Could It Stoop Any Lower?

I thought I had reached a point where I had seen the worst there is in the Lebanese labor market; a point where the level of degradation of the human being can never be any lower. I was wrong! In the last part of Article 61 of the Lebanese Labor Law, it is clearly stated that all establishments should always be clean and meet the health and safety requirements necessary for its employees. This is what the law says. However, this is not what many companies abide to.

Allow me to take some of your time to introduce you to one such company; one I have recently started working for. It is a well-known company in its field, and has been operational in the Lebanese market for the past 14 years. Purely out of ethics and respect, I shall not mention the name of the company or the type of business it does. However, you have the complete freedom to speculate.

Anyhow, as I was saying, this company is one of the well-known, well-established companies in the market, and has a reputation similar to most other medium-sized companies. It caters to the private and public sectors in Lebanon, and is currently a group of around 60 full-time employees, and produces more than 25 products, with sales heavily growing each year. It also (supposedly) complies with a certain global standard related to its field. This is the general (outer) description of the company.

However, a closer inspection into the inside of the company – the office space – one would be surprised how the inside does not, in any way, match the glittery, glamorous outside. Allow me to explain. I shall start first with the internal office division. The company is divided into two sections: the administrative offices (where most of the admin along with the owner are located), and the (let’s call it) ‘other’ offices, where most of the free-lance employees are located. It is also where my office is, since I am the one in charge of the free lancers. The administrative offices are always clean, air-conditioned and tidy; whereas the ‘other’ offices are the total opposite. Fear not, I shall delve into the how.

We start first with a tour around the office: upon opening the main office door, one is greeted with the smell of humidity and mold. Yes, do not fix your glasses or the screen resolution, you have read the right words: humidity and mold. And trust me the office is full of those, especially in the kitchen area (which is as small as 2x3m2). The second thing one would notice upon entering the office is the walls: yellowish-grey in color with several spider webs decorating them. Apparently where I work, they do not believe in paintings for decoration; well, who am I to judge people’s taste in art?

Let’s move on. The office windows have not been cleaned since the day the building was erected – probably some time in the 70’s. The floors are really weird; they are not made of tiles or marble; instead, it is some sort of glue-y covering whose design looks like tiles. They are dark green in color, most probably due to the huge amount of dirt stuck on them, since the term “cleaning” does not truly exist in the internal company dictionary. The office desks are broken and very dirty; dust covers the blackness of the desks, making them look dotted white. The computers (desktops to be exact) date back to when the very first computer was made; and they still operate on (get this) Windows 2003! Shapes (such a heart, or a star), and names and dates have been creatively ‘installed’ on the monitors and computer cases, giving them an alternative design. Talk about creativity. Moving on…

The kitchen is a tiny space with an ancient refrigerator that stands in one corner and a worn out, rusty sink on the other. The cupboards smell like mold and the mugs and cups inside are non-usable. The kitchen walls are full of cobwebs and spider webs, along with a huge mold smudge. The kitchen is also the dwelling place of cockroaches and ants… makes you feel hungry, right? Toilet paper and tissue paper are very rare items – almost extinct – and the employees might kill for a tissue paper. They are things we have to beg the administration for – literally. Another office item we have to beg for is paper for the printers – A4 papers have to be used to their fullest capacity… after all, one has to be economical.

During hot summer days, when the power is out in Beirut, the air-conditioning system is the one system that is not allowed to be used; and electric fans are the permissible alternative method. So imagine a room with about 20 individuals (mostly hairy men), on a hot summer day with no air conditioning… there are times when the ‘scent of natural odors’ makes me nauseated.

Had enough? I have! I just wonder: how much lower will Lebanese employers go?

Lebanese Work Force…

As we are all well aware, the Lebanese are one very unique nation. Their uniqueness is so overwhelming that I am sure there will come a day when scientists, psychologists, and other very, very smart people will write books about their analysis and findings about the Lebanese.

One of the uniqueness of the Lebanese is how they do work. Before I continue, just in case anyone would like to point out to the fact that I am Lebanese, I would like to politely ask you to hold your comments and thoughts till later, as this is a whole different argument which I will delve into in a separate posting.

At the moment, let us simply focus on how things are with the work force in Lebanon. Below are the guidelines of how to do work the Lebanese way. Please note that the below is to be applied by ALL employees, regardless of position.

 - Always arrive to the office at least fifteen minutes late, and blame the traffic (even on public holidays when your company decides to be operational; it is the best and most credible excuse, and everyone still falls for it). If you’re a manager, get there 30 to 45 minutes late; after all, you’re a manager, and managers have all the right as they are the ones working the most (or are they really?). Besides, managers should always look their best, which, logically, requires time.

- Waste around 30 minutes upon arrival to turn on your laptop/desktop, prepare yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee (Nescafé is most companies’ favored brand), and engage in small talk mainly about the unbearable traffic in the country (look anxious and upset and curse the government frequently – that ought to make it sound/look more sincere).

