The Bank and The Bakery, Beirut vs. Dresden

I had a couple of fun Arab-centric, affirming moments this weekend.

First, I had been delaying going to Arab Bank to cash a check due to the usual waits, not on my route, etc. The Hub said “Hon, you need to cash that thing today, khalas”.  It was Thursday, not a happy day to be at the bank. Meetings crowded out the morning, so it got to be 12:30pm, which really made me dread it. Then, a friend (and reader reminded me it was also the End of The Month, meaning, or arg, payday for the whole country. She told me she would pray for me. I needed it, after a day of stroke/heart-attack inducing stress with yet another woman in crisis (It ended well. She is safely home).

I parked far away, thinking the walk would do me good and I wouldn’t have to fight for parking (or attempt  a humiliating episode of parallel parking in front of HSBC and Arab Bank). I parked behind an older lady, commented on her Christian fish/cross bumper ornament. I told her I had never put mine back on after the car paint was keyed in the shape of a cross. She said “Who cares? Are you ashamed of the cross? What is paint, compared to proclaiming the love of God in Christ Jesus?”. Whoa. Tiny Urduni Messi7iyya with Huge faith, especially that she drove a nice shiny black SUV.

So I brought my bible to read, a notebook and to do list, ready to settle in and choose joy during what could be a looooong wait.

I got my number, looked around at the nearly empty area, and marveled. 148 and the number at the window was…144. No way, I thought. I barely got 1st John read before it was my turn.

The teller was adorable. Sweet, cute, friendly, professional, quick. In fact, they all were. She practically poured me ‘ahwa sada, she was such the picture of Jordanian hospitality. Wow.

When I turned around to leave, there was a long line getting numbers, and a crowd of folks. Wow. Thank You Lord.

Next stop, the bakery. I planned a yummy dinner and needed good bread, but it was later in the day. I grabbed the ones I wanted, and went to the cahier. He looked at them, picked them up, and replaced them with others from the other end of the counter.  I asked if they others had been old “Ah,” he said “Min imbare7. Enti qwaiyseh, fi a7san oo taza3″ (“Yes, they were from yesterday. You are a good customer, these are better, fresher”). I thanked him. This was Thursday afternoon, when people are just a little testy and wanting to get home for the weekend. I thanked God too.

A new friend’s husband just got a job in Amman. They are moving from Beirut. We talked about how much we love folks here. she gave me an example f how she tripped on a stair in Dresden (used to be East Germany) broke her ankle and asked a shop-keeper to call her a taxi to get to the hospital. He pointed to the bus and told her “Take the bus.” She was used to Lebanese, who would encircle the wounded one en mass, DRIVE her to the hospital, and spend twenty minutes among themselves deciding what is the best form of treatment.

It has been a good weekend in Arabia.

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