Cultural Awareness

     Over the last few weeks an interpreter has been providing us with a little cultural awareness training. He has informed us that a Kuwaiti man can have up to 4 wives at one time… (Who the hell would want to do that? I mean seriously most men can handle the one wife or girlfriend that they got.)  The woman simply has to show some sort of interest. A man will never ask a woman to marry them. 

     I have also learned that a woman can not touch, smile, look or even be close to a Kuwaiti man… otherwise she is showing interest. (This goes for American women too!) Oh and don’t even laugh at their jokes; this simply means it’s a GO!  Of course this sounds absurd and no telling the truth behind such madness, but best advice would be steer clear ladies. 

     Ever since we have been talking to the interpreter, all the folks in our office have developed this voice which we use to talk like a Kuwaiti. The boss is the best.  So the other day we are sitting at the infamous chow table and Ms. W says “Has anyone noticed that our fake Kuwaiti accent, sounds like Italian?”, “It sounds like we are talking like Mario and Luigi off of the Super Mario Brothers”. (It actually did, which made it even more hilarious.)

Scarface 101

So I am sure you are all wondering how I busted my face open a few weeks ago… well I will keep you in suspense no longer! Honestly it was pure bad luck!  Some of you who know me know the following, 1. I am a klutz and 2. I have the weakest ankles ever! 

        Early 0400 Monday morning a few weeks ago I meet up with my gym partner and we start a normal “early” morning weight lifting. By the second exercise I am on a search for some 15lb dumbbells. You would think they would be on the rack which is so nicely labeled
“15”.  No of course not! I go on a search to the back of the gym where I know some are usually hiding. I find them, I go to bend down to get them and my ankle gives out on me. It happens so fast that I do not have even a split second to put my arms out in front of me to catch my fall. Instead I go face first into the weight rack, bouncing my face off of the 35lb dumbbells.  I bounce off the dumbbells and land on my pretty ass right on the floor. I have no idea what just happened but I do know my face hurts like hell!.  I quickly look around to see if anyone was witnessed to my demise. Nope coast is clear.  

        So I gather myself up off of the floor, grab my 15’s and head back over to where my partner is waiting.  You know me I “try” and pretend all is well but little did I know that my face was busted open and pouring out blood.  My partner asks me what happened and why am I bleeding… “Shit I have been had!” I quickly touch my pulsing cheek and realize he is right… blood everywhere.  So he hands me a napkin, I look in the mirror and realize I busted my cheek right under my left eye, wide open.  Needless to say, stitches were in order. 

        I drive myself over to the Troop Medical Clinic, which is closed. I call the on duty person and he comes over to access my injuries before calling the Doc.  He smiles and giggles at my miss fortune, which doesn’t hurt my feelings because the whole mess is hilarious. I sit there thinking about the shit my husband is going to give me. 3^rd deployment; 3^rd injury!  So he cleans me up and calls the doc in. Doctor Swool comes in and puts lots of numbing agent into my cheek and then 3 little stitches into my face.  They kick me out with some antibiotic ointment and no meds! Booooo!

So I am sticking to this story: I was apprehending a suspect, he got a little antsy, I took him down and sticking with this comment. “ You think my face looks bad, you should see the other guy”.

    In the mean time I have been called “Scarface” and offered bubble wrap which I can wrap myself in the next time I go to the gym.  And now everyone wants to make sure I am careful and not killing myself. Really its been three weeks… I am good people! Worse part of the whole ordeal was finding out that my little mishap was reported to the Task Force, to Safety and all the way to the Safety Center in Fort Rucker, AL. Really… it was three freaking stitches, not an international incident. 

   Now every time I go into the gym, to the exact location of the crime scene. I eyeball those 35 lb dumbbells. They get the stink eye from me.