 - Sit at your desk and pretend to be reading your work emails (in most of which your email address appears on the CC line), while in fact you are checking your Hotmail/Gmail/Yahoo account for gossip or joke mails. Also, if your company’s IT has not blocked Facebook, take advantage and check your Facebook account (and Twitter – you just HAVE to update everyone on how bad the traffic was). Change your profile picture and status as well. However, if your company IT ‘gang’ had actually blocked Facebook, do not fret! There is always Black Berry (which I am sure that 99.99% of you have).

- Print out a few spontaneous work emails (choose the ones that are long), and feign the fact that you are reading them and taking notes (PS: the notes can range between jotting down lyrics to a song you woke up singing, to writing your beloved’s name and drawing little read hearts around it).

- Always keep your desk crammed with papers and documents, to give the impression that you are extremely busy. Under no circumstance should your desk look tidy and organized. You don’t want the boss and upper management to think you got no work to do.

- Go to excruciating meetings where you can continue writing your beloved’s name on your notebook.

- Check your Hotmail/Gmail/Yahoo accounts for any interesting gossip/joke mails, and forward to friends (especially the ones that come with a warning – if you don’t forward something really bad will happen). You don’t want to take the risk.

- Check Facebook (if available) and add comments to friends’ pictures, write on friends’ wall, add funny pictures (one of the many you had just received via Hotmail/Gmail/Yahoo), or simply go through your friends’ profiles. While doing so, always look serious and focusing, this ought to help create the illusion that you’re putting your heart and mind into work.

- If Facebook is not available, Black Berry is! Make sure you use that technology to it’s fullest.

 - Make a few work-related phone calls and reply to a few work-related emails – after all, the company is paying to work and you want your conscience to be clear.

- Go through job vacancies on different websites and apply for jobs. After all, the current employer is not paying you enough taking into consideration the high living standards. Besides, you are always looking for ‘growth’ and ‘development’ in your career.

- Time for lunch! Make sure to lock your laptop/desktop before leaving your desk, and go on your one-hour break, maybe more depending on the traffic.

- Get back to the office and engage in small talk again about what you had for lunch (recommend the place and go on and on about what a pleasant experience you had there), and discuss after work plans.

- Get back to your desk and unlock your laptop/desktop – check your work email, and – maybe – reply to some if it is a matter of utter urgency. Otherwise, leave it all till a later, unspecified time.

- Check Hotmail/Gmail/Yahoo account – you never know, you might have received a reply to an application for a job).

- Check your Facebook – either on your laptop/desktop or via Black Berry.

- Check more job vacancies, and send more applications. – Take a 15-minute break for an afternoon coffee and a cigarette.

- Come back to your desk and check Hotmail/Yahoo/Gmail again – we all know how clam work is in the afternoon.

- Create a folder on your desktop entitled “urgent” (visual effects for your boss), and include in it all the songs you like on your colleagues’ shared folders.

- Start burning your new mix CD for your car.

- Close down all web browsers and get ready to leave (all the while your desk is still packed full with documents and printed emails.

- Always leave 10 minutes earlier – after all, you do need 10 minutes to get to your car.

- Repeat daily. Rest on weekends.

Take note that if you’re management, make a lot of phone calls. Speak in a low voice to make your call seem more mysterious to your subordinates. Another point worth noting: heaven forbid should you behave in any professional/organized way, you should be fully ready to bear all consequences to your actions, including disciplinary action for not working hard enough.

You have been warned!

Bon apetit…

Last night, a friend of mine invited me to dinner at an “exotic” restaurant; I was very excited to get to the restaurant and try out all the new dishes – appetizers, main course, and especially desserts. Add to that, I had heard a lot from my friend about how mouthwatering the food there was, so it added to my excitement.

We got there fairly early – at around 7:30 pm (I personally prefer early dinners). The place was empty except for a couple seated at one of the tables in the center of the restaurant – a blonde woman, business attire, in her mid-thirties. He was also dressed in a suit – dark grey. The restaurant was decorated “exotically” (and by “exotic” I refer to that certain country to which the food served in that restaurant is related). A man-made mini waterfall stood to the side of the restaurant; wooden chairs and tables, a small wooden bridge… it was the perfect setting.

Upon arrival, we were greeted by a waitress with a heavy English accent, who directed us to a table, but we – or rather I – chose to sit somewhere else. The menus were brought to us, and I left the choice to my friend, as she was better acquainted with the food there than I was… actually, it was my first time in that place and I was not about to take the risk of choosing the wrong dishes. As we were going through the menu (I did take a look at the dishes served, for curiosity purposes solely), my friend had remembered that that specific night there was some sort of an offer – buy one get one free sort of thing. So she called for the heavy-accented waitress and inquired. We were told that the offer was for couples only. The waitress went on to explain that by “couple” she meant man and woman. So, us being two women could not get the offer.

