I walked into a little shop today to buy water, and there was a man stretched out asleep on the freezer. I stopped in my tracks, uncertain as to whether I should advance into such a private moment, but the shopkeeper seemed totally at ease with the arrangement so I continued with my purchase while the man snoozed away. It got me thinking how odd some things are here, to my Western perspective. So many things leave me baffled at times. Like for example the way local people who need a pint of milk just drive up to the shop and blow their horn until someone comes out and serves them.
Yesterday, I pulled up to a little grocery shop at the same time as a young local man. He started honking his horn while I got out of the car and went into the shop. When I emerged with my purchases a couple of minutes later he was still honking away impatiently.
There is a culture of entitlement here in the UAE which leaves me both perplexed and cold at times. A benevolent government, keen to ensure that the indigenous population profit from the riches brought about by the discovery of oil, have perhaps missed the point in some ways; the locals can come across as both lazy and aggressive: no doubt they feel outnumbered and enfeebled by the massive influx of expats who are hired in from abroad to carry out the roles that they are both unable and unwilling to fulfill.
And why is everything so complicated here at times? I received a call from Aramex today, to tell me that a package was waiting for me. Oh goodie, 3 new dresses from Boden (I know, I know, but they were on sale...well, two of them) so off I went to collect them. The Aramex office in Al Ain is about the size of a toilet cubicle and yet, in their wisdom they've provided the ladies with their own section of the 2 metre counter. Now I can't really see what possible benefit there is to this, it's not as if the ladies are served first so what's the point?
On arriving, you have to pull a ticket for the queue. Every minute or so a nasal woman's voice bellows out from the sound system 'ticket number 28, counter number 1 please’ which is pretty farcical because the bloke behind the counter could say it just as easily, and besides, I was the only person in there who actually took a ticket, everyone else just stood jostling and shoving up at the counter. I took ticket number 803 from the ladies ticket machine, and sat down.
After the jostling mass had been seen to ('ticket number 28, 29, 30...' I was feeling rather doubtful about reaching 803) I was beckoned to by the guy behind the counter. Ah, maybe this is the special ladies treatment!
'Phone number please' he said. I gave it to him.
‘I’m sorry ma’am, there is no record of that number ‘ he informed me
’Well, you just phoned me less than an hour ago' I calmly replied. He checked his screen again.
'Can you repeat the number please' he said. I repeated the number.
‘No, there is no shipment here for you' he said confidently.
'Yes there is, it says so online and YOU told me on the phone!' I retorted sounding more confident than I was feeling.
Customer service in the UAE is appalling, mainly due to language barriers and differing cultural expectations, i.e. I expect some service. He disappeared into another room and reappeared a minute later bearing a piece of paper, instructing me to phone the number on it.
I flounced out of the office and got into my car to phone the number. My two-year-old was crying and five and six-year-old-boys were engaged in earnest Spiderman moves. Phoning the number, I was informed by the Indian man on the other end of the line that there was no record of me EVER with Aramex, or I think that's what he said, two-year-old-boy was really starting to yell at this point. 'Hold on a minute' I instructed the man on the other end of the phone, ' can't hear you, let me get out of the car ' just as the Adhan began, aka 'call to prayer' and the air filled with the earsplitting wailing of the muezzin from the mosque nearby. 'Ah Jeezus' feeling like an embedded journalist in Iraq I hung up and went back into the office.
And so the dance began again. This time I had evidence as I handed over my phone with the call log showing that I received a call from them earlier that day. He disappeared again and emerged 10 minutes later with my parcel. Pleased with himself, he handed it over to me without explanation. ' Well what the hell was all that about then' I wanted to splutter, but gave up, nobody will be learning any lessons here today but me.
