Faysel (Last?)
Faysel has always told me he was a gangsta. Unlike a certain talk-show hostess, who presented a middle-class novelist as a gangsta, I was dubious. Today, Faysel convinced me of his bona fides.
It started with a date. I am no spring chicken, and I had invited a woman my own age to lunch. The New York Times reports that women my age can’t find a man who will go out on a date with them. That is because, by my age, a man must be a CEO who is taller than 185 cm, which I’m not (on both counts). So, thinking things over, she cancelled, and I was upset. So, when Faysel invited me to lunch, I accepted.
There is an old story about a minor car wreck. The first driver says, ‘Look, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, so let’s both agree to that.’ The second driver agrees. The first driver says, ‘Here, I have a little whiskey, and we’re both shaken up, please have a glass’ and he pours out two glasses. ‘Bottoms up,’ says the first driver, but, as the second driver downs his glass, the first driver pours his out. ‘Why did you pour out your glass?’ asks the second driver. ‘I think I’ll wait until after the police breathalyse us before I have a drink.’
Faysel had been desperate, and I had loaned him a little money. Today, he was explaining salesmanship to me: ‘You have to convince your customer. I told you I’d repay you in a day or two, when I knew it would be two or three months.’ I replied, ‘I thought that was the case, but I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me the truth. We're friends. Why did you have to lie to me?’
Faysel took me to lunch, and then delayed taking me home. After six hours, at around 11:00 p.m., he offered me a beer as ‘compensation.’ I tried to decline, but it looked like I would have to accept in order to get home. Finally, after I'd had the beer, Faysel offered me a lift home. It was around midnight.
He actually drove me to the industrial area of Sharjah and said he was going to kill me, a) for calling him a liar, and b) so he wouldn’t have to repay me. He had some friends with him, and thought they would help, but, instead, they pulled him off me and advised me to run. I ran.
While waiting for a taxi, Faysel caught up with me and starting trying to kill me a second time. His friends arrived and saved me once again. Again I ran, and this time found a taxi and said, ‘Dubai,’ and off we went.
The taxi driver said, ‘You look tired.’
‘Someone just tried to kill me.’ The taxi driver looked and saw the blood. ‘Let’s call the police,’ he advised.
But, like the second driver in the car wreck, I knew I couldn’t call the Sharjah police, so I said, ‘Just get me to Dubai.’ Which he did.
It started with a date. I am no spring chicken, and I had invited a woman my own age to lunch. The New York Times reports that women my age can’t find a man who will go out on a date with them. That is because, by my age, a man must be a CEO who is taller than 185 cm, which I’m not (on both counts). So, thinking things over, she cancelled, and I was upset. So, when Faysel invited me to lunch, I accepted.
There is an old story about a minor car wreck. The first driver says, ‘Look, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, so let’s both agree to that.’ The second driver agrees. The first driver says, ‘Here, I have a little whiskey, and we’re both shaken up, please have a glass’ and he pours out two glasses. ‘Bottoms up,’ says the first driver, but, as the second driver downs his glass, the first driver pours his out. ‘Why did you pour out your glass?’ asks the second driver. ‘I think I’ll wait until after the police breathalyse us before I have a drink.’
Faysel had been desperate, and I had loaned him a little money. Today, he was explaining salesmanship to me: ‘You have to convince your customer. I told you I’d repay you in a day or two, when I knew it would be two or three months.’ I replied, ‘I thought that was the case, but I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me the truth. We're friends. Why did you have to lie to me?’
Faysel took me to lunch, and then delayed taking me home. After six hours, at around 11:00 p.m., he offered me a beer as ‘compensation.’ I tried to decline, but it looked like I would have to accept in order to get home. Finally, after I'd had the beer, Faysel offered me a lift home. It was around midnight.
He actually drove me to the industrial area of Sharjah and said he was going to kill me, a) for calling him a liar, and b) so he wouldn’t have to repay me. He had some friends with him, and thought they would help, but, instead, they pulled him off me and advised me to run. I ran.
While waiting for a taxi, Faysel caught up with me and starting trying to kill me a second time. His friends arrived and saved me once again. Again I ran, and this time found a taxi and said, ‘Dubai,’ and off we went.
The taxi driver said, ‘You look tired.’
‘Someone just tried to kill me.’ The taxi driver looked and saw the blood. ‘Let’s call the police,’ he advised.
But, like the second driver in the car wreck, I knew I couldn’t call the Sharjah police, so I said, ‘Just get me to Dubai.’ Which he did.
posted by Dubai@Random at 12:53 am
8 Comments:
Wow, Boyz in the (Sharjah neighbour) hood. Glad you are OK, and alive. And while you probably went through the biggest trauma of your life, that was the best thing I have read in a long time, because I don't doubt it is true.
Jeee-sus Chrr-iii-st!!
Jeee-sus Chrr-iii-st!!
I hope that this is the last time that you meet with Faysel!
come on man u just telling stories that no one here belive or maybe we r all stupied , hey what is wrong with you
Grapeshisha and NZM: Thanks. And no, I do not intend to see Faysel again.
scary stuff /:
I'd be concerned if I were you, try calling the cops (or cobs as it would be)
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