You should have seen the look on my friend’s face; her jaw dropped and her eyes were about to pop out. She was the exact interpretation of “shocked”! I must admit, it was a shocking thing to be told; to actually have someone specify man and woman to two women (let alone two lesbians). The dictionary’s definition of the word “couple” is: two of the same sort considered together; pair. It does, in no way, specify gender; on the contrary! It specifies being “two of the same sort”.

I could totally understand my friend’s shock to the waitress’s reply; but personally, I chose to ignore. I have faced such incidents before, and I was used to the narrow-minded attitude. But my friend was infuriated; her face turned red and she insisted on talking to the manager. She could never get used to such idiocies. A few minutes later, the manager – a typical “villager” in a suit – arrived at our table to sort out the confusion. I must admit, the dude tried his best to fix the situation by giving very short answers and instantly averting the subject. He tried to draw our attention to other things on the menu, but my friend was not amused. So I decided to step in and try to cool things down. I knew my friend really wanted us to dine there, but she so furious and had clearly expressed that she was thinking of simply leaving.

After a while, when my friend had calmed down, she said: “I am thinking of coming here again in drag!” She’s funny.

Eventually, we decided to forget about the narrow-minded heterosexual comment and just enjoy our food, which was extremely delicious. I would definitely recommend the restaurant, but on Tuesday nights, since it is heterosexual couples’ night.

Bon appétit!

Please explain to me…

Recently, I had been job hunting, in a country where the right clothes, shoes, accessories and physical features are considered the main criteria on which one is considered for a job; a country where salaries are in no way organized by the government (Minister of Labor) to suffice for the basic human needs; a country whose economy has not suffered a tad bit by the economical crisis that overtook almost the entire globe, but whose banking and financial sector blossomed because of it.

I had been searching, and going to interviews, to no avail for almost five months. And taking into consideration that the world’s capital was sent to Lebanon for investment, not finding a job was somehow illogical and unbelievable. Another illogical/unbelievable thing (among many other things in this country) is the fact that the Euro bonds issued by the Central Bank have been sold out, and the new ones – not yet in the market – have been booked by 106%… interesting, huh? And employers still blame the economy for the salary rates they pay. Whatever!

But that is not my subject matter here; what I want to highlight today is something far more illogical than I have ever dreamed of. Something that would make you – maybe – understand how this country I live in has no equations whatsoever; no rules… except those of the jungle, I guess.

One day, I received an email from my sister with an ad for an Operations Manager vacancy. For fun purposes only, I sent this company my CV. I have come to believe that ads are mostly fake, and they are there for entertainment purposes only. A few days after sending my resume, I received a call from this company, to my surprise, to set a date for an interview. I was thrilled, thinking that maybe – just maybe – my extremely realistic view of this country would be refuted. A date was set; and on that specific day, I arrived at the offices of this company (a small apartment-turned-office) – as usual – about fifteen minutes early. Upon entering, I was greeted by the ‘receptionist’, on whose desk stood a mug with the logo of a certain political party printed on it.

Personally, I am not really into politics; in my opinion, politics – and politicians – is just a big charade by which the general population is being toyed with. Because of that, I do not usually care what other people’s political affiliations are, because I, myself, am not affiliated to anyone. I must admit, though, that a certain ‘colored’ party makes more sense to my politically ignorant mind. This party talks about reform and the rights of the people; they want change and less rip-offs – something, I believe, the whole population needs. And our ‘receptionist’s’ mug happened to carry the logo of that political party. It made me smile; generally, people affiliated with this party are more tolerant and nicer by nature (pure subjective opinion, I may add).

To cut a long story short, a few minutes after I had arrived, the receptionist asked me to go inside to meet with Mr. So-And-So. I walked into this man’s office only to be greeted by a picture of the leader of this political party, standing behind his left shoulder, smiling at me. Funnily enough, I smiled back at the picture. I mean, let’s face it: we all unintentionally find ourselves smiling back at a picture of someone smiling, isn’t that so?

After about 40 minutes with Mr. So-And-So, I had come to learn that he is a high ranking member of that same political party (the one whose logo was printed on the receptionist’s mug, and whose leader’s picture was smiling at me throughout the interview); and that he also owns a company. He was interested in my profile, and had apparently inquired about me (he bluntly told me so). He had two vacancies: an Operations Manager abroad and a Personal Assistant in Lebanon. I informed him that I was more interested in the opportunity abroad, but he insisted that I checked their website (the business one, of course) and think before I gave him my final answer. In the back of my mind, I knew exactly what I wanted: the Operations Manager position OUTSIDE Lebanon. Point!