Still, I am happy with my new purchases and can justify the cost since I've made the wonderful discovery that Ramadan has saved me money. Usually at this point in the month we're down to our last few shillings until payday. But this month I've saved a fortune in afternoon coffees, lunches out and pointless purchases as I wander around the mall (which is only fun if it's punctuated with aforementioned coffee/lunch). Don't get me wrong, I'm deliriously happy that it is over, it was without doubt the dullest month of my entire life, comparable only to that of the month before my birth. Of course, saving cash aside, it had its compensations, i.e DH coming home early each day, but where's the fun in that if there's nothing to do? We lazed the entire month away, watching Spiderman 3 on a loop and snoozing on the sofa with the only exercise being the occasional race to the off license before 5 o’clock closing.
But the customer service issues remain. Now I’m not looking at the customer service in Ireland with rose tinted spectacles, it can be painfully bureaucratic and unhelpful, but at least you can make yourself understood, well, most of the time. But Ireland appears to be run with the efficiency of Microsoft compared with the UAE. When Etisalat, the national telecommunications provider cut off my house phone for non payment of the bill, trying to explain that I had never received a bill, despite several requests for it, fell on deaf ears. After several million calls, I was instructed to go into their offices where I could get a copy of the bill. And so, off I went to collect said bill only to be told by the misogynist dolt behind the counter that he couldn’t give me a copy of the bill as it was my ‘husbands business’. That I didn’t pull him across the counter is a miracle… When I finally received a bill, it was extortionately massive. Optimistically, I phoned customer service for advice on better tariffs. The helpful young woman on the end of the phone made the brilliant suggestion that an effective way of cutting down on the cost of my calls abroad was to block all outgoing calls abroad!
But this administrative quagmire is assuaged by the unrelenting kindness towards kids in restaurants and shops, particularly I noticed, in Abu Dhabi. Two-year-old boy is regularly carried off into kitchens and behind counters where he invariably emerges with lollipops, balloons and even toys. The two young men behind the counter in the GAP even allowed him to work the till. This never ceases to amaze and enchant me as in my own country arriving into a restaurant with kids is the dining equivalent of wearing a lepers bell. Some ignore us and some have been down right rude.
And so, dear reader, this shall be my last post from Al Ain. When next I write I will be in a shoebox in Ras Al Khaimah, but grateful to be in this crazy country for the time being, as the rest of the world struggles to recover from the financial mess it's in.
Yesterday, I pulled up to a little grocery shop at the same time as a young local man. He started honking his horn while I got out of the car and went into the shop. When I emerged with my purchases a couple of minutes later he was still honking away impatiently.
There is a culture of entitlement here in the UAE which leaves me both perplexed and cold at times. A benevolent government, keen to ensure that the indigenous population profit from the riches brought about by the discovery of oil, have perhaps missed the point in some ways; the locals can come across as both lazy and aggressive: no doubt they feel outnumbered and enfeebled by the massive influx of expats who are hired in from abroad to carry out the roles that they are both unable and unwilling to fulfill.
And why is everything so complicated here at times? I received a call from Aramex today, to tell me that a package was waiting for me. Oh goodie, 3 new dresses from Boden (I know, I know, but they were on sale...well, two of them) so off I went to collect them. The Aramex office in Al Ain is about the size of a toilet cubicle and yet, in their wisdom they've provided the ladies with their own section of the 2 metre counter. Now I can't really see what possible benefit there is to this, it's not as if the ladies are served first so what's the point?
On arriving, you have to pull a ticket for the queue. Every minute or so a nasal woman's voice bellows out from the sound system 'ticket number 28, counter number 1 please’ which is pretty farcical because the bloke behind the counter could say it just as easily, and besides, I was the only person in there who actually took a ticket, everyone else just stood jostling and shoving up at the counter. I took ticket number 803 from the ladies ticket machine, and sat down.
After the jostling mass had been seen to ('ticket number 28, 29, 30...' I was feeling rather doubtful about reaching 803) I was beckoned to by the guy behind the counter. Ah, maybe this is the special ladies treatment!
'Phone number please' he said. I gave it to him.
