Uzbekistan Blues
Sunday, July 06, 2008
And she called later several times. The first call came shortly after I returned to the office; she was back in her office and seemed to be calling for no particular reason; she was bored at work. She asked whether I would be going to Alyssa's party -- the one which we had just been invited to. I said I had to think about it. I could tell she wanted to chat, perhaps just needed to hear another person's voice, but I had work to do and hastily brushed her off, telling her I'd call her later.
I was sweating away in my office, trying to cool off with the assistance of standing fan; the new air conditioners hanging on the wall did little in this heat, and if I turned one on and sat right under it, one of the staff would come over and warn me about how dangerous it was, about how having and conditioner blow directly on you could make you sick. This was one of my habits that would disturb my local staff tremendously. Another might be the way on such hot days I would drink ice cold water that I had left in the refrigerator; they would warn how this would give me a soar throat and then I'd get sick. I would smile sheepishly at them, finish my drink and shrug my shoulders, not responding and walking away mildly annoyed, but reasoning to myself how everyone was entitled to believe what they wished. I knew other foreigners who would take the time to explain to them about bacteria and viruses, in the same way that my parents once did to me when I was a child and they had heard that my immigrant grandparents had put the same ideas in my head. Whether they convinced anyone remained to be seen; I had resigned myself to not argue with them on beliefs that they clung to with such conviction, and could live with giving them the impression that I was foolhardy or a risk-taker.
I went to the refrigerator and poured myself an ice cold glass of water, and felt sorry for Rustam, the correspondent from the very hot southern part of the country, who watched on in silent horror as I smiled and gulped down my water. I thought, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to give a chance to the social life of the expatriate bubble that would most likely be at Alyssa's party. It might seem a little middle American, middle aged, mediocre. But generally, these folks lived in grand houses, much more impressive than my modest apartment. They had great air conditioning, ice cold drinks. We had this much in common, at least. ¶ 10:32 PM 0 Comments
I was sweating away in my office, trying to cool off with the assistance of standing fan; the new air conditioners hanging on the wall did little in this heat, and if I turned one on and sat right under it, one of the staff would come over and warn me about how dangerous it was, about how having and conditioner blow directly on you could make you sick. This was one of my habits that would disturb my local staff tremendously. Another might be the way on such hot days I would drink ice cold water that I had left in the refrigerator; they would warn how this would give me a soar throat and then I'd get sick. I would smile sheepishly at them, finish my drink and shrug my shoulders, not responding and walking away mildly annoyed, but reasoning to myself how everyone was entitled to believe what they wished. I knew other foreigners who would take the time to explain to them about bacteria and viruses, in the same way that my parents once did to me when I was a child and they had heard that my immigrant grandparents had put the same ideas in my head. Whether they convinced anyone remained to be seen; I had resigned myself to not argue with them on beliefs that they clung to with such conviction, and could live with giving them the impression that I was foolhardy or a risk-taker.
I went to the refrigerator and poured myself an ice cold glass of water, and felt sorry for Rustam, the correspondent from the very hot southern part of the country, who watched on in silent horror as I smiled and gulped down my water. I thought, perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to give a chance to the social life of the expatriate bubble that would most likely be at Alyssa's party. It might seem a little middle American, middle aged, mediocre. But generally, these folks lived in grand houses, much more impressive than my modest apartment. They had great air conditioning, ice cold drinks. We had this much in common, at least. ¶ 10:32 PM 0 Comments