Anyhow, two days later, I received another call from the same company asking me to go down for a test – some sort of IQ test or something. This has become a trend in many companies nowadays. The test was done successfully apparently, because I was asked to go to the CEO/Political figure’s office for a second interview. During that interview, he asked me to join himself and his team in a two-day training course in Sales. I agreed, since it would be a beneficial experience for me, even if I was not hired.

Again to make a long story short, I was finally hired… as a Personal Assistant in the business sector of his work (I made it clear that I was a complete fool when it came to politics). Mr. So-And-So had informed me that the project abroad had been put on hold for a while, and that he was very interested in my resume and skills. Having been jobless for almost five months – and almost broke – I accepted. The dude has connections, and they might come in handy later on in life.

It has been almost three weeks into the job, and so far this is what I have noticed:

1. My work is mainly in politics and his political agenda; Facebook profile, Facebook group, updating discussion lists. I have to watch the news daily as part of my job (although I hate watching the news) and be logged on to that part’s news website all day for updates and events.

2. The whole office – staff included – are highly unorganized. People there mainly socialize and end up wasting more time discussing stuff other than work.

3. I have no job description whatsoever and have not been given a contract to sign.

4. No one (and I mean, not a single soul) in the office is registered with the Social Security. Some have been working there for more than one year. What does that mean? Well, first, it means that as an employee, one has no legal rights: no annual vacations, no medical coverage, no pension at the end of service and absolutely no security at the job since the employer can fire anyone at any time without prior notice. For the employer, it means that any employee can leave whenever they wish without giving a notice period (as per the Lebanese Labor Law).

This is the part I do not understand; this man is supposed to be a high ranking member of a political party that abhors what the previous government was doing to the people, and is asking for a change – a betterment of the coup d’état for the people. And here he is, being a typical Lebanese boss with an illegal status. As per the Lebanese Labor Law, every company with more than 3 or 4 employees should be registered with the Social Security and have its employees registered as well. In other words, this dude’s company status is illegal. But, can we do anything about it? Of course, we can always try to inform the proper authorities about this situation… but wait a minute! He is part of the authorities and, only naturally, he will not be fined or punished for this.

Somebody please explain to me what on earth is going on? I seriously do not understand this anymore.

Delivery anyone?

Over a cup of coffee with a few friends tonight, and as all Lebanese usually do, we commenced a ‘nag-ful’ conversation about the various ‘deviant’ aspects of the society; issues such as our outrageous nightclubs, all the way through to politics (being Lebanese, politics is always an issue to be discussed over coffee, a drink, lunch/dinner and sometimes in intimate settings).

As our discussion evolved, a 25-year-old dude who was with us told me one of the most outrageous things I might ever hear in my life. Delivery… but not just any kind of delivery; prostitute delivery! Yup, here in Lebanon, we offer prostitute delivery. And mind you, there is a password you would have to know in order to receive your order. Here is how it all works:

There is a certain mobile number you dial; on the other end of the line, a very seductive female voice answers. You use the password to identify that you are not a member of the police, or someone who has too much time on their hands to make a prank call. After the password, you are questioned about your preferences: blonde, brunette, red-head; big breasts, average size or small; feminine, tomboy-ish; tall, short; age range. After you have submitted your order, you give them the delivery address along with your mobile number, for further validation. You end the call with a ‘thank you’, hang up, and wait for up to half an hour (depending on which area you reside); then you get a missed call to notify you your delivery had arrived. You meet your “order” on some street corner and then take the whole “plat-du-jour” up to your apartment to savor on the delicacies. Hotel rooms are not included or accepted. The fees start at $100, but with some negotiation skills and tactics, you might be able to reduce it to half the amount.

Prior to tonight, I had thought – or rather, hoped – that the society had reached rock bottom on the moral degradation level. I guess I was wrong…

Thank you… goodbye!

I guess the war shall never end!

I have been job hunting for the past four months, and have not yet found anything. I have sent out countless copies of my resume, and have been to more than a dozen interviews. The responses I got varied and were really funny. Here is an example of a few:

- Sorry, you’re over-qualified (mind you, I’m 32 years old)
- We are sorry, but we recruited internally
- We regret to tell you that we are no longer hiring for that post (after, of course, having dragged me to 3 interviews)

The above are samples of the responses I got, which I am thankful for, since up till now some companies did not even bother to call back. And some others have actually said: “We will get back to you to let you know when the next interview is”, but never called. Some have argued that I should call back, but I refuse to do so. Why? Simple, it’s not professional. As a manager or a recruitment agent in a company, one should keep their word. If they say they’d call back, they should call back. I am the one who’s supposed to be waiting on their call, and it’s not my duty to call and remind them that they were supposed to call me.

But the funny-sad thing that could ever happen to anyone while job hunting is to be interviewed by someone who’s either too young to be a good ‘judge’, or – even funnier – someone who has no clue what they are doing. Allow me to elaborate with two incidents:

I had sent my resume to a recruitment agency (a reputable one, I may add), since those have more contacts and job offers. A few weeks after I had sent them my resume, I received a call from a girl who started asking me the usual questions; “What are you looking for?”; “What salary range are you considering?” and inquiries of the sort. Then, towards the end of our phone conversation, she asked me to pass their offices so they would meet me in person. That sounded logical enough and I accepted.

