Trampling Juwaihel, trampling the Constitution

(photo)

I really didn't want to write about this. But sane people saying insane things on twitter have finally driven me to it.

When a football game ends beautifully and a fight breaks out in the crowds, it doesn't nullify the game's result.

What happened yesterday at Diwan Alsa'adoun was beautiful. Twenty-six people representing a diverse segment of the population spoke for the constitution and against the government's plain to void it.

Even people for the government, MP AlHuraiti/ MP Hussain Mizeed spoke unequivocally for the constitution and for preserving Parliament's role as a watchdog over the cabinet.

It was a beautiful event that expressed clearly how frustrated everyone was with government and the disdain it has for us.

Unfortunately, while MP Msalam Al-Barrak was speaking at the podium, we heard shouting outside. (We were in the basement.) Organizers stopped us from going out or having anyone come downstairs till the mayhem was over.

Al-Barrack stopped for a few seconds and but continued speaking ignoring the chaos in the diwaniya (visible from the big screens).

Word was Juwaihel spat at Musalam's face as he walked across a big screen, an obvious provocation. Juwaihel got beaten up by a mob outside, while the police, who were too busy giving out parking tickets, didn't step in to stop the fight but waited for orders.

He got really hurt. It was a sad event. I wish it hadn't happened. It's wrong to beat up people with which we disagree. But I won't waste my tears on him. Aljuwaihel knew what he was getting into in coming, he took a calculated ($$$$) risk.

On a more personal note, I was shocked by the reactions of people I consider sane, logical and funny online. People were spewing his hate all over the place. "اللي طقوه مزدوجين" ..."هذوله لفو"... "هذا اللي ياخذه السعدون من البدو" Comments about not the constitution changing but the people are veiled racist comments about bedu. Let's not kid ourselves with our talk about unity.

The people who beat him up were so very wrong but I can find a few excuses for them: group mind, emotionally charged setting, young age...whatever. But for someone who was sitting at home tapping at a keyboard spewing hate, what's their excuse?

The messages were disgusting and I ended up un-following a bunch of my favorite tweeters because racism isn't funny. We don't know who beat him up (whether they're bedu, 7athar, shia). It doesn't matter. It shouldn't have any bearing on our judgement of the incident or the event.

I hope Juwaihel gets better soon, I really do. But he isn't the only thing that's being trampled in this country: our constitution is. And I find preserving our constitution and the potency of democratic institutions much more troubling than a bunch of thugs beating up a hatemonger.

يارب الفيسبوك

I caught myself today, thinking a prayer then quickly pulling my phone out to update my status/tweet that prayer. I didn't even actually say it. I stopped myself because that prayer isn't intended for the 500/600 people who get my updates.

When I scroll through social networking updates, there's often of quite a few prayer updates. It makes me wonder if we've relegated everyday supplications, calls of help/frustration/gratitude to social networking rather than God.

It worries me that I can't remember when the last time I've expressed a heartfelt thought to God rather than to a stupid social networking site. And I'm not even one of those whose every thought is parlayed into a status/tweet.

Just a thought.

Godwin's Crazypant's Law

This is your brain:




This is your brain after talking to conspiracy theorists:





The Green Eggs and Balalee6 version of Godwin's law:

"As any discussion with Arabs grows longer, the probability of involving Zionists and Free Masons approaches 1."

This can be applied to pretty much any topic,

Poetry:

الشعر الحديث استحدثه الصهاينه لتدمير اللغه العربيه

Cartoons:

المسلسلات الكرتونيه تعلم أبناءنا الماسونيه

Pants:

الصهاينه يغرقون أسواقنا بالإسترتش لمنع بناتنا للإنجاب

Facebook:

وسيله للصهاينه لجمع أكبر عدد من المعلومات والصور لبنات المسلمين

(Note: all these are real conversations I've had at one point or another in the past few years.)

The problem is we can't really have a fruitful conversation with conspiracy theorists. We might as well stop trying.

The real question: what percentage of Arabs are conspiracy theorists? 40%, 20%?

مالي خلق

How have I not mentioned this here yet...?

In 2010, the words مالي خلق are no longer part of my vocabulary.

If I don't want to do something I'll have to think of a better excuse, or I'll just do it.

---

So far, so good. I threw a great party for a relative. I've baked when I'm not really in the mood. I've been to more weddings than I've ever been to. I've gone to meetings when I'd rather stay in my sweatpants...so far so good.

I can't sleep.

