September 9 - October 1
I went to our local insurance company to renew our auto policy for the next year. As you can imagine, the system is similar to insurance in the States, but there are significant differences. For instance, after one year of coverage, the next year’s premium is rumored to be substantially less money. When the insurance agent told me this second year would be double the first, I demanded an explanation. “Well, we’ve raised our rates, and you do have a claim on last year’s policy.”
Another major difference between the two systems can only be demonstrated by the conversation that followed, a conversation which NEVER would happen in the US:
Agent: Yeah, six thousand dirhams (almost $2,000) is quite a bit to pay.
Rich: I just don’t understand how I paid 3,500 dirhams last year and now it’s almost doubled. I thought it was supposed to decrease!
Agent: It’s true. Six thousand is too much. . . . Listen, let me call a friend of mine who can give you a quote from another company.
Now, at this point, I’m thinking, “Wow! Finally, a corporate lackey who’s admitting that his employer's services are highway robbery!” But after a few attempts of dialing his “friend,” without success, the agent promised to get back to me later; I was half expecting him to tell me to meet him in a dark alley behind the Gold Souq and ask for the guy who goes by "Tony," no last name, just "Tony." Then the agent started talking in a hushed voice and shifting his eyes to and fro.
The next day, the agent gave me a quote for 3,500 dirhams and passed me the name and mobile number of “Mohammad” (the Arabic equivalent of "Tony.") So I called Mohammad.
Mohammad: Just email me scans of your passport, driver’s license, vehicle registration, and previous insurance policy. I’ll even come to your home or office to finalize the policy!
Rich: Uh, yeah . . . that sounds great. Look for my email.
That’s what I said, but what I was thinking was, “So, all I have to do is send you ALL of my personal information, pay you almost a thousand clams and, voilà, I have insurance?!” Then I had images of a guy sitting on his couch watching reruns of “Knight Rider” (which is where this guy probably learned English) taking my call and then stumbling over to his “home office” and spending 30 minutes to draft an insurance policy on Wordpad. He makes off with all my info and a load of cash while I hold an insurance policy not worth the paper it’s printed on.
Needless to say, I shopped around and got a much better deal. And speaking of shopping, would you imagine that I could go to the largest mall outside North America and the only “shopping resort” (that’s what they actually call it!) in the world and not find an alarm clock radio?! For Pete’s sake: I went to a store called “Jumbo Electronics” which is the largest electronics retailer in the world’s only shopping resort: no digital alarm clocks. In fact, it was kind of amusing to be in store surrounded by boxes of the latest tri-modal satellite phone with digital audio and visual recording, MP3 storage and playback, and Bluetooth nuclear launch capability, and the saleslady pulls out one of six alarm clocks that has the two bells on the top; you know, the old school analog clock with a winding knob and radioactive glow-in-the-dark hour and minute hands! Yes, the kind where you set the alarm to halfway between the six and the seven only to find out the next morning that this translates to 6:39 AM so (after winding it up) you have to reset the alarm hand back just a few centimeters, but not too far . . . . And this is a first-world country?!
Why we need a new alarm clock is an equally good story in this Month of Incompetence. The state-run telecommunications company charged us 200 dirhams (about $80) to move our internet hook-up from the lower level to the master bedroom in the upper level. What they didn’t explain is that it would cost us $80 and one piece of electronic equipment, thank you very much. The technicians had to unplug our alarm clock radio so they could install a new fixture. They spent about an hour doing whatever it is they do and afterwards plugged our 120-volt alarm clock radio into 220 volt socket rather than into the power inverter. Of course, the technicians skiddaddled and didn't say anything about it. So now we are left to using my mobile phone as our alarm clock and there's no way to tell what time it is unless you pick up the phone and fiddle with it to turn on the backlighting. Let me tell you: it’s pretty tough waking up in the middle of the night having no idea if you’ve got 2 hours or 20 minutes of sleep left before you’ve got to get up.
So, I spent an hour at the Mall of the Emirates looking for an alarm clock and decided the only thing that could soothe my anger was eat a Blizzard from the only Dairy Queen in Dubai. I looked at the menu board and asked the Filipina server what’s in the “Chocolate Xtreme” Blizzard?” She rattled off a list of about six items which she had obviously memorized and recited before she could wear the DQ uniform but which I couldn’t understand. When she saw my confused face, she pointed at a placard that had thumbnail size photographs of each Blizzard flavor. I never found Chocolate Xtreme, but was side-tracked by the Pecan Mudslide Blizzard. I told the server, “Instead, I’ll have a Pecan Mudslide Blizzard, please.” The conversation that ensued speaks for itself:
Server: I’m sorry, sir, the Pecan Mudslide is not available.