The next day, I got dressed and headed to their offices, located in a very prestigious building in Down Town Beirut. Just for clarification, and for those who don’t know, Down Town Beirut is the most prestigious area in the whole of Lebanon, and the capital of business (if I may put it that way). It is also the capital of many other things, which I don’t feel like delving into right now.

Upon arrival at the entrance of that prestigious building, the security guard asked for my identification, and in exchange gave me a visitor pass. For a moment, I felt I was entering into the US Embassy – armed security guards, identification necessities, thorough search. I was instructed to go to the 3rd floor and was given the proper directions on how to use the visitor pass. And so, being the rules-abiding person I am, I followed instructions and finally – and safely – reached my destination.

A girl in her very early twenties greeted me and escorted me to a conference room and asked me to make myself comfortable. She was also nice enough to ask if I liked to have coffee or tea. I politely declined. She disappeared behind the tinted glass door. My appointment was at 10 am, and I was there at five-to-ten. I knew I was to wait, since I had arrived a bit early, but was surprised that my wait exceeded 15 minutes. Ten is ten; not ten fifteen, not five to ten. But I guess nowadays, in this country of prestige, the old French saying applies: “les gens chics sont toujours en retard” (translated to English: classy people arrive late).

Anyhow, as I sat in that small conference room waiting, I allowed myself the liberty of screening through the room – a habit I have always had: observation. It was a well kept room, clean, tidy. To my right, there was a big bibliotheque that held multiple books on management, finance, human resources and economy. And I wondered, does anyone ever read those? They look like they’d been sitting there, being eaten up by dust day in, and day out. I came to the conclusion that no one ever laid eyes on these books, except – maybe – when they were being placed there. But of course, such a prestigious company needs to have a prestigious bibliotheque that held prestigious books, isn’t that so?

Around twenty minutes or so after I had first set foot in that office, a young girl of almost 24 walked in. Blue jeans, tight short white blouse, and a pair of flip-flops. Ok, hang on a minute, flip-flops to work?!! Where is the professionalism in all of this? I think I must still be living in the 18th century. Nevertheless, although I did notice that her ‘external’ attire was not-so-professional, I decided to disregard it, thinking to myself that she must be a genius in her field. She greeted me and sat down. Naturally, she had my resume printed out (although I had brought a copy, just in case). She started going through the resume over and over, like she was lost for words and did not know where to begin. I waited. Then came her first question: “So, was it hard to reach our offices?” I was speechless for a second, but was able to smile and say no. Then she went on to ask the usual questions of what did you do, tell me about yourself, and what salary are you looking for.

Ok, those are the inevitable questions – the ice-breakers so to say. But I expected other recruitment-agents’ questions. Stuff that are supposed to help this 24 year old to get to know my personality and character better. None of that happened. The girl was fixated at the “salary” stage and could not develop further. I explained to her that it all depends on the package the company is offering, and that it is negotiable. But she insisted to know (I related that to her “salary” stage fixation).  The whole meeting lasted for 10 minutes, and then I was out of there.

As I got into my car, I started replaying that encounter in my head. I started wondering what she was able to know about me in those 10 minutes. I am not a recruitment agent, and have never worked in that field. But I do know that 10 minutes, with the very regular questions she posed, are not enough to find out anything about me as a person. Some people, with the right type of questions, have the ability and training needed to ‘dissect’ a potential candidate. I didn’t sense that with her.

Another funny-sad similar incident took pace today. I was contacted by a well known, well established company to schedule a meeting with the General Manager. I had already undergone 2 interviews previously with the HR and my future supervisor (if I were hired). Now, it was time for the GM to interview me; which seemed like a positive sign in the hiring process. I was happy.

My meeting with this GM was scheduled at 10 am today; but I overslept. I woke up at 9, which meant I had to be super fast in getting ready, especially that the area in which this company is located happens to be in the heart of Beirut (not Down Town, in case you’re wondering), in the busiest street. Speed was of high importance. However, to my good fortune, I received a call from the HR agent at 9:15 telling me that the appointment had been rescheduled till 11:30. Good for my sake, as I was running really late; bad (in my opinion) since appointments have to be respected and any rescheduling should be announced at least 24 hours in advance. Nevertheless, I was happy and didn’t mind that glitch.

11:15 am; I was already sitting in the designated waiting area of that company. I had been greeted by the HR agent whom I had met previously, and was asked to fill in an application. I thought, “Fine, this is to kill the 10 remaining minutes, and I would be in to see the GM by 11:30″. I filled in the application and was done by 11:23 (I looked at my wrist watch). Then came the wait. As I sat there I started wondering in the back of my mind of the reason why upper management make people wait. It could be many reasons, but I didn’t want to bother. So, I shut down my mind and sang to myself (Je T’aime by Lara Fabian).

