Don't get me wrong. It was not all gloom and doom at dad's office. In fact, dad's office was the most interesting and colorful from all the offices I have worked in since. And I have worked at:
Thos. Cook & Sons, Merck Pharmaceuticals, American Lebanese Shipping Company, Electrolux, Singer Sewing Company, Lipschutz Organization, Conseil 2000, William Morris Agency, Occidental Petroleum, City of Beverly Hills, Northrop Corp., Motown Corporation, State Bar of California, Avazian & Avazian, Saro Trading Company, Ivy Ligue Cleaners, Partridge, Snow & Hahn, St. Illuminator's Armenian Apostolic Church, Edart GTI, Circle Tree OA to name a few. In order of appearance they were in Lebanon, Philadelphia, New York, Los Angeles, Hohokus, NJ, Providence, Rhode Island, New York, NY, River Vale, NJ and Mesa, Arizona.
Arizona, where I am now, has a reputation of being a huge retirement center. Older people come here to retire. So the story goes. It is not exclusively retirement communities galore though, although they are plenty. People here are still free to retire or not to retire. It is apparent, upon close scrutiny, that in Arizona, there are more people who have not retired than there are people who have.
I might have retired from a certain habit, misconception, addiction or have let a character trait retire, but I have not retired. Neither are the people who have retired for goodness' sake. They still have to wake up and go about their businesses.
The little radio, right behind my chair, up on the filing cabinet, was my most loyal companion. It took close to a minute for it to warm up but once it did, Radio Liban, the Lebanese radio station with its variety of programs with no commercials was on almost constantly. When the girls would visit after school, we would have a mini-party. It was a party when we could be somewhere, anywhere, with friends, music and...Pepsi Cola, preferably without the presence of adults.
Dad kept a pack of cigarettes in his desk drawer for visitors although he himself never smoked. They were called Philadelphia and they were made in Jordan. I would offer them to my visitors and we would sit there, smoking, drinking Pepsi Cola, listening to music, being funny and laughing.
These parties were rare and could only happen when dad was not there. If he was there, the visits were, at the most, cordial. Dad would ask us what we wanted to drink and he would telephone "downstairs" and place an order for delivery. Coffee, sandwiches, juices, yogurt drink, Pepsi Cola and Orange Crush, the latter being my favorite.
I was afraid that he would find out that the cigarettes in the pack were getting low. If he knew, he never mentioned it. He did say "there is too much smoke in this room" once, as he opened the window upon entering the office where I was smoking a minute ago.
For decor, the wooden cabinet and some walls were covered by calenders with pretty geishas that the Japanese companies would send. Behind us, there was another, smaller room where all the product samples were, labeled and ready to be promoted.
Dad's visitors, local and international saw the same kind of hospitality from him that my friends saw from me. When the telephone "downstairs" kept ringing busy, we had to go to the top of the stairs and holler down "ALI!" Ali would make himself seen. "TWO COFFEES PLEASE. WASSAT." Wassat was the Arabic word for a medium quantity of sugar.
Apart from the two grocery shops in my neighborhood which were owned by Arabs, my life so far had been confined within the perimeters of the Armenian school, community, clubs and neighborhood. It had not left room for integration into a Lebanese world. Now that I was smack in the middle of it, here come also the Indians, the Swedes, the Japanese, Pakistanis and others.
There was a radio program I never missed called Liban Jeunesse, Youth Lebanon. Cecile Gedeon presented French songs that the listeners would ask for. I don't know what prompted me one day to take the pen and write to her (look up boredom) but I got a call back from her. She said that she could use my help if I wanted to help her. I went to visit her. When my parents found out they wanted to meet her. She was kind enough to come to our house and meet my parents.
It was such a breath of fresh air to be involved in something, anything to do with the arts. I went once or twice a week, in the afternoons to answer letters, file, and...type. Once I took the calls for the Liban Jeunesse program when Cecile was under the weather. She was also a member of a theater group which did skits in French at the famous Casino du Liban every night. They were the Theatre de Dix Heures, the Ten O'clock Theater. When Cecile got sick and could not perform, they looked for a replacement and found a girl who came and rehearsed at Cecile's flat. While I was having difficulties sitting still because I knew I could do a far better job than this girl, I also could rationalize because she was French and therefore better at her own language while I was...well, let's not talk about that. After she left, I got up and did her lines word for word in front of Cecile with much joy and energy. She said "Mon Dieu! You are better than Claudette." I knew that but I thanked her anyhow.
This is when I realized that looking at poor me, people cannot possibly guess what I have repressed deep within myself. When Cecile heard me do her lines, she invited me to go to the radio station with her. That afternoon, I presented the songs on the program, in French, forgot one, told the listeners so and continued unperturbed. Cecile was able to exhale.
This exposure to Lebanese culture gave me a little confidence but we are not home yet.
Before long, my attention shifted elsewhere when I started working at Thos. Cook and Son. There were boys and girls in a big room, in a circular sitting, working. I could type and throw glances at the handsome young man sitting across from me. There was also a cute guy on the second floor, the Accounting Department. You can say I dated them by talking to them from time to time.
This company's employees were the nexus of the ethnic tapestry that was Lebanon at the time. The ethnic diversity was mind blowing. For that, Thos Cook & Sons takes the second prize for the most enjoyable working environment in my life.
To make a long story short, after the six day war and the partial closing of Thos. Cook & Sons, I returned to dad's office and found a part time job in a pharmaceutical company.
In the afternoons, I was still helping dad.
One afternoon, the phone rang.
