We walk into the cafe, and are immediately greeted by Ricardo at the door. Ricardo's eyes brighten up as he sees us, and we nod in unison, as if to ask him how he was doing. We shake hands, because that's what you do here. "How's it going, Ricardo?"
"I'm good sir," he says, all the while still flashing his smile, his eyes still lit up like a Christmas tree. Or the streets on Eid, I suppose, doing as the Romans do.
"How about two Saudi champagnes, then?"
"No problem sir," he says, as if something could go wrong while mixing fruit and juice.
Saudi champagne being the oxymoron that it is, considering it's as alcoholic as a glass of water, and the fruit dare not be even a week old.
He scurries to perform his faithful duties, and why wouldn't he? We've been tipping him pretty well for the past 5 years or so, at least. All the while with that smile of his, that seems like he just wakes up in the morning and puts it on like a mask, or make up.
We sit down on one of the tables, and the pockets start to get lighter. Out come the packs of cigarettes, sometimes several different brands mind you, depending on how many people there are. Then the cell phones, the keys to the cars - with their specific key chains, equipped with buttons to lock the doors, unlock the doors, or simply make that honking sound, because why not?
Sometimes even the wallet isn't allowed to sit in the back pockets, because it's just not comfortable, is it? The fatter it looks, the better. Even if it's just filled to the brim with old receipts and mostly useless foreign currency. Canada, the United Kingdom, the United States of America, the United Arab Emirates, and sometimes even Pakistan.
The layout is usually the same. Cell phone goes on top of the wallet, lighters go on top of the pack of cigarettes. All aligned neatly next to each other. The car keys lay idle wherever you want them.
It used to be, the cell phone's got to be as big as it could possibly get. It only meant it had all the more features, right? Things have since changed, and now it's supposed to be as small as it could possibly be, while equipped with the same amount of features, if not more. A camera on a cell phone is like a steering wheel in a car, just can't buy one without anymore.
Ricardo hurries back with the "champagnes," but he can't get comfortable yet, because we've been sitting at the "wrong table." One you can't sit at unless you're paying 30 Riyals an hour for it, because it's only available to customers shooting pool at one of the two tables at the secluded part of the cafe. The premium membership lounge of sorts.
"That guy's a real asshole," I tell Ricardo, talking about the douche that just made us get up off our table because we didn't want to shoot pool that certain day.
"Yes yes, I know, I know," Ricardo chimes in. A fine tuned harmony with the right amount of enthusiasm and agreement. Stating otherwise just wouldn't be loyal enough would it?
He's now apologizing for the other server while setting our drinks down, telling me it would've been different if he was serving the pool tables tonight. "Of course, I understand," Ricky boy. We've been pseudo helping out with you financing your family's luxuries back home in the Philippines.
Of course things would've been different if you were the only server.
"We're going to need another one of these, Ricardo." Since we have more company, right.
"Yes sir," he says and scurries back to his working quarters behind the bar.
Us, the minorities in the Middle East. Yet, royalty in our own right. So accustomed to luxury, and brainwashed to the brim to blindly follow consumerism, like rats following the pied piper. With our fancy cars, our fancy cell phones, our branded clothes from American Eagle, or Lee Cooper. Our Mercedes', our GMCs', and our Chevrolets'. Our Black Berry's, Nokias' and Sony Ericssons'.
Our "servants" every where we go, never mind the ones at home. Running after us, these even more singled out minorities, trying to feed their starving kids in all the 3rd world countries. "Back home."
Taking our shit, and smiling the whole time, while they curse us out in their spare time. They have a lot of that, while they can't sleep at night, asking themselves if this was the life they had envisioned when they decided to travel to make money.
Washing our tables behind us, picking up our glasses, and our ashtrays after we're done administering ourselves with the luxury of cancer.
Cleaning up after us, as we get up and walk to our expensive fucking cars with tinted windows, Bose speakers and subwoofers, and Kenwood fucking cd player with 6-discs changers.
Us, the royalty. Consumerism has us brainwashed, and we don't even know it, there's no sugar coating it or hiding it behind analogies. "We buy things we don't need, to impress people we don't like, with money we don't necessarily have."
But it works, doesn't it? Because we cease to be bothered about slightly more meaningful things, like what we're doing with ourselves, or how we treat all those that are way less fortunate than we have been. What we can rather be doing, with ourselves and our lives. We can't be bothered to discuss human life, or politics, or business.