At 11:45, the HR agent directed me to the GM’s meeting room, and asked me to make myself comfortable. I wonder what they mean by that – make yourself comfortable. Could they possibly be trying to tell me to kick my shoes and put my feet up on the table? A bottle of Pepsi could do, thank you. Some times, English as a second language is a curse.

Anyhow, Mr. GM walked into the meeting room 5 minutes after I was admitted. Dressed in dark blue suit pants, a white shirt – with a red smudge on the collar (I wonder where that came from) – and a blue tie. His hair looked like Elvis Presley’s but thrown to the back and longer. He had a neatly trimmed beard, and his lips were obviously ‘siliconized’. He came in looking like he was disgusted of something. He was a man of not more than 36-37 years of age, held an already-lit cigarette in his hand, and barely said good morning upon entering. Despite this, I got to my feet, held out my hand and blurted a good morning followed by my name, in a well balanced voice (Etiquette 101 – not usually taught in school, but acquired through up-bringing and experience). He gave me a hand shake and sat down before asking me to have a seat. I disregarded that – yet again – and seated myself in turn. Mr. GM started going through my resume and application (both having the very exact same information). He was silent for a while, with his lips clenched - try to imagine how a pair of siliconized lips look like; not a very nice sight.

About 5 minutes passed by as I waited for this dude to start the ‘interrogation’ process. And he finally was able to throw the very first question at me: “How old are you?” I was stunned at the question, mainly because my date of birth was stated on both my resume and the application. Nevertheless, and not to seem impolite, I said 32 with a little sarcastic smile, which I don’t think he noticed, since he was too busy ashing his cigarette and skimming through the documents in front of him. I waited for the next question, thinking to myself that perhaps that was his way of an ice-breaker. The next question took almost the same amount of time to be blurted out as the first; but it was finally blurted.

The questions he asked varied between “how old are you”, “what’s your longest work experience”, “NGO? Do you consider yourself an activist or you had too much free time on your hand to waste”. The waiting period between each question varied between 5 to around 10 minutes. His last question, though, for me, was the funniest. “Do you have any questions for me?”. Having had a summary of the working hours and conditions, what type of business this was, I was a bit confused. What was I supposed to need answers for? His age? Or maybe what brand of cigarettes he smoked. I answered with a no, and without a blink of an eye, Mr. GM stood up and said: “OK, I’m done now”, and was about to turn around and walk away when I stood up, put out my hand to him and said: “Thank you for your time, I appreciate it. Goodbye” (again with the same well balanced Etiquette 101 voice). Then I proceeded to walk out. The HR manager, who was present during the whole ‘interview with the GM’, and was half asleep in the process, smiled and said: “Have a good day”. My response to that was to turn around, smile and say thank you.

I will not delve into the age versus position issue. However, I will expand on the whole disrespectful attitude and total ignorance in conducting an interview.

First of all, General Manager or janitor, respecting an individual is a must; since I believe we have all been created equally as human beings. We all have lungs, hearts, hands, feet, brains (regardless of the level of usage). Having more wealth and position does not give anyone, whoever it may be, the right to belittle others, or to behave in a totally impertinent way. On the contrary, a better-off individual should have had more education and etiquette training… But apparently, in this country I unfortunately live in, more wealth and position gives one the right to act like a god. This is what I would call poverty of the mind.

Second, a General Manager should be one who has an idea about everything in their business. Someone who is well learned of all the operation. When I was told that the General Manager wanted to meet with me, I started reviewing, in the back of my mind, all possible tricky questions he might pose. I was a little worried and hoped to be smart enough to answer those questions. Yet, I felt like I was talking to someone who had to interview me; who had no clue what the post I was applying for is, to start with.

I watched a movie the other day called Corporate Affairs, during which one of the characters was explaining to this newly promoted manager how corporate level managers converse. It was very simple and yet so true. Their conversation went like this: “Blah, blah… blah-blah-blah… blah”! After having met with this man today, and after having seen many such a sample, I think this is explanation to management mumbo-jumbo is completely correct. For a better appearance, you can throw in a few complicated technical words, and voila! You’re officially a manager… Oh! I almost forgot; the suit, tie and cigar are a must!

Thank you… goodbye!

Identity Crisis

I have recently declared war against Lebanon/Lebanese, and this is another battle I am waging fiercely. I have been looking for a decent job in a not-so-decent country for about three months now, and yet have not found anything that is well paid. And although I was about to give up, it dawned on me! I can work as a house maid!

