I fired off a party RSVP today – yet another social engagement for Son2, not me. I didn’t think too much of it, and made a mental note to put the date on the calendar.
My phone rang, loud and shrill.
“Hello,” said an unfamiliar male voice. “Is that Sarah?”
I braced myself to tell him he’d got the wrong number. You know when you can already tell he’s not going to believe he’s got the number incorrect, and you’re going to have to convince him you’re really not the person he thinks you are. I had that feeling.
So I was surprised when the conversation took a different turn. “I’m getting all these texts about a party,” he said. “It’s the wrong number.” He was very sweet about it, a lovely chap, and we shared a laugh. He sounded like he worked in a restaurant, and there he was getting texts from all the mums in the class about Lasertag. His name was Ali.
A minute later, Ping! He’d sent me a text.
“I just spoke to you. I’m the manager of kabab rolls al barari.”
I peered closer at the broken English on the screen. I’d already guessed he was going to try to sell me something. A bit of opportunistic salesmanship must always be expected in Dubai.
“May b u can touch with me in future if want some catering or food etc.”
You know what Ali, you were such a sweetie, I will save your number just in case the need arises for kebab rolls, but the touchy-feely bit – maybe we could skip that?!