My brain's moving so fast that I feel like I'd like to escape my body for a day just to get a little rest.

I guess I slept for less than 2 hours but I woke up feeling like I want to hit the treadmill just to mellow out. Quite literally, run away from myself. But it'll wake the whole house.

Funny thing is, nothing's really bothering me.

This restlessness has been pretty much a constant in my life.

The only way to describe it is feeling like your home is being burned down and you're calmly standing outside watching as it goes up in flames. My brain's reaction to everything is run! do something! try to salvage your life! pictures! parents! passports! now! now! now!

Imagine that feeling when you're trying to watch television or even worse trying to go to sleep. Nothing requires immediate attention, all tasks have been taken care of, but my body won't recognize that.

I feel like I'm jumping out of my skin. Fortunately, I get a miraculous sunrise view from my window.

Things I learned over the past four years...

graduation cap cupcake originally uploaded by clevercupcakes

It hit me last night that I've been out of college for four years this May. I decided to channel all my freak out emotions into an advice piece for recent grads:

1) Being a lifeless drone is a choice most people around you will make. You don't have to do it.

2) Your friend's lives will diverge, some will get very demanding jobs, others will have families, others will leave to go to grad school. Friendships will require more energy and time if you want to keep them.

3) Networking with men (for women) is much more difficult but necessary. Do too much of it and you're easy and too eager, do too little and you limit your access to opportunities. Find yourself a comfortable balance.

4) Most people don't know what they're doing, you're not the only one. Make it up as you go along, be confident in your ability to learn.

5) If you don't get married, it's okay. People are going to treat you like your dying but you're really not.

6) Be happy for other people's successes, life isn't a race, you're heading to different destinations anyway.

7) Find something you'd like to get involved in, (especially if you have a soul-sucking job) do something for other people.

8) Ask for what you want (I'm still working on this one) if you don't know what you want ask for what you think you want. If it turns out you don't want it, thank people for their help and move on.

9) Don't put yourself/undermine yourself especially not in front of people. They will believe what you say about yourself. (Don't be cocky either, no one likes that.)

10) Take a deep breath, it'll all be okay. (I think.)

لأنه حديث عهد بربه

A Dance ... ( 2007 )
Originally uploaded by K h a n

It's raining. And I'm overjoyed.

I pray for more rain. Healthy happy rain. (No flash flooding please.)

There's something spiritual about rain.

The dreariness before it rains, the gloominess during the downpour, and the brightness after. Most everything looks better after the rain. The droopy dry flowers perk up and their colors become more vivid. Everything glistens with dew.

A baptism by the heavens. A closeness to the Creator. He ordains and we receive. A blessing.


عن أنس قال : أصابنا ونحن مع رسول الله صلى الله عليه وسلم مطر قال : فحسر رسول الله صلى الله عليه وسلم ثوبه حتى أصابه من المطر فقلنا : يا رسول الله لم صنعت هذا ؟ قال لأنه حديث عهد بربه

Five things that made me happy today:

1) Thoughts of making tiny chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting.
2) Hearing my nephews squealing with joy after finding a bug.
3) Listening to my father and older brother guide the kids about picking up said bug.
4) Taking a long hot shower.
5) Knowing that I can run outside today if I want to.

The politics of car washing

With the insanely dusty weather Kuwait's experienced in recent weeks our neighbor's car-washing habits have intrigued me.

Their car has never left their driveway dirty. Ever. So, let's say there's a drizzle of rain (aka particles of orange mud falling from the sky) around noon, once it stops the driver is out in the driveway with a pail and hose cleaning the car.

Then, say it rains around dusk and he's out again washing the car soon after it stops. Of course all this in addition to the obligatory daily morning carwash ritual.

Over the past two weeks, their cars have been washed over 50 times. (Of course he lets the hose run while he's washing, doing it in the most wasteful way possible, but I don't blame him after all it is somewhat easier. Limited resources, be damned!)


During college, my crippling fear of car washes coupled with a lack of covered parking kept my car's paint job protected by a layer of filth and grime. When I moved back home, I brought with me the belief that clean cars are a frivolous luxury. I was also appalled by the ungodly hour my family's driver woke up at every morning to clean all the cars before he got on with his day; so I asked him not to wash my car every morning unless it's dirty. He happily obliged.

Until one day a coworker asked if I was married. I was single of course and living with my family and wondered why she was asking. She said my car was always dirty (which was not true) and it made her curious to my living situation.