See, here in Lebanon, a Sri Lanki or Philippino or Ethiopian house maid/cleaner (all due respect) usually charges between $5 and $7 an hour. Let’s do a simple mathematical calculation:

Say this maid is to put 9 hours a day into work (working hours in Lebanon as per the Lebanese Labor Law), and is charging $5 and hour, this would mean that they are making $45 a day; meaning $225 a week (if this maid/cleaner is to work 5 days a week). Again simple calculation, $225 x 4 - they would be making $900 a month.

$5 an hour
=> $5 x 9 = $45 per day
=> $45 x 5 = $225 per week
=> $225 x 4 = $900 per month

On the other hand, a Lebanese standard salary range is between $500 and $700 a month. Since we used the minimum in the previous calculation, we will use the minimum with this calculation as well. So, our Lebanese employee is making $500 a month; this means they are making $125 a week, which implies that per day our employee is  making $25. Nine hours of work a day would mean that a Lebanese employee makes $2.78 an hour.

$500 per Month
=> $500 / 4 = $125 per week
=> $125 / 5 = $25 per day
=> $25 / 9 = $ 2.78 per hour

I am having difficulty understanding the formula in this country. No offense meant to the Sri Lankis, Philippinos or Ethiopians, but someone please explain! Some of these house maids/cleaners are actually lending money to Lebanese people with interest!

Another thing that infuriates me is when a company “imports” an American/Canadian/French/British to fill in a management position, and pay them a huge sum of money (not to mention the housing and other benefits) when there are many Lebanese who can fill that position. I don’t get it!

Our beloved capitalist employers do not want to pay us – the Lebanese working citizens – what we are worth, and yet willingly spend huge sums of money for a foreigner. Why? If I am to apply to a position in the USA/Canada/France/England or any other part of the world (except the Gulf, since they are too lazy to work and have a lot of money to blow); but if I were to apply to a position in any part of the world, I’d have to have extremely special qualities and capabilities to be accepted. Otherwise, a “local” would be hired for the job.

Not in Lebanon; we love humiliating our own and boosting the “others”. And you wonder why we are in such a screwed up state?!! Too bad, working as a house maid won’t be possible – I still hold the Lebanese nationality.

I salute the “foreigners”!

What’s wrong with this picture?

I went out for a drink with a friend of mine, during the high-tourist season that hit Lebanon this year, and we got into discussing tourism and stuff of the sort. This friend used to work in a well known and reputable bank in Lebanon, in the head office, and had access to a lot of “secrets”.

Anyway, during our interesting conversation, she mentioned to me two very interesting, yet very sad facts currently happening in Lebanon:

1. People are going to one of the high-end nightclubs in Beirut, dancing, drinking excessively, and – get this – paying their bill by installments to the bank where my friend used to work! Yes, don’t pick up your eyeglasses and don’t change the resolution on your screen, you read me correctly: paying the bill from a high-end nightclub by installments. I mean, not only do they go to a nightclub where a bottle of the cheapest vodka or whiskey is over-charged (imported beer = $10, whereas in any ordinary club it is $4 max), they also pay the bill by installment to a bank. What’s wrong with this picture? Haven’t they heard of interest? I mean, why would anyone in their right state of mind do that? And for what? A one-night out!!!

2. Another really high-end nightclub in Beirut, which is a seasonal one, has devised a special offer for those who want to ensure they have a reserved table. $36,000 per season and a table is yours every Saturday night. Now what is wrong with this picture? People in this country nag all the time, claiming that they have no money to pay their dues, and yet you find them “making reservations” at so-and-so club for $36,000/season.

Where are we going? I have heard, may a time before, about how the Lebanese are “shallow” and care a lot of appearances, a fact – I was told – from before the civil war in Lebanon. But this?! It is too much, and the problem is that the people, the society, is actually drowning further in this shallowness, believing it to be a sign of being modern and civilized. Well, news flash: it is not! Civilized is an attitude, and not drowning one self in debts to banks only to show off and party in one of the most expensive places in town. Civilized is abiding to the street lights, respecting the elderly, having rules and respecting them.

What saddens me deeply is that despite our little employer-employee dilemma (mentioned in a previous blog called Welcome to Lebanon), people are drowning in a whirlpool of shallowness and believing it to be the norm and what is right. They see it in movies and on TV, and believe that this is how life should be.

There are other more important things in life – in Lebanon. I am not referring to politics, for that is a total different area of discussion that would never end. I am talking about life as a whole: dreams, ambitions, family, honesty, integrity, hard work that is rewarded…

I might be a dreamer, but at least if ever my dreams come true, the world might become a better place.

RUN… RUN!!!

I sat with a group of friends in one of the hottest bars in town. We were drinking and having a good time when a group of amazingly hot women entered the place. Tall, confident and radiant; like they just materialized from the cover of Vogue or Elle. My friends and I were intrigued, and one of them dared me to go invite them to sit with us. You know, the usual I-dare-you friends usually like to do. So, being the stubborn person I am, I accepted.

