. Tisk tisk. To clarify, every floor has it’s own office boy with the sole task of making coffee. Zaher looks so bored most of the time and he’s there from 8 to 5 just like all of us.

Don’t even think to disturb him between 1 and 2pm. That’s when he takes his nap, and trust me, you don’t want to be on the other side of the door when he wakes up. I swear, it’s like waking up a grizzly bear. He’s huge. I don’t think he likes me anymore since then. Or maybe it’s because I use 3-in-1.

Restroom Saleswoman
October 27, 2009

I’ve been back in the workforce for about a week now, and each day exposes me to very unique characters. Today, for example, the lady that cleans the bathrooms was in our office. Since the majority of our office is Muslim, I was the only one she could give a cross bracelet to. She’s a little Armenian lady, probably in her mid-50s.

The day I started working, the bathrooms were a mess. Toilet paper everywhere, dirt around the sink and water on the floors. Not to mention the lingering stench. That was the only day she’d taken off in forever, and only because her brother had passed away. She apparently cleans all the bathrooms of the 6 floored building alone. People tend to exaggerate and nag a lot here, so I’m not sure if that’s completely true, but certainly believable.

We first started chatting about smoking. She was waiting in our office until people left so she could light up. She’d quit for 4 years, but when she started working here, started again due to stress. Her job wasn’t initially to clean bathrooms, but things changed with no reason. The highlight of her day is the side business she runs.

Today I noticed a box of rings in the bathroom and was puzzled as to why someone would leave it there. It was part of her own little “boutique”. And to my surprise, several of the employees regularly buy from her. Two girls were trying on the rings as I left the bathroom earlier. She also sells jackets, underwear, jewelry and bags. “Anything, Anything you want (el biddik’yeh!).. I get you”, she told me with a smile (and in Armenian Arabic). Living in Bourj Hammoud, she’s right at the source of all the wholesalers and discount stores.

Talking to her, I sensed a deep sadness in her eyes. I’ll certainly check out her “boutique”, if for nothing more than support her. Such a sweet lady.