Wanting to share a laugh at lunch, I mentioned this little conversation to my mother. She was offended, "Why isn't he washing your car?" Even though I explained the situation to her, she insisted that my car be clean enough to pose any questions.

A few weeks ago, I pulled into my friend's house to pick her up. She took one look at my car's dust-ridden exterior and shook her head. "We're taking my car," she said as she tilted her head towards her glistening black SUV.

What is it about dirty cars that's so off putting? Is the clean car obsession just another symptom of the rampant materialism, "I have the newest, biggest, baddest, shiniest of all toys?"


Photo source

Tug of war: Alzheimer's vs. my memories

As I've grown older, my interest in my grandmother's lives has grown. I'm lucky to have been able to hear a lot of stories from both grandmothers before I lost them over the years.

My maternal grandmother passed away in 2006, having met two of my nephews and attended my brother's wedding.

My paternal grandmother faded slowly over the course of the past decade from Alzheimer's. Today, the disease has left her as helpless as a few month old baby; not aware of her surroundings and immobile.

I'm aware that she technically hasn't left us yet, but to me she has. Her body's still around to touch, kiss and talk to but she isn't.

It's ironic that of my two grandmothers, Alzheimer's took the strongest, most assertive matriarch. She was opinionated, capable, articulate, confident, and demanding of those around her. Even in her last lucid days, she couldn't stand having someone around to help her. To leave someone who took pride in doing everything herself helpless seems especially cruel.

The oldest of five sisters, she got married young, around 14 probably, to a cousin who wasn't much older. With him she moved to a desolate farm area outside Kuwait's walls. Her sisters talk of her year away as being the worst in her life. Soon after giving birth, her husband passed away. Within a few years she was married again to a childless widower in his late 50's probably (my grandfather) who was probably somewhat abusive. My grandfather passed away when the youngest of his seven children was barely a toddler. The second time she was a widowed she was in her late 30's or early 40's with eight children to care for.

She devoted her life to her children, neglecting family, friends, and almost all social obligations. When her children grew older, married, had several children and began moving away, she felt betrayed and voiced her feelings loudly.

Sometimes I wish she can see them now, huddled around her seemingly empty body, talking to her, massaging her hands, feeding her. Not a day goes by without at least two or three of her children coming to see her.

Unlike death, Alzheimer's takes a loved one away slooooooooowly and painfully. First, she was frustrated with her memory, then she was angry at us all the time, then she slowly stopped recognizing us, and now this lifeless yet familiar body has become my grandmother. I'm sorry, she's not. I work hard to remember as she was before she was stolen away by the disease. Remembering stories, talking to my great-Aunt's and my aunts and uncles to make sure that I continue to know her as she was.

As all of us are, my grandmother was a product of her time. Even with all her faults and flaws clear to me now, such as the crazy things she taught me about marriage and social standing, the strict rules she had set for herself and us, the way she chose to live her life as a victim, I still find her to be a remarkable woman.

I'm lucky to have grown up with her as a role model, because she really was a kick-ass woman. I'll admit that whenever my cousins tell me how much I remind them of her, I stand a little taller with pride.



This post has been brought to you by a PostSecret from this week:

To the sender I say, yes I was hurt and felt cheated when my grandmother forgot me; but I'll never forget her and I'll forever be grateful for her involvement in my life.

(via i can read)

66 years from now...

Two days ago, I was showing an American visitor around Kuwait and we ended up at the National Museum of Kuwait. If you haven't been there, definitely make a point to go it's a lot of fun.

In the museum's heritage building, where you walk around "old Kuwait" (1940's pre-oil) with the different stores, then you enter a home, then the hall turns into an exhibition display of items, clothing and other things.

I've always been interested in history but have found ours less than exciting, walking through the museum, Kuwait's relative youth really sunk in. I mean, there are people alive who remember this pretty well. My parents, both born in the late 50's, came only 10 years after oil was discovered!

This realization struck a chord in me. I mean, I've known all along that we're young and don't really have a wealth of political experience/tradition either but, we're really really really young!

Things that piqued my interested at the museum:

Shoes:
At the Kharraz (the Cobbler)'s shop, where a mannequin of a cobbler was making shoes with his tools around him, we noticed that the men's footwear was made of comfortable leather like the ones seen here. The womens' shoes on the other hand, the gubgab, were made of wood. A wooden bottom, and a tiny leather strap on top.

