I was sitting in a cafe in Beirut today -- a pseudo-Starbucks, yet equally elegant and serving more tea and coffee varieties than I count. I had my laptop open while sipping my tea -- decaff tea !! Decaff tea had a special property: I could remember its name two seconds after the waiter had finished listing the twenty or so varieties which were available from the original menu. Who on earth drinks decaff tea?!
Anyways, I was having decaff tea. I would be looking at my hand-written notes, then looking at my laptop screen to decide where a sentence would fit, and then put it there. It sounds easy, but it's not. At least the tall girl with freckles sitting opposite in the corner made it seem much more difficult.
My natural curiosity, added to my inclination -- as an Arab -- to shamelessly stare at strangers, along with my attention span of a five- year old with ADHD, made the girl something less challenging to look at than my notes or my laptop screen. It was an envious look rather than a coveting one.
She wasn't even looking at any notes. She would quince at her screen for a few seconds, and then set on a typing sprint for a whole minute or two. Sure! Rub it in Miss I Can Type So Fast I Could Make You Hate Yourself. So you think you're so cool because you get eight hours of sleep? You're square, let me tell you that! Organised people are losers! (I think ?)
Anyways. The scene gets a bit more complicated. A man in his mid-thirties appeared on the other side of the glass wall. He said something, or at least tried to. I didn't understand what he's trying to say. Then he pointed to the door, asking me to meet him outside, so I did.
- ' I'm from the area of [....], I came looking for a job and I'm out money'
- 'Which village do you come from?'
- 'I'm from [...]'
It was time to reach for my resort of everything I learned about beggars. OK, let's see. So when we were kids, my parents always warned us about being naive and giving money to beggars. People had to work for their money , especially if they could! Couldn't he sell tissues or chewing gum at the traffic light? Then he shouldn't be begging. Had he been selling chewing gum or tissues, then it would have been my moral and social obligation to buy whatever he sold -- even if I didn't need it -- in order to encourage his participation as a productive member of society.
And I do hate pity. It's such a condescending feeling. I prefer sympathy. I mean, even if he was swindling me, shouldn't he receive my compassion because he had to do it in the first place? I said compassion! Is compassion closer to sympathy, or pity?
However, the guy soon pushed to quit my hesitation . Having seen that I was staring sternly at his face, he decided that he should make more of an effort to earn my money. He started crying! That was the most pathetic feigned crying I had ever seen! It was pathetic, and I hate pity! I just needed him to stop embarrassing himself. I usually hate seeing embarrassed people, or people embarrassing themselves, more than I hate the feeling of embarrassment itself (OK, I probably hate them equally).
Anyways, I reached for my wallet and took out a 5000 pound note . (LOOK UP THE EXCHANGE RATE YOURSELF! ) I rationilised my final decision: I would prefer to be swindled rather than burden my conscience with denying help to someone who potentially needed it -- out of sympathy of course ! The fact that I felt self-sympathy because of the tall girl who could type very fast must have contributed to my final decision.In any case, it was the price of a beer or another cup of decaff tea with tips. What if the guy was a heroine junky and he couldn't afford his next shot? It was unfair that I could afford my fix of beer or decaff tea while he couldn't afford his!
- ' Whether you're telling the truth or not ....'
- 'God shall be the arbiter! ...but I need to see you again to pay you back the money'
- 'Just go!'
I went back in. The tall girl was still typing very fast. A few minutes later, she packed her stuff and walked out with a smirk on her face. I was still sitting playing Tetris with my notes.
