More Giggles & Alarm

Yesterday, I ended up in a one on one meeting with the woman I mentioned last time. 

You remember the one. The one from the advertising/marketing agency.

We were alone in the office.

And she has a name… which I will say is “Sh”.

All my colleagues had left on errands, leaving us alone. I suddenly felt exposed. Everything that I had been told would not happen and was utterly frowned on was going on around me. I started this irrational thought process, convincing myself that I was part of some elaborate set up to prove the decadence of Western Men. As the meeting continued, I assumed that a couple of fully bearded and robed Arabs would arrive backed up by a couple of overweight coppers to take me down the Clink and give me a whipping. Before the Embassy could say “excuse, me… please show restraint”, I’d be passed across to her family for the real beating to start.

Later, I spoke about my concerns with A from my team. He gave his usual faggy chuckle and assured me that:

“There are many, many women. Too many women working now. It is usual in business.”

Please rest assured, A’s native tongue is Arabic. When he says “too many”, he means “so many” or “a great many”… He is not hopelessly anti women.

I was assured that I wasn't being set up…

The meeting – as you would expect from a professional marketing executive and a semi-professional man – went without hitch. The detail is as dull as you would expect but we achieved the aims and goals that we intended to achieve.

But, we chatted a little. I established that “Sh” had studied at Dammam University where she had picked up her pretty good English. As I accepted a receipt in Arabic, she appeared a little embarrassed that she couldn't write with the same confidence as her spoken English. I found it quite charming given how shockingly my Arabic is developing.  

I found out that it was “Sh’s” birthday, establishing that she didn't celebrate but that it was custom for people to wish her “happy birthday”. I'm a gentleman and I have a default “polite” setting that is fitting for an Englishman. I duly wished her a happy birthday.

This is really mundane and unexciting stuff, but I draw reference to it because it is so far removed from all my expectations and those of the people who I spoke with from the UK and beyond before I set off to live here. Put aside the meeting content that was essential and timely, I was really aware of how exposed I had left myself - and, possibly more pertinently - how exposed I may have left her to criticism. I've said before that the law is very much open to interpretation. I've always tried to err on the side of caution. 

As the meeting concluded, the fire alarms sounded. In itself, this is not unusual. They have been going off now and again for a few days, but this time they went on and on and on. Initially, my irrational side thought “Ok, this is it. There are sensors. They know that a single woman is with a godless man.” They were the pre-warning of the arrival of the religious police.

But, “Sh” didn't seem to care, so I concluded the meeting rather than make a run for it trying to outrun them in a cab to Bahrain.

Of course, I should have been making my way quickly but without running to the established fire evacuation muster point. But I didn't. I still waited for the meeting to conclude. In part, this is because I don’t know where the fire muster point is and also, because I knew that I was the only one there. Conducting a head count for the team was quite easy. As long as I knew where I was, I couldn't consider myself “missing”.

After a while we strolled downstairs and discovered a hot, plastic smelling haze on the ground floor. All the Facilities guys were running around with fire hoses and extinguishers while desperately making phone calls. One brave soul was pushing the suspended ceiling tiles up to see if he could see the fire. But most people just stood and watched. They didn't leave the building, they just seemed content to offer support, advice and criticism to those involved in trying to work out what to do. It was like being back at Topshop… utterly disorganised, stupid and walking the edge of dangerous.

My survival instinct kicked in. 

No. That is untrue. 

It didn't so much kick as give me a little nudge. So I left the building and stood in the car park. Ignoring that it is always quite nice to stand in the sunshine, I guessed it would be in line with the appropriate “fire” protocols. 

I performed a quick head count. 

I confirmed that I was still there. No-one was missing. I didn't need a laminated sheet or clip board. Everything was good.

A joined me. He had a big smile on his face. He appeared to find it just as funny as I that most of the neighbouring office workers were content to stay in an apparently burning building. It’s different over here.

Then the Fire Brigade arrived; they were waved in by the Facilities guys. Chains were locked in place on the gates, so the Facilities guys returned to the apparently, burning building to get the keys to allow the fire fighters access. It was beautiful to behold.

Last week, while exploring Khobar, I stumbled over a Fire Station. I took a few snaps of the engines, tenders and equipment and would have strolled on without thought had a Fire Officer not chased me down shouting at me in Arabic. Although I didn’t understand a word, it was clear that the presence of my camera was not welcome…

So I took a snap of the engines arriving and was immediately shouted at by A.

A - “No. Mustn't photo. You mustn't photo.”

Me – “Why?”

A – “Mustn't photo.”

Me – “Oh. Why?”

A – “Not allowed.”

Me – “Oh. OK. WHY!”

A – looks puzzled… my incisive line of questioning appears to have him thinking… he dismisses me with a shrug and an arm gesture and lit a ciggie.

It seems that Government agencies do not appreciate, encourage or allow you to photograph them. I knew that. It’s pretty standard the World around. Everyone is sensitive nowadays. But, I've never considered the Fire Brigade as being included. It appears they are.

But, I'm clearly turning into some kind of rebel.

I talk to "chicks". I sit alone with them in offices. I'm unintentionally turning into a walking revolution…

So here are a few snaps that I am not supposed to have taken.

Man runs.

Where you get shouted at...

Close Up and Piss Yellow.

Of course, the fire wasn't really a fire. It was just the air con overheating… 

After an age, we were allowed back into the building. No-one officially said we could but we made unilateral decisions once the Fire Brigade had ambled off. I went to the office to find that all the electrics had tripped. My work mojo was broken. I took it as a cue to go home.

Yeah. Just like being back at Topshop…