Slowly, but confidently, I walked towards the model-like women. As I was walking, I was trying to distinguish who was the most beautiful one so I would approach her specifically; but my efforts went in vain: they were all too beautiful which made choosing hard. Therefore, I got rid of that idea and decided to approach all of them. Bold, I know, especially that I am your average person, but it had to be done. I couldn’t back up now, not after being dared by my friends.

“Hello”, was the first word my brain could remember and my mouth uttered. The women smiled and replied with the sweetest, most musical “hi” I have ever heard. For a minute, I felt like I was hearing the voices of the angels of heaven: sweet, soft and with the right tone. I was infatuated instantly. One of them smoothly lifted the glass of the most expensive red wine in the house and slowly drew it closer to her lips, and took a small, lady-like sip. I was in heaven, I tell you!

After a few words, I popped the question: “Would you like to join me and my friends there?” pointing to the bunch of girls sitting on one of the tables close to the bar. The women looked towards our table, then at each other and smiled. For a minute, I was frozen and afraid they might turn me down. My world would shatter! I waited for almost 3 seconds, which felt like 3 years in an awkward, frustrating silence, which was broken by one of the women. “Sure, I will join you.” I cannot begin to express the joy that overtook me. That was my lucky night; I mean, how many times does one encounter such divine beauty AND get to drink with her?

I walked back towards the table of amazed friends with the most beautiful woman God had ever created, proudly. I pulled up a chair for her and waited till she was comfortably seated. All the while in the back of my mind, I was imagining how this evening was going to go and, eventually, end. I must say, I was a little naughty in my mind. But hey! This is only human nature… and the fact that the woman was simply gorgeous.

The night was going well and the discussions too. I was the luckiest gal in that bar that night; all eyes were on us and I was sure every man – and woman – was eaten up with jealousy. Whereas I held my head up high and enjoyed it all. At one point during our conversation, I threw in the usual “what do you do for a living” question. The reply came back very simple: “I work in a bar, where I sit with customers, drink and then go home. I’m an escort”. The words feel on my ears like thinder. An ESCORT?!! And here we are, having the most expensive red wine in the house! I had to run away; I had to make an escape for my life! I screamed for the check at the top of my lungs, causing a scene. The woman was shocked at my behavior and could not understand what had just happened. But it did not matter to me; I HAD to get out of that place, otherwise I would spend at least a month cleaning the dishes and glasses in return.

The check was brought to us by this waiter with a fake grin on his face, as if he had known that I was not carrying enough cash on me to pay the bill, and imagining the consequence. I should thank God my friends were there to pitch in. The next time I go out, I will make sure I won’t invite a complete, gorgeous stranger to join me for a drink.

Me and my naughty mind… pffft!

—————————————————————————————————————

The above is a real story.

Labels…?

Have you ever felt like you didn’t know what you were doing or why? Have you ever had a million and one questions about your life’s purpose run through your head? And have you ever wondered why you were fighting all these fights? Let’s face it, as human beings we are in constant fight with something – be it at work, we are fighting to grow further; in love, we are fighting to keep the relationship going; in society, we are fighting for acceptance… There is always a war we are submerged in. And it makes me wonder: is it worth it?

Let’s consider this together: if we spend all our life fighting and combating – each other and the unseen – what good is it gonna do us? Life as we know it ends by death, so why do we fight? We are going to die eventually (apologies to those who have been intentionally ignoring the idea). I mean, ever since we come to this world, our first war is fighting for air to continue living. And if we don’t have the common sense for it, the doctor would spank us on the ass to make us cry, and thus get air into our lungs… I shall not linger on the whole human war we are in, but I wonder: why do we fight?

I remember the rejection I faced when I first came out, and the struggle for acceptance. I remember the rebelliousness inside my soul to break down the chains of society’s hatred, and try to make them see I was just like them – I eat, drink, sleep, work, play, study… just as they did. The only difference was in bed, amongst the four walls of our rooms – that private little area everyone seems to want to invade. I paid a price for it, I remember well… And now, as I’ve matured and won the war against my own weakness (aka lack of self confidence and the need to be accepted), I have become an activist because I know the world should be a better place to live; because each and every individual – gay, straight, bi, queer, you name it – should be treated as a human being, and should have the right to a decent life. Cause what goes on in my bedroom is none of anyone’s business.

But still, I look around and I feel the disappointment. The world, despite all the so-called progress, has become a “tighter” place, full of racism and hate, even amog monority groups (who are, by the way, the people I am fighting for). We are labeling everything and everyone! So-and-so is black, or Jewish, or straight, or top, or bottom, or butch, or femme… everything has to have a label, as if it were a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes. Even amogst the “monotiry” groups, we discirminate…

Why? This is a question that remains unanswered… Why this discirmination? Why the labeling? Why can’t we simply accept each other for who we are, human beings? Some times I feel like we have become a piece of merchandise; if we are not labeled, we are not good enough quality. It is sad…