‘I’m sorry ma’am, there is no record of that number ‘ he informed me
’Well, you just phoned me less than an hour ago' I calmly replied. He checked his screen again.
'Can you repeat the number please' he said. I repeated the number.
‘No, there is no shipment here for you' he said confidently.
'Yes there is, it says so online and YOU told me on the phone!' I retorted sounding more confident than I was feeling.
Customer service in the UAE is appalling, mainly due to language barriers and differing cultural expectations, i.e. I expect some service. He disappeared into another room and reappeared a minute later bearing a piece of paper, instructing me to phone the number on it.
I flounced out of the office and got into my car to phone the number. My two-year-old was crying and five and six-year-old-boys were engaged in earnest Spiderman moves. Phoning the number, I was informed by the Indian man on the other end of the line that there was no record of me EVER with Aramex, or I think that's what he said, two-year-old-boy was really starting to yell at this point. 'Hold on a minute' I instructed the man on the other end of the phone, ' can't hear you, let me get out of the car ' just as the Adhan began, aka 'call to prayer' and the air filled with the earsplitting wailing of the muezzin from the mosque nearby. 'Ah Jeezus' feeling like an embedded journalist in Iraq I hung up and went back into the office.
And so the dance began again. This time I had evidence as I handed over my phone with the call log showing that I received a call from them earlier that day. He disappeared again and emerged 10 minutes later with my parcel. Pleased with himself, he handed it over to me without explanation. ' Well what the hell was all that about then' I wanted to splutter, but gave up, nobody will be learning any lessons here today but me.
Still, I am happy with my new purchases and can justify the cost since I've made the wonderful discovery that Ramadan has saved me money. Usually at this point in the month we're down to our last few shillings until payday. But this month I've saved a fortune in afternoon coffees, lunches out and pointless purchases as I wander around the mall (which is only fun if it's punctuated with aforementioned coffee/lunch). Don't get me wrong, I'm deliriously happy that it is over, it was without doubt the dullest month of my entire life, comparable only to that of the month before my birth. Of course, saving cash aside, it had its compensations, i.e DH coming home early each day, but where's the fun in that if there's nothing to do? We lazed the entire month away, watching Spiderman 3 on a loop and snoozing on the sofa with the only exercise being the occasional race to the off license before 5 o’clock closing.
But the customer service issues remain. Now I’m not looking at the customer service in Ireland with rose tinted spectacles, it can be painfully bureaucratic and unhelpful, but at least you can make yourself understood, well, most of the time. But Ireland appears to be run with the efficiency of Microsoft compared with the UAE. When Etisalat, the national telecommunications provider cut off my house phone for non payment of the bill, trying to explain that I had never received a bill, despite several requests for it, fell on deaf ears. After several million calls, I was instructed to go into their offices where I could get a copy of the bill. And so, off I went to collect said bill only to be told by the misogynist dolt behind the counter that he couldn’t give me a copy of the bill as it was my ‘husbands business’. That I didn’t pull him across the counter is a miracle… When I finally received a bill, it was extortionately massive. Optimistically, I phoned customer service for advice on better tariffs. The helpful young woman on the end of the phone made the brilliant suggestion that an effective way of cutting down on the cost of my calls abroad was to block all outgoing calls abroad!
But this administrative quagmire is assuaged by the unrelenting kindness towards kids in restaurants and shops, particularly I noticed, in Abu Dhabi. Two-year-old boy is regularly carried off into kitchens and behind counters where he invariably emerges with lollipops, balloons and even toys. The two young men behind the counter in the GAP even allowed him to work the till. This never ceases to amaze and enchant me as in my own country arriving into a restaurant with kids is the dining equivalent of wearing a lepers bell. Some ignore us and some have been down right rude.
And so, dear reader, this shall be my last post from Al Ain. When next I write I will be in a shoebox in Ras Al Khaimah, but grateful to be in this crazy country for the time being, as the rest of the world struggles to recover from the financial mess it's in.
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