Rich: Not available? Why is it listed on your menu?
Server: I’m sorry, we don’t have pecans. But we can substitute almonds if you’d like.
I looked up at the menu board in search of another option and saw the “Georgia Mudslide.”
Rich: What’s in the Georgia Mudslide?
Server: [Memorized, imperceptible list of ingredients] and pecans.
Rich: What was that last ingredient?
Server: Pecans.
Rich: Wait a second: you have pecans for the Georgia Mudslide, but not for the Pecan Mudslide?
Server: No pecans, we can substitute almonds.
Rich: Wait—do you have no pecans or no pecans for the Pecan Mudslide?
Server: You can have almonds instead.
Rich: Nevermind. Just give me a Chocolate Extreme.
I couldn’t help but rolling my eyes: as she handed me the cup, she smiled, turned the cup upside-down to show me that the Blizzard was so thick as to be anti-gravitational and said in a too cheery voice, “Enjoy your treat, sir!” I can only interpret the cup-turning marketing scheme as some sort of ploy to try and compete with the popular fast-food Chinese restaurant next-door whose kung pao chicken would obviously fall to the ground in a similar demonstration: there is not another restaurant offering anything close to a Blizzard in the entire resort.
This is not the first run-in we’ve had with Al Dairy Queen. In fact, our first run-in was also our first visit there. We were floored to see “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups” listed on the Blizzard menu. This is remarkable because peanut butter is not often found outside the U.S. since most Europeans, Asians and Antarticans think that, between peanut butter and root beer, American taste is, er--unique. Anyway, we ordered a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard and let our mouths water while they prepared the treat. When I came to claim our order, the smiley Filipina server turned the cup upside-down and said, “Enjoy your treat, sir.” I gasped and said, “You’ve mixed up our order.” Her well-trained smile stayed, but the corners of her eyes turned down as she tried to process an anomaly in what is a rather simple business of mixing candy into soft-serve ice cream. “We ordered Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. This is made with Reese’s Pieces.”
Now, most of you are thinking, “Well, same difference—it’s a candy treat based on super-sweet peanut butter.” But true connoisseurs of the delicious paste (you know who you are if you have ever explained the horrific number of tons of peanut butter that are discarded every year in the U.S.) know the difference is huge. Again, a transcript is necessary:
Server: Right—Reese’s Peanut Butter. But you want it in a cup?
Rich: No, no—your menu says ‘Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.’ That’s what we ordered.
Server: Yes, this is Reese’s Peanut Butter and it’s in a cup.
Rich: Uh, this is Reese’s Pieces—the candy, not the chocolate cup with a peanut butter center.
The server was not getting my drift and finally the manager saw a customer about to go ape on one of his employees who had just passed off the latest ingredient recitation and intervened. I re-explained with more detail this time. Now, I really hate to be the type of American who is living overseas and starts any sentence with these words, but I measured the need and started,
“In the United States, there are two different candies . . . .”
Manager: So, you want this in a cup?
Rich: No! I want a different candy! This is Reese’s Pieces; I want Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups as listed in 2-inch letters on your menu!
By now a few employees had come over to watch the ugly American explain how the DQ in America works. They all looked up at the menu and just apologized in desparation.
While we choked down the Reese’e Pieces Blizzard, the manager got up on a ladder, took down the panel with “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups” written on it, cut off the panel after the word “butter” and replaced the panel. Now, because of Amy and Rich Bangerter, two fine, Americans, the DQ in Dubai sign now no longer mistakenly says “Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup” but now mistakenly says “Reese’s Peanut Butter.” sigh
Two weeks later, we couldn’t let it die. We went to Carrefour (a store like Walmart or Target) bought a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup candy bar and walked 50 feet to the DQ. After re-explaining the difference between cups and pieces, we asked the manager if they would make a Blizzard with the candy we had purchased. The only vindication in the Week of Incompetence was that a DQ manager beleaguered by two obnoxious and insistent Americans (but who also operates a store in a country where “health inspections” means going to a doctor for a medical check-up) conceded. We ate that Blizzard slowly, savoring each bite.
"Ah, you're a mute. . . . An extremely big mute. You must have been the tallest kid in your class."
--Young Frankenstein