Embarrassing Situations

Yemeni mp 

Ahmed Saif Hashed

Our dining table at the hotel was spacious enough for us, along with the Russian and Yemeni delegates accompanying us. The table was cluttered with nearly everything imaginable. Its abundance and variety made it seem like a feast sent down from the heavens. The food was diverse, most of which I had never seen before, and I had no idea what the drinks were! I struggled to distinguish between what was meant to be sipped and what was to be savored, between soups and their counterparts, and even between vodka and water—indeed, even between different types of water!

Elegant pitchers and glasses conveyed a sense of luxury, and my curiosity pushed me through the veil of embarrassment to try them all, one by one. There were paper napkins, and some made of fabric, which reminded me of their costliness as I wiped my mouth with them. I felt as if I were tampering with the elegance that should be preserved, or singing praises to its beauty.

The numerous utensils before me were daunting; I was unfamiliar with most of them and had no idea of the proper order of use, or the appropriate timing for each item. Some I was seeing for the first time, while others I had never encountered before, leaving me completely in the dark about their usage. The rules of etiquette felt entirely foreign to me; for the first time, I found myself in a face-to-face challenge with them.

I sensed various obstacles before me, with awkward situations lurking at every corner. I felt as if I were at an examination table rather than a dining table. To make matters worse, I was facing this test without any prior education or lessons. I told myself:

“There’s no excellence here, no first place. I am bound to fail. Everything here, or most of it, is new to me, deserving of a patent of innocence. I am encountering countless types for the first time. I have no prior experience; this is my first trip outside Yemen, and also the first time I’m staying in a hotel, let alone one of such grandeur.”

Questions crowded my mind as I settled down at the dining table: Where do I begin?! What do I do with all this before me?! What are the boundaries that separate what is meant for me from what is for those around me? A jumble of unfamiliarity surrounded me in a meal whose limits I did not know. How should I engage with what lay on the table?! What am I even going to eat?! Almost everything present was entirely novel to me!

In front of me lay a piece of cloth elegantly folded into a pyramid shape; I had no idea of its purpose. Another larger piece was arranged in front of me, and I was uncertain of its necessity. I had to wait and observe how others were using them. When I saw the Russian general place one on his chest and the other on his lower half, I wondered to myself: What on earth is he doing?!

I couldn’t comprehend what he was doing or why. Yet, I found myself mimicking him like a child imitating his father, feeling as though I was engaging in some timid form of deception that I had never learned in school. I stole glances at his actions, copying him with a clumsy imitation and a shaky performance. I told myself, “It’s fine; I’ll consider it a ritual they perform before a meal, and imitation is permissible here.” I tried to stifle a laugh, smiling cautiously as I suppressed the urge to burst into laughter, which was on the verge of erupting like a jingle.

I began to eat with my awkward mimicry, only to find the cloth draped over my chest slipping down due to my movements while eating. Meanwhile, the cloth at the bottom had rolled onto the floor without my noticing, and I didn’t become aware of it until after finishing my meal, having kicked and trampled it in the process. I grumbled to myself, expressing my disdain: “What caused it to fall? It got what it deserved!”

It was my first time using a knife and fork simultaneously. On the airplane, I had managed without them, eating my meals in my own way, as had my fellow passenger seated beside me. But now, in front of everyone, I found it challenging. As I tried to manage the fork and knife between my hands and fingers, I couldn’t replicate the general’s ease.

I felt the need for a private lesson to learn the technique, but there was no time or space for that here. My attempts to use the knife and fork together were clumsy. I found the task daunting; even if I could use my right hand effectively, my left hand would not achieve the same efficiency. To escape this dilemma, I opted for a method that suited me better and proved more effective, though I often felt I was straying far from the norm, sometimes landing in rather embarrassing situations.

I mistook a small fruit for something innocuous, unaware of its true nature. It was black in color. How misguided I was! In truth, I had no idea how to handle it! I placed the knife in its center, pressing down to cut it, while my other hand, grasping the fork, tried to support it from the side to prevent it from slipping. But with its hard pit and thin skin, my strong pressure caused it to shoot across the table like a comet, striking several dishes as if it were a billiard ball. It made a series of loud noises that drew everyone’s attention, and some even noticed it darting past them.

Some were confused about what had happened and began to ask! Others thought someone had thrown something onto the table! Yet all their faces were marked with expressions of surprise and wonder, while I was engulfed in a daze, my dry smile resembling one stolen from a three-thousand-year-old mummy.

I didn’t know what to say! My intense embarrassment and acute shyness led them to suspect I was the source of the commotion. Their eyes were fixed on me, while my companion beside me tried to explain that an olive should be placed in the mouth, its skin consumed, with the pit discarded. At that moment, I burst into laughter, joined by everyone else, realizing the foolishness of my actions!

They had a type of mineral water that was unlike any I had ever known. I opened the bottle and filled the glass before me. The moment I took a sip, I was shocked; it was nothing like what I expected. Its taste was acidic, almost otherworldly. This could not possibly be water.

I said to my companion beside me, “This isn’t water.”

He replied, “It’s mineral water.”

I countered, “They can call it anything they like, but they cannot call it water.”

He handed me another bottle from the table, and indeed, it was water, but not like our water.

Many of the dishes I tasted were unrecognizable! Every item I sampled felt like a gamble; it might be delicious, acceptable, or it could ruin the entire meal.

According to etiquette, if you are satisfied with your meal, you should place the spoon and fork on the plate with the face down and the back up. Unaware of this rule, I left my utensils on the table, not realizing it signified that I was still hungry. Consequently, the waiter brought me an extra dish. I was puzzled and wondered, “Why me and not anyone else?” Leaning over to my companion, I said:

“I didn’t order this! I’m full! Why did he bring me an extra dish? And why me specifically? Did he see me eating with gluttony?”

My companion replied, “You should have turned the spoon and fork over to indicate that you were satisfied. Now you must finish it. Leaving food on your plate is quite bothersome to them. You should eat until the last bite.” I asked him to help me with the extra food, but he declined, saying he was full as well. So, I had no choice but to force myself to eat until the very last bite, nearly making me ill from the excess.

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