Chode-en-freude

For the past few months, I've been fielding/dodging the same four questions from family, friends, co-workers, and bosses of varying rank:

1. Where are you/which country are you in?
2. What are you doing?
3. What have you BEEN doing?
4. Are we ever going to see you again?

(Ha ha oops)

Ok here are some answers to some of those questions. About five months ago, something happened that didn't really strike me as significant at the time, but in retrospect, kind of started a chain of events that led me to where I am now. For those of you I've been out of touch with, I work at an investment company in Saudi Arabia. This story begins at the end of last November, as I opened my inbox at work on a Wednesday morning to find the following email that had been sent the night before - subject: Secret:

Now I know what you must be thinking, and no, a LOLCat didn't send the email, despite the sender's demonstrated command of their language. No, it was the company's General Counsel. I won't refer to him by his real name here, so let's just call him Jimmy:

I've taken the liberty of placing a black band over people's eyes in this post - not so much to protect their identities, but mainly because I think it makes for a funnier visual.

Now, Jimmy will send me attachments to print from time to time because he's the only one in the office without network access to any printer, (I think the IT guy hates him). But the attachments would only be contracts and MOUs - but this, this was . . . ?

I clicked on the images to get a better look. I've combined them into one composite image so your eyes don't have to bleed (as mine did) scrolling through four enormous photos of this . . . "lady":

Obviously, the first solution that came to mind: suicide. But the idea of forwarding the email to all my friends in the office won out. After the guys and I returned from a lunch filled with jokes at Jimmy's expense, I knew I had to deal with him sooner or later, so I might as well get it out of the way.

I went to his office, closing the door behind me. He stopped typing and swiveled to face me, in a fluid movement that belied his size - like the Baron Harkonnen getting around on his anti-gravity suspensors.

"Karimo! You got my message."
"Yeah, about that - Jimmy, I'm not printing those pictures for you."
"Is there something wrong with the printer?"
"No, Jimmy, there's nothing wrong with the printer. I'm not printing those pictures."

Slowly, slowwwlyy, realization oozed over his face, quickly replaced by panic condensed into little beads of sweat. But then again, he was pretty much always sweating-

"Oh. Ok.
(pause)
Ok.
(pause)
Ok I'll . . . print them at home. I have a printer at home. I will print them on it. At home."

I was already on my way out of his office.

"Or Kodak," I added over my shoulder. "Or wherever."

I'd almost made it down the hall before I could hear him calling out for me.

So close.

I dragged myself back into his office and closed the door. Here we go.

The following is (unfortunately) an almost verbatim retelling of what he said to me:

"I would have never asked you to print those pictures - if I didn't love you."

Oh. Hold on. Give me a chance to change into my Counselor Troi costume before you rape my mind.

"She's my ex-wife."

That's right; let it out. Let it alllll out.

"I married her while I was living in Morocco, and we just- no, I, no - I don't want you to think, Mister Karim, that I just married her because she's beautiful!"

"No, I didn't think that at all"

I don't think he understood my meaning, but then-

"I don't want you to think that I married her just to get her into bed!"

Ugh. Thanks for that, guy.

"No, I just married her to help her out. And now she's after me; she wants me back. So, I'm just trying to get copies of these pictures out to my friends and colleagues here in Saudi, to see if one of them can . . . help her out."

Ok, yeah that actually kind of chilled my blood, a little bit. Was not expecting that. He's pimping out his ex-wife to his colleagues and friends? CLASS ACT. All the way.

I thought this was as good a break as any to eject myself from a conversation that, well, until this day I'm not really sure why he asked for me to come back to divulge all this bizarre personal information. To shame me into not saying anything about it? This guy really does not know me.

"Well, ok then, good luck with all of that-"
"Karim, I don't need to tell you to keep this confidential-"
"No, you don't need to tell me that."

Because I already told everybody.

"Thank you Karim, thank you."

We joked about it for the rest of the day in the back office. But as I got home and was by myself, I knew the real joke was what had become of my life.

Epilogue

I trudged through the next couple of months at work, until I was finally able to go on my month-long vacation. Four and a half months ago.
The first month was paid vacation. Eventually I convinced my Dad to start giving me allowance again, and in return I convinced myself that I love him again. The office still calls every now and then to try to figure out when I'm coming back. I haven't been taking their calls for the past week and a half.

Oh and they fired Jimmy! Actually, they forced him to resign. He had to give thirty days notice. On the first day of his last month, he left early, then never came back. I was actually kind of bummed to hear about it because that guy was like a non-stop comedic disaster.

My best friend from the office is also leaving to do his graduate degree in Virginia. And they're refurnishing a wing of the office that I think they're going to station me at - alone(?) Because that's exactly what I need. To live and work alone. I got another job - an accounting position for a construction firm in Kuwait. Which is as about as thrilling as it sounds.

So that's where I'm at right now; I don't want to go back to Saudi, don't really want to go to Kuwait, and definitely don't want to stay in Egypt. So I'm thinking, Calabria: