On Exhibitionism in Dubai and Such

So the people I work for decided to put my overblown title to actual use. So thinking it would be a good idea on their part(this is where all bad things begin from; assumedly good ideas), they threw me in the first exhibition that came their way. I hooked myself an impromptu tie and plastered the widest and shiniest smile I can muster as random strangers came up to me and asked me the weirdest shit ever.

Random visior: If I go out, can I still come back in?
Me: No, the police of not allowing people to reenter open and free exhibitions will hound and throw you in the first local jail with the gang that stole from Al-Wafi Mall.

I totally feel for zoo animals now; people walking by, pointing fingers, throwing food at them (thank God this didn't happen although our stall was actually like a replacement trash can)

Girl: Look daddy! It's a polar bear!
Dad: Yeah just keep your hands away from the cage sweetie.
Girl: Look daddy it's really white. (pulls a couple of hairs from its nose)
Polar bear shrieks in terror and blinks away tears of pain.

Apart from the beautiful decoration of the stalls and booths and hi-tech LCDs playing the same goddamn songs over and over, there was another beautiful scenery that was not taken note of.

Me (to myself- which by the way I do a lot): All this potential, and no gawking, no staring, no whistling, no animal-like noises, barks and yelps?! This is what not being in Amman really means. Man, I should do something about this. After all, the ladies will be offended if everyone was so polite.

So when I wasn't busy actually working, or daydreaming of little girls with cotton-candy and handul of polar bear whiskers, I would visit the hot, marketing girls in the other booths and put on my best comedy perfomance.

Cute girl(s): Ha ha ha. You're funny.
Me: Yeah I know. Everyone tells me that. Do you have email? (cute girl prompts to write down her email)

I managed to hustle 3 emails and a phone number. Not bad. And no, those don't belong to Ukranian or Ethiopian models who can barely spell their names. By the end of the exhibition I was escaping my booth, to avoid conflict of interests, per se.

Hindu coworker: Man, where are you? Your friend keeps passing by here.
Me: Errr, if anyone asks for me, tell them you don't know where I am.
Hindu coworker sulks away with a head wiggle.

Apart from all of that, there was a separate section for toys. Dancing robots, lego, puppets everything that the 10-year old inside me adores. I would've danced with the robots, but I would've felt alienated.

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