2. I am working extremely long hours; if I do not get to enjoy at least some of the financial compensation, I will not be motivated to continue working so much, because the output is less than the input.
3. Quality clothing will help me in future business transactions.
4. My purchase will stimulate the economy.
5. I will still have much money left over for Zahira.
I tell the female I will buy it, and a Greek man who smells like mints and soap takes my measurements so they can tailor it and deliver it later. At the counter, the dollar value appears in green digits on the cash register and she swipes my credit card, and my heart spikes and charges my entire body and I feel like when I drank alcohol with Jefferson and Dan.
Then she says, “Did you want to get some shirts and ties to go with that?”
She is correct, as I should not wear a new suit with old shirts and ties. She helps me select some shirts and recommends buying five so I can wear a new one each day.
Two of the shirts are white and look like each other, so I decide to take only one. I examine them for differences in quality, but I truly cannot distinguish them, as they both feel soft and durable and are attractive. The tag on one reads “Made in Italy” and the other reads “Made in Philippines.” I discard the second shirt.
I buy the five shirts and five ties and am again electrified when she swipes my credit card. Then after I leave Barneys, I consider that I can’t wear the same suit daily even if my shirts and ties are different, and I go into the nearby Saks Fifth Avenue store. I also can’t buy another suit that is less gorgeous than my Barneys suit, so I find one that costs nearly the same amount, and then buy three others of equal quality.
“May I tailor the others and bring one of these home with me now?” I ask the salesman as I point to one that is gray with blue stripes that already fits me well.
I am now carrying several heavy bags, and it is fortunate that I do push-ups and have inflated triceps. I set them down outside on the sidewalk to signal for a taxi, but it is rush hour. While I wait, I withdraw all the store receipts from my wallet and add them.
In 90 minutes I have spent two weeks of my new salary. My stomach becomes dizzy. I consider returning one or two of the suits, but I have made my decision and I should not reverse it, and it would be humiliating to return it immediately because the employees would know it was because I overspent.
A taxi stops for me, but I pick up my bags and shake my head at the driver and walk west. After a few blocks my arms slightly pain me.
When I reach 7th Ave. it starts raining, and everyone runs to the buildings for protection. The rain contacts the ground like bubbles on the surface of a new glass of Coke. Someone says it will continue all night.
I have just two blocks remaining, and there is even a nearby empty taxi that no one else is taking yet because they are either hoping the rain will stop or they have umbrellas, but I certify that my shopping bags are shielded from the water and walk.
My hair and current suit quickly become hydrated. Although sometimes I enjoy walking in the rain in Doha under the gray and black sky and feeling as if I am alone in the world but strong from my independence, now it is uncomfortable and my forehead coldly burns from the wind and the walk seems to take an infinite amount of time.
After I dry off at home, I wear a new shirt and tie and the gray suit with blue stripes and evaluate myself in the mirror.
It was worth it. I truly look like a cream of the cream American businessman.
I cook rice and vegetables for dinner while still wearing my suit and guarantee to myself I will not spend any more money on clothing while I am here.
digs = living area
don’t be a stranger = remain in contact with others
ghetto = undesirable neighborhood
mastermind = innovate as leader
nefarious = immoral
JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: OCTOBER 31
Zahira emails me a humorous newspaper story while I am at work about a thief who fell asleep during a bank robbery. I say, “Rebecca, this is humorous—” before I remember I’m alone in my office. I forward her the email and a few minutes later she replies that it’s funny, but our exchange is not equivalent when communicating via email.
In the afternoon Dan knocks on my door and enters before I can respond. “Karim the Dream, looking hot. I’d do you. New threads?” I thank him for the compliment, although I don’t mention that I asked for help from Jefferson. “That an Aeron chair?”
“I am uncertain,” I say, although I know it’s an expensive chair and is more comfortable than the chairs in the normal pods, but I don’t want to appear boastful about my chair, especially because I know Dan likes to spend money on seats.
“Hey, sorry about that joke the other day,” he says. “Just trying to burn off the stress about the layoffs. Put it in perspective, you know?”
“Some people already have sufficient perspective,” I say.
He touches the name bar on my desk and rotates it 30 degrees before letting go. “Anyway, Jefferson and I wanted to let you know about this Halloween party on Saturday. Some dot-com dude’s town house in Chelsea. You in?”
I’ve never celebrated Halloween in Doha, but it would be enjoyable to see what it is like in the U.S. In addition I haven’t been to a party at someone’s home yet here. Even though I didn’t have a very profitable experience at Cathedral, I tell Dan I’d like to go, and he says he will provide a costume for me when we “pre-game” at his apartment.
After he leaves, I rotate the name bar back to its original position and shoot Rebecca an invitation. She replies:
Thanks, but I’ll pass. Dot-com asshole’s party + Dan/Jefferson = my personal Halloween horror movie.
I’m disappointed, but I like how Rebecca expressed her lack of interest with an equation, although to be clearer she should not have used a slash sign between Dan’s and Jefferson’s names because it looks like a division sign.
Before I leave my apartment Saturday night for Dan’s apartment, I receive a telephone call, which is rare for me if it’s not Zahira. It is Rebecca.
“What is happening?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Rebecca says. “What are you up to?”
“I am leaving for Dan’s apartment to pre-game.”
“Pre-game?”
“It is the term for consuming alcohol in an apartment before a party.”
“I know, I just didn’t think…” She has a very pleasant voice to hear on the telephone. I predict she is a good singer to boot. “Well, I was kind of thinking about going out tonight, and I was wondering if—”
“Would you like to pre-game with us?” I ask.
“I don’t know about pre-gaming, but maybe I could meet you guys after?”
“I will ask Dan right now.”
“Wait,” she says. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It is careless,” I say. She is about to interrupt again, but I tell her I will call her back.
Dan says “Go for it” when I ask him, and I provide Rebecca with the address.
On the subway to Dan’s apartment on 22nd St. and 6th Ave., the females mostly wear minimal materials for costumes. One veils her face and body with a sheet like a ghost, except it doesn’t cover her legs and a hole reveals a large partition of her breasts where they are bisected.
Dan greets me at his apartment door in a President Clinton mask and a cigar in the corner of his mouth. Rap music plays on his stereo. I ask who the musician is.