Alex, the car and Hakim
Updated: 11 hours ago
Enough! Let's skip the introductions and get straight to the core of the stories.
First, I will tell about the third miracle that definitively settled the question, "Is now the time to go on a round-the-world trip?"
I have a small car. Again, full of fear, I publish an ad on an internet site and also tell my friend Yaeli that the car, well-preserved like an Ultra Orthodox virgin, is up for sale. Yaeli sais, "I'll tell Mohanned." In other words, telling Mohanned means this car will be snatched up in a second.
A day passes, two days, a week goes by, and only at the end of the second week Mohanned calls and says there is one interested party. I also get one call from the second hand site but that party asks a question and says the price is too high. I am beginning to have doubts.
Having no choice, I lower the price and wait again for interested buyers. After another week of silence, the phone rings, and I hear a message, "Another customer who is interested in your ad on Yad2 is calling you!" There is a click and then I hear the voice of a young man. He asks many questions and requests to lower the price and take the car for inspection. At this stage I'm in a panic that no one is ever going to buy car, so I agree to everything.
On the scheduled date, Alex, the young man, and his wife arrive, and we all drive to the TechnoTest garage—a licensing and inspection facility before purchase in Or Akiva. We wait for half an hour for a clerk to register us, expecting to be called in for inspection immediately after registering.
An hour passes and we are still waiting. My patience runs out, and then I make a terrible mistake—I decide to inquire what is happening. I ask someone "who is in charge?" and he points in a general direction "over there". I stomp off in that direction and see a door half open. I assume that behind that door is the person who will get things going or, at least, tell me what to expect.
Unbeknown to me, sitting in that room is a fairly burly man who is just about to have his very late, very warm lunch, all shoved into an oval pita bread, and when I push that door open he has just taken a huge bite out of that pita and it is boiling hot and oozing Tahini all over his face. "Bon appetite, and excuse me. Can you tell me when my car will be examined?" I ask as his face goes all red and his cheeks look as if they're about to blow up. He fiercely waves the hand that isn't holding his pita meal and his message is clear: "get out before I kill you!!!" I quickly leave the room.
In an organized vehicle inspection facility or in fact in any service facility in the Middle East, it's important to remember; you don’t ask anyone at any time what's happening. At this point it was obvious that the fate of my little car was sealed.
Another half hour passes, and someone slowly walks towards us and takes the car for the long awaited inspection. The inspection lasts another half hour and includes a test drive by the mechanic. We are then called into the manager's office. Surprise, surprise! It' the very same burly man I had disturbed just a moment ago! He pulls out a sheet of paper as long as the Declaration of Independence, marked from top to bottom with ominous red X's.
Just like at a health clinic, where you go in completely healthy, have some tests and come out a woman on the brink of death, it turned out that I had entered the garage with a healthy and well-preserved car, and now, after the experts' inspection, I was the owner of apiece of junk worth nothing.
Alex's eyes light up, and his wife struggles not to burst out laughing. Even before we get to the car, he has already lowered the original price by another two thousand shekels. I forget all about my new movement in space, my breathing and my mindfulness, and am as tense and jumpy as a small rubber ball. I feel so insulted that all I want is to be rid of the garage, the buyer, and the car. I nod my head and agree to everything.
Then he says: "Wait, I just need to consult my wife."
They stand with their backs to me, and after a few minutes, he returns and announces: "My wife says that all these repairs will cost us at least another thousand shekels!" I am on the verge of weeping and howling my grief, so I immediately agree, sign a letter of intent, and Alex transfers a thousand shekels to my account. The only condition I set is that the car will remain in my possession until the day I leave, and on that day, Alex will drive me to the post office, we will transfer ownership, and then he will take me to the train station.
At night, I cannot sleep. With my eyes closed and in complete silence, I scream at Alex, his wife, and the garage manager with screams that only god in heaven can hear.
The next day, while my mind is still shouting, the phone suddenly rings. Yaeli's Mohanned is calling to inform me that he has a client that wants my car right now, at this very moment. I apologize and explain that I have already signed a letter of intent, and money had been exchanged between myself and the other party.
I continue preparing for my journey, while waves of nausea and rage wash over me every time I remember the garage, the manager, Alex and his wife.
Two days before the ownership transfer and my departure from the country, while driving in the sweetest car there ever was, the phone rings, and Alex's name flashes across the screen. What the hell does this guy want from me now?! I wonder. Hasn’t there been enough humiliation I ponder as I unwillingly answer the call. "I want to go for another inspection," Alex announces. "Pardon?" I don't think I heard him properly. "I think the inspection at the facility in Or Akiva wasn’t thorough enough, and I want to go for another inspection," he repeats his demand.
A red screen covers my eyes. Before I understand what is happening, all the screams that haven’t been screamed properly burst forth from my throat, and I inform this Alex that he can shove his fucking inspection up his arse, that for all I care he can sue me, and that I will be returning his miserable thousand shekels, and that he can go look for another effing sucker. My car is not for sale, not to him or his miserable wife!
As soon as the shouting ends and Alex and his wife vanish from my life forever, the phone rings again. Mohanned asks if the sales of the car is quite definite and final. Warm waves of joy flood through my body, and I ceremoniously inform Yaeli's friend that the deal with the original buyer had been canceled and that the car, well-preserved like a Haredi virgin, is still for sale. Mohanned announces that the buyer will come immediately and purchase the car without an inspection and according to my requested price—more or less.
And so it is. Within an hour and a half, Rufa'id the son and Hakim the father arrive. While Hakim drinks coffee with me and smokes a cigarette, Rufa'id takes the car for a spin. When the son returns, he only mentions that the clutch is a wee bit high and that it would cost a certain amount to fix it. We deduct the cost of the repair from the original price, and Hakim promptly transfers the remaining balance to my account.
The only condition I set is that the car remains in my possession until the day I leave, and on that day, either Hakim, Rufa'id, or one of the brothers will drive me to the post office to complete the ownership transfer, and then one of them will take me to the train station.
This was the third and final miracle that definitively settled the question, "Is now the time to go on a round-the-world trip?"
Comments