You wake up and there’s no electricity.
You spend a few minutes hoping that a fairy will drop some magic dust into the gasping generator since it’s run out of fuel due to the last stint of electricity cuts.
After realizing you’re going to be late if you just wait for a basic utility to appear at the flip of a switch (silly rabbit), you pray your humidified hair does not need any coiffing that may need electric devices. However, it does so you decide that you’ll just shower and air-dry only to find that…
Because there’s no electricity, there’s no hot water.
Desperate times call for desperate measures and you think, “what’s a little cold water?” but then the weak water pressure makes you feel as if a Martian has decided to suck your brain out through your hair follicles.
Once you eventually make it to your car, you find that a neighbor has blocked yours. You proceed to call, honk and buzz the dead intercom incessantly just to wake them up so they can move their chariot while giving you dirty half-asleep looks as they mumble charming words about your mother and sister.
Driving through the streets, wondering how anyone else on the road has a license or a car for that matter, a pointy shoed human on a motored scooter zooms by and hits your side mirror. He yells at you for not using said mirror and speeds off with his cow-licked hair glued to his head as he pulls a wheelie.
The “policeman” directing traffic waves his hand, which you assume, means go but actually means he’s waving hello to the van driver next to you. He then pounds on the hood of your car making monkey noises because you misunderstood his stop signal. You fake a smile, look at yourself in his reflecting aviators and mumble charming words about his mother and sister as you drive on ahead anyway.
You are already running late when the service/taxi in front of you insists on pausing every 2.3 seconds so that he can see if the pedestrian needs a ride to a destination that he feels like driving to. Therefore, even when there isn’t traffic, there’s traffic and you contemplate what it would be like to live in a world where there are metros.
Finally, you’ve reached the parking lot. But it’s full because you’re late. There’s no way he can squeeze you in and after you see him shove a Yukon into a spot tighter than Joe Jonas’ pants, you figure you’re better off.
You go around and around and around. Circle after circle, you eventually find a spot to park on the street and have no change for the meter. You walk over to the forn (bakery) nearby, buy a manoushe and Pepsi and get a 500LL in return. You pay the meter and lean against your car and take a deep breath. The smell of the zaatar/dough fills your nose as the oil drips out of the bottom of the paper wrapped around your breakfast and you think,
“God, I love Beirut.”
“God, I love Beirut.”