The car smelled absolutely awful this evening - as though something had died under the seat. I checked for forgotten sandwiches, dead mice, overlooked passengers, but found nothing more likely than an empty waterbottle.
After dinner I went back to the car to look for my mobile phone, thinking perhaps I had dropped it on the floor when I came back from the dentist. The stench of dead bodies was, if anything, even worse. No phone though. I opened the windows and wondered where the smell was coming from.
I went back inside and rang the phone ... well, I dialed what I though was my number. A young girl picked up. She didn’t speak English. The trouble was, I couldn’t be sure that it was the right number.
Having searched the house for the third time without success, and having been unable to track down my telephone number, I went back to the car. Maybe it was in the boot. It wasn’t. But the shopping that I had done two days ago was. Woops. I obviously forgot to take it out when I came back from Panda. No wonder Mohammad hadn’t cooked the steaks I had bought. They had matured nicely in the boot. Thank goodness the weather has been cold!
Shaking my head in disbelief, questioning my sanity and holding the shopping bags as far away from me as possible, I went back inside. Still no telephone.
I rang the number again. This time an adult answered, but she didn’t speak English either. She was definately trying to help though. I asked her if she was Filipina, thinking that I could get one of the maids on the compound to call her. “No, Indonesia”, she said. I explained why I was ringing. “No Sir, I’ve had the phone for a year.” In amongst a discussion of where we were both from and what we were doing in Saudi, she suggested that perhaps I should write my telephone number down somewhere.
I found my phone some time later, waiting for me under the chair. I have now written down the number.
After dinner I went back to the car to look for my mobile phone, thinking perhaps I had dropped it on the floor when I came back from the dentist. The stench of dead bodies was, if anything, even worse. No phone though. I opened the windows and wondered where the smell was coming from.
I went back inside and rang the phone ... well, I dialed what I though was my number. A young girl picked up. She didn’t speak English. The trouble was, I couldn’t be sure that it was the right number.
Having searched the house for the third time without success, and having been unable to track down my telephone number, I went back to the car. Maybe it was in the boot. It wasn’t. But the shopping that I had done two days ago was. Woops. I obviously forgot to take it out when I came back from Panda. No wonder Mohammad hadn’t cooked the steaks I had bought. They had matured nicely in the boot. Thank goodness the weather has been cold!
Shaking my head in disbelief, questioning my sanity and holding the shopping bags as far away from me as possible, I went back inside. Still no telephone.
I rang the number again. This time an adult answered, but she didn’t speak English either. She was definately trying to help though. I asked her if she was Filipina, thinking that I could get one of the maids on the compound to call her. “No, Indonesia”, she said. I explained why I was ringing. “No Sir, I’ve had the phone for a year.” In amongst a discussion of where we were both from and what we were doing in Saudi, she suggested that perhaps I should write my telephone number down somewhere.
I found my phone some time later, waiting for me under the chair. I have now written down the number.
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