If ever we need evidence that shoes are a tool of the patriarchy all around the world. Whether it's foot binding or having to wear extremely uncomfortable shoes, it's all meant to keep women barefoot and pregnant.

As we walked along to the photography exhibition that had pictures from 1942, I noticed that all the women in the pictures were barefoot. Some of the men wore shoes but none of the ladies did. (Of course, in my mind, they all refused to wear these ridiculous shoes as an act of protest not because they were too poor to buy them.)

Documents/documentation:
On display where several official handwritten documents of pearl divers, licenses and such, with photos and fingerprints on them. It's amazing how juvenile they seem today.


One of the placards by a display of old cameras mentioned that there weren't any cameras around so Kuwaitis would have to go get their official pictures taken at the British Consulate. Unfortunately, not all placards had Arabic and English explanations on them and often the Arabic explanation was more informative, which was an inconvenience to my non-Arabic speaking guest.


On corporal punishment:
In the kitab, the Qura'an school where young boys learned basic Arabic through Qura'an and arithmetic, there was a boy standing in a corner with his hands raised above his head as punishment for doing something wrong. I loved that they added that in there!


Trade routes/wealth:
Looking at a trade route map on the wall, from India and Eastern Africa to Kuwait and back, I couldn't help but contemplate the relationship between wealth, slavery (economic or literal), and sophistication.



To think that less than 70 years ago, women my age would've been illiterate, barefoot, and probably had several children was quite breathtaking. To think that from my grandmother's time we've gone from basic literacy to PhD's and being fluent in not one but two languages. From having slaves at home, to well....

We've come a loooooooong way.
Or have we?

I wonder what the next 66 years will bring.

Will she make it?!

Here's the plan:

1) interview at 8:30 a.m.
2) mad dash to the airport to make my 10:00 a.m. flight.


I wonder if I'll make it!

Id3ooli.

Keep your chai, I want CHANGE

So I did end up going to a bunch of candidates who I'm definitely not supporting out of familial obligations. Fortunately, it hasn't killed me yet. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten around to visiting the people who I think I may want to vote for to make a decision.

I've been going around visiting family, looking at lists of names...but not really calling anyone because these aren't candidates I'm supporting. Am I being dishonest..?

Somewhat...I guess; but you know what, I'm going in the spirit of supporting family. So I don't feel horrible about it.

In time, when I've actually figured out who exactly I'm supporting, I hope to be able to go wherever I want. Apparently, its still early and people are still organizing themselves (although elections are less than five weeks away!).

Elections + small country + large families = confusing situation for voters.

It's Hard Out Here for a Pimps & "good girls"

One of the most interesting comments from a RL (real life) friend about this blog is that I don't come across quite as religious as I am in RL on the blog (I apparently write a lot about homosexuals, transvestites and drag queens).

It seems I'm not as morally righteous on my blog as I am in RL.

Let me say this loud and clear in case anyone thinks I'm trying to be hip or whatnot:

I'm a "good girl"*.

I have never had a boyfriend. I don't smoke. As far as clothes and makeup go, I'm quite modest. I keep my friend's secrets. I don't have very much drama in my life. I'm a "good girl".

Yay! Good for me!

Except when people around me make me feel like a boring old hag.

---

On boys:

"Are you serious?! No boyfriend? Ever..?! You've got to be kidding! What are you like gay or something?!"
"Aaah no. I just think its 7aram actually."
"Love is 7aram! What are you Bin Baz or something?!"
"No, love isn't. Having a boyfriend is."
"Oh please, you wear makeup and listen to music...that's all 7aram"

---

On clothing (modesty issues):

"Oh that's not my style, I don't do skinny jeans and hijab"
"My goodness live a little!"

"I'll be over as soon as I find a decent swimming suit."
"Oh Debenhams has really cute hot pants."
"I don't wear hot pants"
"9aaa7 nisait noo3ich im6awa3a...then buy whatever you don't care to look good."
"uh-uh. okay bye."

---

The problem with being "good" is that people who are doing things they perhaps feel makes them "bad" get insecure and project their feelings on me:

"You think I don't pray because I don't wear hijab"
"Aaah no, I think you don't pray because I spent three weeks with you and you never prayed once"
(Mind you I don't even care whether she prays or not...she was upset because she found out I was looking for a girl for this dude and didn't mention her name. He's made it clear he wants wa7da mit7ajba wit9ali soooo. I digress.)

Or even worse people think that I'm living vicariously through them and enjoy telling me details of their lives. (I'll spare you the details of that conversation.)

