Sex, lies and shish kebob
Part 2: The games Iranian girls play: always acting,
always dramatic, always cunning;
it never ends
Parts (1) (2) (3)
February 11, 2005
iranian.com
"No. I'm pretty big myself."
"Yeah,
right."
"No, really, I'm big." "Well, congratulations."
"You don't believe me, do
you?"
"Hey, it's okay." "I'm serious; let's go in the back, I'll show
you," I said.
The girl bounced up from her chair like a loaded
spring and smacked me in the head with her purse. I hit the floor
like
a lump of raw
meat. I couldn't believe it. I was bitch-slapped by a girl.
Not exactly what you would call a shinny narcissistic moment!
It took me a few seconds to get my composure back and get back
on my feet. As I turned around, I found my father and the headwaiter
approaching.
"What did you do to her?" My father yelled.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"I did nothing. She was ..."
"Shut up and
listen for one second," my father said. "Here
is the first rule of business: you piss-off customers after --
I repeat -- AFTER they pay. What the hell is the matter with you?
Can
you do anything right? I swear to God if you ever show me you can
do one thing right -- only one thing -- I'll go back to that
kitchen and die a happy man."
"Dad, I just asked her to look at
my ..."
"What?"
"Nothing. Sorry, it won't happen again."
"Get back
to your table and earn your living."
"Yes, sir."
I got back to my table and found a Mansour
look-alike sitting there by his lonesome. Thank God, I thought
to myself.
I couldn't handle another Iranian woman tonight. "What can I get
you?" I asked the Mansour look-alike.
"Zahr (poison). Get me the
strongest zahr you got in the back. Better yet, get me a loaded
gun." "Huh?"
"Screw this life. I wanna end it all right
here, right now."
"You okay?"
"Do I look okay? Huh? I had it, man. I
had it with these Iranian women. Get me a freakin' gun, man."
This
is not happening. This must be the worst night of my life.
"Listen,
dude. This is a shish kabob joint, not a therapy session. Order
something or
get out."
"You don't understand. I'm suicidal, man.
And it's all because of these pretentious
Iranian
women.
They make you wanna hang yourself. It's
all a game, brother.
It's
all a
conceited, shallow game."
"I hear you. I just got my butt handed
to me by one them," I said.
"That's
exactly what I'm talking about. Aren't they arrogant or what?
The only
thing that
matters to them is money. From the
day they are born
they're trained
to
sniff out
money.
Doesn't matter if you are brilliant
or creative or have a good heart,
hell no,
it doesn't
matter at
all."
"I feel you, man."
"And games they play -- always acting,
always dramatic, always cunning;
it never ends,"
the guy said.
"Yeah, amen."
"First they find out what you
do for a living. If you generate
less
than
six digits,
forget
about it,
they
won't even
recognize you. If you drive
a German camel, they'll be all
over you.
But you drive a German camel
light or Japanese, they treat
you like
you got
a contagious
disease."
"German camel light?"
"Yeah, that's a German car
that costs less than
sixty grand,"
the guy said.
"Oh, yeah.
I hate those."
"Yeah, me too. Anyways,
if by some act of
faith you
get her
attention,
then
help you
God because
your
life will
turn
into a livin' hell.
Let the games begin.
Even though she is
supposedly with you,
at the same
time, she has her
eyes on a couple of
doctors
and bankers,
just in case things
go south. And then she implements
her
conniving plans
to cut
you
off from your
family. You wake
up one day
and your mom and
your sisters
don't
talk to you anymore.
You don't even know
what happened."
The guy started crying.
I handed him a
napkin.
"Then she moves
on to the next
stage,"
the
guy continued,
"which is to
completely remove
you
from any contact
with your friends.
Anytime you wanna
go out with
your buddies,
she'll cook up some drama
and make you
rush to her rescue.
Before
you know
it, you've lost
all contacts
with your
friends."
This
dude knew his stuff. I
pulled a
chair and
sat at his
table.
"And
then what happens?" I
asked, listening
attentively
to
master Yuda.
"Then,
you find yourself
lonely
and isolated,
spending
all your
time
with her
friends
-- day and night,
somehow
you always end
up hangin'
around
with her best
friends.
And then
the
crying
game starts,
'oh, look
at Laleh's
fifty-carat
diamond,
her boyfriend
just
bought
it for
her; wish
I had one
of
those.'
Or 'Oh
my God, my
sister's
husband
just bought
her a brand
new Mercedes,
how come
you never
buy me
anything.'"
 "That sucks,
dude."
"Sure does.
And
then
comes
the
grand finale."
"What's
that?"
"The
Iranian women's
infamous words:
'I'm a
nice Iranian
girl and
we nice
Iranian girls
don't date.
So if
you wanna
see me,
you have
to come
and talk
to my
dad.'
"Oh,
that's cold,"
I said.
"It's
all a
ploy to
get you
in. You
sit in
front of
her dad,
askin' him
to let
you date
his daughter,
not knowing
that they're
ordering the
wedding dress
in the
other room.
You are
screwed and
you don't
even know
it."
"Uh,
man. They
trap you.
I heard
about that
stuff," I
said.
"That's
not even
the worst
part."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah,
dude. One
day you
wake up
and you
find yourself
in bed
next to
her with
a ring
in your
finger and
you don't
know how
you got
there. It's
like, you
have no
recollection of
how that
ring ended
up in
your finger.
They put
something in
your food,
dude. And
then her
parents run
your miserable
life. You
might as
well cut
off your
balls, put
'em in
a jar
and hand
'em to
her parents
as a
wedding gift."
"Uh,
dude, I
feel your
pain."
The
guy looked
up and
froze. His
face turned
white like
he had
seen ghost.
He knocked
the table
over and
dove to
the ground.
"What
the hell
are you
doing?" I
asked the
dude.
"She's here...
my girlfriend... she's
here. Help
me, please."
 I
looked
up
and
saw
the UCLA
Persian
Barbie
Club moving
to our
table
in
decisive
strides.
I shit
my pants.
The girls
were
coming
to whoop
some serious
butt.
"Get
up.
You're
leaving,"
the
girlfriend
said
to
the
guy.
"Help
me,"
the
guy
said,
trembling. >>> Part (3)
Parts (1) (2) (3)
About
Siamack Baniameri is the author of The
Iranican Dream, (Virtualbookworm.com Publishing, December 2004).
Also see Iranican-Dream.com.
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