Merely Whelmed

An analysis of the misanthrope

Lessons in Diplomacy August 29, 2006

Filed under: Human Experiments, Uncategorized — tirunesh @ 11:52 am

When Arabic comes through the English channel the UN delegates lose all composure and mayhem ensues! Laughter. Excitement. Loud and childlike chatter that arises in a third grade class when the teacher’s boyfriend knocks at the door, or Sheldon lets out an armpit fart. It’s a crazy time when the channels get crossed and the Chairman bangs his little mallot and interrupts the meeting in his very charming New Zealand accent, “Uh, excuse me distinguished colleagues. Does anyone else hear Arabic on the English Channel? May I request that the technicians look into this problem. I suspend the meeting until further notice.”

It is also a crazy time when delegates, after a long day of tedious deliberations, are invited to unwind at a reception hosted by Finland one night, by New Zealand another, Costa Rica a third and Argentina a fourth. Really, no one discriminates. Yes, I even forced myself to taste a Merlot on Tuesday night. In fact, I had no choice but to drink it and keep drinking it all night long. The beauty of the United Nations is that, with the objective of international cooperation, all delegates will go to all receptions no matter which wine is being served. And they will drink it and they will pretend to love it. It is purely altruistic, purely diplomatic and rather self-sacrificial.

Diplomacy is hard work. The diplomat must always retain composure and grace under duress, whether it be political tension, personal attacks or severe intoxication. I witnessed one such moment of shining diplomacy at the Finnish reception on Wednesday night. The distinguished representative of an EU state dragged himself out to this reception out of an obligation to stand united under the European banner. You see, Finland currently holds the chair of the European Union at the UN and so the EU states must be seen as a cohesive unit, willing to compromise on ideologies and positions in order to speak as one unified voice via the Finnish proxy.

So this distinguished delegate is sipping glass after glass of wine–white, red, rose, whatever is handed to him, to show support for his regional political association. In the midst of this sacrificial time for him, he catches a glimpse of a beautiful young woman from across the large reception hall. She catches his attention because, as opposed to all the other composed people in the room, her laugh is boisterous and her gesticulations are grandiose.

As a charming and refined diplomat, he fancies himself capable of wooing her by delivering her a glass of wine. Little does he know that this woman, although younger and less diplomatic than he, is well aware that the wine is free, and so this gesture, although appreciated, was not quite enough to convince her of this man’s worth.

Playful intellectual and political banter ensues between the two of them. Thinking she would find his experience captivating, he gives her tips on diplomacy and composure. He, twenty years her senior, thinks he holds some older-man mystique. She, however, just finds his sly advances amusing. After much too short a period of time, through his eclectic European accent and in what he hopes will come across as iambic pentametre, he tells her that “despite her young age”, he finds her unbearably beautiful and intriguing. She plays along because, well, why not. She is thoroughly amused.

Then he says, “Is there anyone behind me?”

She says, “No”.

His neck, like a chicken’s, shoots forward in an effort to allow his lips to land atop hers.

Despite her age, however, she had preempted this attack and casually moved her head back well before contact could be made.

The diplomat, not accustomed to stumbling, loses all balance, physical and emotional, spills his wine on the carpet and turns red. Trying to regain his composure, he says to the young woman with a crackle in his voice, “Why did you just cause that scene? Allowing me to kiss you would have been much more discreet than this!”

“Ah yes,” she replies, “But you, distinguished colleague, failed to react diplomatically to this contingency and so, despite your age, you have come across as inexperienced and foolish.”

 

I’m one of THOSE people now too! August 12, 2006

Filed under: Adventures in Travel — tirunesh @ 10:00 pm

In times of self-preservation, all sensitivities dissolve and hidden biases jet forth and transform an otherwise courteous and politically correct person into a raw and racist fearful human. I just spent an entire day travelling to New York City from Ottawa–normally one of the least worrisome flights I have to endure. Well, not today, three days after an increase in homeland security colours. I think we are on orange today. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever flown US Air in my life, but the day before the world fell apart, the cheapest flight I could find was through Philly to New York on said airline.