Usually, I'm trying hard not to judge and they make it especially difficult.

But seriously, al7amdilla I have strong convictions and a strong resolve, give me a break stop talking about him for two seconds puuuhleaaaaaase. Especially when 'he' changes names every few months.

(AND...Don't come running to me after he dumps you and gets married after I've told you he's been engaged for 8 months..oh and calling me a liar.)

---

Moral of the story: It's as "hard out here for a pimp"** as it is for a good girl. If you feel like you're being judged, chances are you're judging just as hard as well.



*"good girl" is in quotes because I believe "good" to be relative.
** sorry I couldn't help lacing my "good girl" post with even more sinful references (tehehehehehe).

Meet my roommate

Meet my roommate. Let's call her BIG-ASS FLYING INSECT for anonymity's sake. She moved in Wednesday night. We are not on good terms. In fact, I left for the weekend, the door was kept ajar. She was still buzzing around when I came back Saturday night. Take a hint!

I think she loves me.

I hate her and hope she dies (soon!).

------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDA: As of Sunday afternoon, Big-Ass flying insect, whose name was changed to Kalba towards the end of our relationship, had moved out of my room. Her whereabouts are unknown. Good riddance, Kalba, I hope to never see you nor your kin ever again.

Dear Diary,

The craziest thing happened to me today. Standing in line at a Starbucks, a girl in front of me keeps looking at me and looking away. I was smiling at her. As we waited for our drinks, the girl comes up to me, smiles, and asks if she could ask a personal question.

"Maybe," I said with a smile.
"Where do you usually get your makeup done for weddings," she asked.

I was really confused because I'd just left a 3aza (paid my respects to a mourning family, aka wake without a body) so I had no makeup on.

"I do it on my own," I said with a puzzled look on my face.
"This is really strange...right? But here's my number, I love your face! I feel like I could do wonders with it. I'd do it for free."

"Aaaaah....mashkoora (thank you). Do you have a salon or something..?"
"No, I'm just starting out...but I'm crazy about makeup"

I'm not sure if that was a compliment or someone trying to tell me I'm in desperate need of a makeover.



I am a magnet to weird situations. I guess that's why people around here don't smile at strangers.

My heart goes out to every PLRB

I ran into someone I know a few days ago.

The dude, let's call him Yo!Yo!, is the son of a self-made millionaire.

Poor little rich boy.

The dude, who's a couple of years younger than I am, is graduating university this year. And that is the only thing going for him. (Actually, I think his father could be the only thing going for him...but whatever.)

Yo!Yo! is rich, not particularly good looking, doesn't have a great personality, has a horrible attitude towards life--very entitled, yes even more than "normal" in Kuwait--and thinks every girl is dying for him to look at her. (They might be...but, seriously, once he opens his mouth...it's all gone.) To put it kindly he's a very tall "little" person.

Anyway, I stopped to say hi and asked what he's been up to and all those niceties... and he goes,

"Wallah, mako..." (nothing.)

He's going to graduate and do nothing. He might work with his father (his father is the Chairman of a publicly traded company). He might not. We'll see. He's definitely going "to breathe some fresh air" after graduation somewhere.

His words have been steeping in my mind for a few days now, infusing with my quarter-life crisis.

No, I still don't really have a clear idea of what I want from life. But I'm glad I'm not in Yo!Yo!'s position.

I could match what my parent's have achieved and if I work hard enough I could have my parent's quality of life. People aren't always comparing me to my parents because many don't know my parents. (Aside from me being a girl and people not expecting much from girls anyway...)

His father is a well-known man. Although Yo!Yo! will probably inherit seventy times as much as I'll ever make but he'll always live in his father's shadow. If he messes up, it's public. That's a very high benchmark for a very "little" person.


I know...it's hard to feel sorry for very rich people. But I do.

My heart goes out to every little rich boy (and girl...but mostly boys).*




* How sexist...girls can be frivolous air-headed underachievers but not boys?!

علل ما يلي

photo courtesy "Kuwait Police" courtesy of chek chak, flickr

I got pulled over by a cop* yesterday for having my car windows tinted, yes it's illegal here.

My car, a black sedan, has tinting on all four windows but the tinting is not dark at all. It's the lightest shade of tint available. But it's still illegal.

I've had it tinted since last summer when I had nausea problems and was getting extremely carsick during the day.

The darker windows somewhat helped the nausea and are a relief in the summer when it's a million degrees out.

