The Les Schwab of the Middle East

It goes without saying that when you're in this part of the world most of your interactions are going to be conducted in ESL or maybe even ETL.  It's part of the fun.  Really.  As we keep telling the more whiney expats, "What? You came here hoping everything would be exactly the same?"  It can require a little patience sometimes, but it's amazing the number of times when you would think that both parties need to speak the same language to accomplish a goal, but it turns out a few words in common and hand gestures are sufficient.  

I set forth into the industrial part of my neighborhood today in search of a reliable mechanic.  Although the Seat (I always feel the need to explain: That's the brand of car we own) dealership is shiny and clean and everyone speaks some English, it's on the other side of town and likely to be expensive.  Instead, I figured I'd try the local flavors.  Afer a few minutes of slowly cruising the streets where nobody goes unless they need a car fixed or an air compressor serviced, I had identified literally 20 or 30 mechanics and body shops, but most tended toward the charactaristic crooked garage door, painted sheetmetal sign and 4 or 5 cars in various states of disrepair in the sandy lot out front.  I was holding out for better.  Finally I found what I was looking for:  A relatively large and stable looking building.  It said Al Safer Auto Service Center.  The sign was in neon.  The door was not crooked.  This seemed to be my best bet.  

I tenatively stepped through the front entrance and wandered to the back where a man was trying to hammer a dent out of the hood of a Mercedes.  I greeted him with the standard "aSallam-u-alaikum" (I'm starting to feel more comfortable being polite, rather than fearing mispronounciation), he replied in kind.  So far so good.  I ventured, "I need my car worked on?" 

"something something Arabii.."  He smiled.  

"Ah Arabii..." I shook my head.  Trying to be cool, I added a couple of words I happen to know that could in no way help me: "Kalimaat qaliil. (a few words)" He brightened right up.  

"Qaliil! something something!  Ok!  Try! something something."  Shit, I thought.  Now I convinced him I speak a little Arabic. I tried to tell him I didn't know enough to get this figured out, but he insisted, and we soon found enough words in English that he knew to establish that he could not help me, but he knew a man who could.  He gave me directions via hand gestures and told me the name of a shop run by a "good man".   I thanked him heartily and said goodbye in my woefully inadequate Arabic. 

Turns out he was right.  The "good man" was Syrian, spoke a little bit more English, and established that there was nothing wrong with the car that I should pay him to fix.  It leaks a little oil, but not enough to worry about.  The clutch makes a funny noise, but no reason to take it apart.  He explains: "You take it somewhere else, they say 'Big Problems!'.  Me I need the work...but I will not rob you."