The day began stupidly. I had only gotten 4 hours of sleep when the alarm went off at 8 am and I had to drag myself out of bed for a flight that was to leave at 1:30 pm, because the airline said that I’d have to be there 3 hours prior since they are pretty much strip searching everyone. Turned out that that was about 2.5 hours too early in the Ottawa airport’s meager traffic. In those three hours, I talked to my ex-boyfriend on the phone for an hour (a long overdue call), I resolved my best-friend’s footwear crisis, I made a friend from Madrid, I managed to get hit on by 3 customs agents, smuggled a sinister lip chap past the security guards, and ate two square meals. The flight to Philly was relatively uneventful. But as soon as I stepped out of the plane in the US airport, there was no denying how terrified people were–a fear that quickly rubbed off on me.

For Christ’s Sake! There are signs everywhere with images of hair gel, toothpaste and hand cream, emblazoned with the words: These items will be confiscated! As you read the posters, your ears are filled with that east coast accent saying sternly, “Failure to surrender these items will result in detention.” Jesus Christ! Makes you feel like a criminal just for using hair products. In the security line up, people scoff at you when the agents remove a bottle of water from your purse.

So as I wait to get searched for the last leg of my journey, I notice a suspicious looking guy waiting line, but pacing around. He’s trying to finagle something from the flight agents at the desk. A better seat perhaps? Or a strategic seat? The latter is what my mind tells me. Ya, he fits the stereotype perfectly, ok? Is that what you wanted to know? Well he does and all of a sudden, his appearance coupled with his behaviour freak me out. Should I tell someone to check him more thoroughly? I watch the security guard frisk him as routinely as she did the dainty 12 year old girl before him. Now I’m freaked out even more. I get on the plane. That guy is sitting in the first row of the Dash 8. I think the 8 signifies the 8 rows of seats in the plane–not a very significant flight to want to blow up, but a US flight nonetheless. It’s fair game, I suppose. I sit down, buckle up and try to chill out. I barely even look at the person in the seat beside me until he starts to shift around, exasperated at the fact that the plane is full and we are not moving. “When are we going to leave? The flight is late taking off! What is taking so long?” he mumbles anxiously as he grasps the seat in front of him and stands up to look toward the front. Now I notice that he too fits the stereotype in more ways than one and I so I begin to plan my heroic plot to thwart what is now an imminent terrorist attack on my plane. I don’t let myself fall asleep for the whole flight so that I can monitor the situation. The guy is so nervous–rubbing his hands, looking at his watch, looking out the window, commenting on how small and shaky the plane is, looking around eerily. But half way through the flight he falls asleep and I convince myself that a real terrorist wouldn’t be able to sleep right before detonating a toothpaste bomb. So I relax and then feel like such a jerk for being so stupid and allowing the fear campaign to get the best of me.

Anyway, we land safely, although the Dash 8 almost flipped over just before landing, at which point my neighbour let out a huge cry of horror while grabbing my arm. Poor little guy. He was just scared shitless of flying, nothing more.

I head for the baggage claim in Laguardia. Me and my fellow Dash Eighters wait for about a half hour and nothing appears. I’m rocking out to Black Betty on my MP3 player that my brother convinced me to bring at the last minute so I’m totally cool. I’ve got nowhere to be, and since I survived orange level threats, I figure I may as well just go with the flow and enjoy whatever adventures the day wants to throw my way now. So, of course, US Air has managed to neglect to put ALL our bags on the flight. How? Christ only knows. Maybe it was a way to save on fuel or maybe the bag guys were smoking crack under the plane and were convinced that the plane’s underbelly was filled with gastric acid and so in an altruistic move, decided to save the luggage and send it on the next flight. Whatever the case, I still don’t have my bags. So I left the airport with minimal weight (rather pleasant actually) and walked for an hour, taking the long road to my hotel.

I drank the best iced cap that has ever been presented to me. I sat in the park. I called my good friend who lives in Brooklyn, who is teaching a yoga class tomorrow that I will attend, and will now spend the rest of my night looking for adventure, although I do wish I had my adventure buddy here with me to share in the excitement.

All in all, an exciting day. Anything that is out of the ordinary is fine by me.

Love to all

T