We're too busy checking in to foursquare with our blackberry.
Us, the royalty, the consumers. Rendered neutralized, and well... consumed.
"I'm good sir," he says, all the while still flashing his smile, his eyes still lit up like a Christmas tree. Or the streets on Eid, I suppose, doing as the Romans do.
"How about two Saudi champagnes, then?"
"No problem sir," he says, as if something could go wrong while mixing fruit and juice.
Saudi champagne being the oxymoron that it is, considering it's as alcoholic as a glass of water, and the fruit dare not be even a week old.
He scurries to perform his faithful duties, and why wouldn't he? We've been tipping him pretty well for the past 5 years or so, at least. All the while with that smile of his, that seems like he just wakes up in the morning and puts it on like a mask, or make up.
We sit down on one of the tables, and the pockets start to get lighter. Out come the packs of cigarettes, sometimes several different brands mind you, depending on how many people there are. Then the cell phones, the keys to the cars - with their specific key chains, equipped with buttons to lock the doors, unlock the doors, or simply make that honking sound, because why not?
Sometimes even the wallet isn't allowed to sit in the back pockets, because it's just not comfortable, is it? The fatter it looks, the better. Even if it's just filled to the brim with old receipts and mostly useless foreign currency. Canada, the United Kingdom, the United States of America, the United Arab Emirates, and sometimes even Pakistan.
The layout is usually the same. Cell phone goes on top of the wallet, lighters go on top of the pack of cigarettes. All aligned neatly next to each other. The car keys lay idle wherever you want them.
It used to be, the cell phone's got to be as big as it could possibly get. It only meant it had all the more features, right? Things have since changed, and now it's supposed to be as small as it could possibly be, while equipped with the same amount of features, if not more. A camera on a cell phone is like a steering wheel in a car, just can't buy one without anymore.
Ricardo hurries back with the "champagnes," but he can't get comfortable yet, because we've been sitting at the "wrong table." One you can't sit at unless you're paying 30 Riyals an hour for it, because it's only available to customers shooting pool at one of the two tables at the secluded part of the cafe. The premium membership lounge of sorts.
"That guy's a real asshole," I tell Ricardo, talking about the douche that just made us get up off our table because we didn't want to shoot pool that certain day.
"Yes yes, I know, I know," Ricardo chimes in. A fine tuned harmony with the right amount of enthusiasm and agreement. Stating otherwise just wouldn't be loyal enough would it?
He's now apologizing for the other server while setting our drinks down, telling me it would've been different if he was serving the pool tables tonight. "Of course, I understand," Ricky boy. We've been pseudo helping out with you financing your family's luxuries back home in the Philippines.
Of course things would've been different if you were the only server.
"We're going to need another one of these, Ricardo." Since we have more company, right.
"Yes sir," he says and scurries back to his working quarters behind the bar.
Us, the minorities in the Middle East. Yet, royalty in our own right. So accustomed to luxury, and brainwashed to the brim to blindly follow consumerism, like rats following the pied piper. With our fancy cars, our fancy cell phones, our branded clothes from American Eagle, or Lee Cooper. Our Mercedes', our GMCs', and our Chevrolets'. Our Black Berry's, Nokias' and Sony Ericssons'.
Our "servants" every where we go, never mind the ones at home. Running after us, these even more singled out minorities, trying to feed their starving kids in all the 3rd world countries. "Back home."
Taking our shit, and smiling the whole time, while they curse us out in their spare time. They have a lot of that, while they can't sleep at night, asking themselves if this was the life they had envisioned when they decided to travel to make money.
Washing our tables behind us, picking up our glasses, and our ashtrays after we're done administering ourselves with the luxury of cancer.
Cleaning up after us, as we get up and walk to our expensive fucking cars with tinted windows, Bose speakers and subwoofers, and Kenwood fucking cd player with 6-discs changers.
Us, the royalty. Consumerism has us brainwashed, and we don't even know it, there's no sugar coating it or hiding it behind analogies. "We buy things we don't need, to impress people we don't like, with money we don't necessarily have."
But it works, doesn't it? Because we cease to be bothered about slightly more meaningful things, like what we're doing with ourselves, or how we treat all those that are way less fortunate than we have been. What we can rather be doing, with ourselves and our lives. We can't be bothered to discuss human life, or politics, or business.
We're too busy checking in to foursquare with our blackberry.
Us, the royalty, the consumers. Rendered neutralized, and well... consumed.
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