arabs, part 1

Yesterday my brother and I drove all over the greater Detroit area with G, our new business partner. We stopped at a Mediterranean eatery for lunch and to sit in on a sales meeting with one of G's client's brothers. The floors and walls were real marble tiled. The tables were real polished marble slabs. And the lamb was so delicious because, we later learned, it had been soaked in yogurt the night before. Apparently that's halal (kosher).

After lunch the owner took us back to his office. The door was held open by a small length of dirty cotton string tied to one of the many file cabinets. A TV on top of the cabinet was tuned to the Lebanese news channel, which was hosting a very impassioned discussion in Arabic about Hamas and Fatah. Between deep draws on his hookah, the owner poured us all tiny Styrofoam cups of Turkish coffee from a large silver pot on his very messy desk. He smokes all-natural tobacco, which he cuts himself.

G and the owner soon got down to discussing business. In Arabic. I tried to pick up as much as I could about G's sales technique, but soon realized they were just chatting. I tried to figure out what the ads were about on the TV. It seemed like they were switching back and forth between a car commercial and something to do with banking. G stopped to explain that you could get a free car when you opened a large enough CD at one of the Lebanese banks. It all made sense.

The owner got a call finally, from his brother, who was apparently on his way. I stared at my empty Styrofoam cup, and listened to the constant chatter of Arabic, punctuated periodically by the vigorous bubbling of the hookah. I yawned. The owner laughed and offered more Turkish coffee.