Diplomacy

Just after my Dad died in 1999 I was going to Malaysia, from Scotland, to visit my wife’s family. Wife and son had already gone for an extended holiday but, since I had only two weeks, I left later so that we could return together.

It was necessary to telephone Lufthansa with whom I was flying from Frankfurt to Singapore:

(Translated from the German)

“Lufthansa customer service. May I help you?”

“I’d like to order a halal meal on the flight.”

“Uh… what is this ‘halal’, sir?”

“Islamic food. Food for Muslims.”

“This is not on our list, sir.”

“Do you have kosher food?”

“Oh, yes, sir. This is food for Jews, yes?”

“How odd.”

“Why is this odd, sir?”

“Germany is now full of Muslims – mostly from Turkey, but you have few Jewish people left because you killed them all in the last war… [click] Hello?... Hello?...”

So much for customer service.

Fast forward to 2006. Texas.

At this point I had not realised that ‘Walmart’ was a magnet for people who were cerebrally disadvantaged.

In passing the photographic film development area I noticed that an elderly woman was haranguing the young lady who was working behind the counter. This same young lady was wearing a headscarf in the manner of Muslim ladies.

Me, “Excuse me, Madame. Are you out on day release or did you just walk out?”

Elderly Lady (EL), “What? Who the hell are you?”

Me, “I am a person who is concerned for your health. Have you missed your medication today?”

EL, “What the hell are you talking about? Are you God-damned British?”

Me, “English, yes.”

EL, “She,” pointing at the counter assistant, “She’s a God-damned Moslem terrorist!”

Me, “Oh, I see. You are frightened.”

EL, “No, I ain’t frightened – I’m from Texas.”

Me, “I do not fear her either. It seems that her career as a terrorist is off to a shaky start.”

EL, “She’s likely got bomb making things in her apartment. Her God came from a white moon!”

Me, “Good grief! Was that a random thought or did the voices tell you to say that?”

EL, “She doesn’t belong in a civilised country!”

Me, “She is not in one. Is there someone we can call? Someone who normally takes care of you?”

EL, staring wildly at me, “You’re mad. You Brits are all mad!”

Me, “It is not my mental health that is in question here. Do you have your medication on you or did you leave it in the ward?”

EL utters expletive and storms off.

A few days later I met a lovely young lady working in the ‘Virgin Records’ shop in Grapevine Mall who complained that she wanted to go home to New York because she felt like an alien here in Texas.

“They are so racist,” she told me.

“I, too, have been accused of being one of those ‘God-damned Cat Licks’, whatever that means,” I assured her.

A week later, in that same Grapevine Mall, a matronly lady who had been in the queue for a beverage, as they like to put it, sat diagonally opposite me at the table to consume said beverage.

She thought for a moment and then asked me if I was British.

“Yes, ma’am. I am.”

She thought some more and then leaned towards me and asked, “Is that near London?”

I still have no idea what the correct response to that might be.

Texas and ‘Walmart’. What a delightful combination. I wonder if there will be a series?