Anyhoooo, so I get pulled over by a cop on a highway as I'm going about 10 km's above the speed limit but so was everyone else.

---------------
The cop walks up to my window to tell me that my tinting is illegal.

"I know but honestly it's not even dark," I tell him as I pull my window up to prove how light the tinting is.

"I know it's light but it's illegal," he says.

"Bes wallah, Allah la yableek, I can't handle the sun," I say, which I realize as the words come out that I sound like the Kuwait's biggest dalooo3a ditz,

"like medical concerns not dala3."

"If that's the case you should get a permit," he says.

"I tried the black window sun shades, but they blocked my side mirrors,"

" which ones...the ______ (insert word I didn't recognize).."

"oh, is that what they're called?..I just call them malooot imwa3ad.." (the ones used for dating) HOW INAPPROPRIATE! I can't believe I said that...

"Eee..."he says with a chuckle, "bes tarra it's illegal and I should give you a ticket but I won't...at least tint your back windows and keep the front ones clear"

"why would I do that? I drive from the front seat :/"

"I saw you driving past and I was surprised, a girl driving a tinted car...and you look respectable... ya3ni madree...3aib"


Then he adds, "darb ilsalama yuba...tuwakalay 3la Allah and take the tinting off." And he walks away.














* The cop wasn't a shady guy at all. I've dealt with a LOT of cops in the past, for many reasons including some work-related, and I can tell a decent cop from a sleaze-ball (most of the time).

This guy seemed more amused by/concerned for me, than bored/looking for a good time. And he's not in the picture above.

Sugar and Pshshshshshshshshsh!

Since the birth of the new nephew, Lizard, we've had people over several times a week.

Every few days I run out to get something to serve these people. Usually, since they don't stay very long, it's just savory pastries to serve with tea and something sweet to serve with coffee.

I usually go to Sugar and Spice, a bakery at the Shuwaikh Co-op, for the food. It's conveniently close, delicious and generally not crowded.

I never had a problem with their customer service till today.

My sister's having her friend's over today. So I drove to Sugar and Spice.

I walked into the bakery with two dishes to be filled with bite-sized dessert. Each plate would fit about 1/2 a kilo of these desserts (which are sold by weight) I look around, select two kinds, one for each platter. (The caramel brownies and the raspberry bars -- chocolate and non-chocolate as you'd typically serve.)

Both desserts are available.

But, the Filipino saleslady tells me, I can either buy a kilo of each, which is clearly waaaayyy more than a need. Or a split platter with the two kinds of dessert I chose which would total half a kilo; about half the amount I need.

"So I can only buy one kilo or a quarter kilo from each kind?"I asked.
"Yes," the saleslady said.

"Why can't you open the kilo plates, since they were going to put them in my platters anyway, put half in my platters then repackage them as half a kilo?" I wondered because I've pre-ordered before and it was done with ease.

"We can't ma'am," she said.

"Okay, then do you have another mixed platter like this one? With another 1/4 kilo each that way I can buy two?"

"No."

"Is there another kind of dessert that you do have two platters?"

"No."

"What can I do now?"

"Buy the one kilo each ma'am or buy the quarter kilo each ma'am."

"But the one kilo's too much and the quarter kilo's not enough."

"I'm sorry ma'am."

"I don't understand why you can't open the one kilo plates, since its not a food safety issue, and you're gonna open it to put it in my platter anyway?"

"We can't ma'am we have to write it down. What do I tell them when half of it is missing?"

"That you sold it to a regular customer that only wanted half?"

"No ma'am. I can't do that."

"Fine. Can I have my plates back please? Bye."

----------------------------------------------
Was I being unreasonable? Or is customer service so bad in Kuwait that I had to take what she was offering.

Anyway, I figure there's a bakery for every 1.34 person in Kuwait. I doubt I'm going back to Sugar and Spice again anytime soon.

They lost a regular customer because of...well, either a lazy saleslady who doesn't want to be inconvenienced by repackaging, or a store policy.

Either way, I think it was a reasonable request and I left quite annoyed at the inconvenience of driving somewhere else to get something that this store was carrying but refusing to sell.

-----------------------------------------------

Oh and I got the desserts and the pastries from The Danish Bakery in Yarmouk where the store clerk happily filled my small order without any problems :D

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It's been a weird day, on my way to Yarmouk from Shuwaikh, I saw a really crazy car crash at an intersection.

And got pulled over by a cop for tinting my car windows. (I'll probably blog about that later.)