to the scrap yard

One of the blood pressure raising sports in a foreign country is doing something that at home would normally take 30 minutes if there is a line. For the passed three weeks i've been working on getting my car registration renewed. It's an old car, but in good shape physically and mechanically sound. It does need some power steering pump work, but the leak isn't too bad, and all the lights and bells and whistles work. BUT, you can't do everything in one stop.

Two weeks ago it took me three days to get the insurance renewed. The first time i went to the office, the man in charge of foreign car owners/drivers insurance was on a 4 hr. coffee break. i waited for about 3 and a half of them then said i'd come back the next day. Second day i went early, the guy came in late. Later than i could afford to wait. Third day, the man with the red stamp was there. Unfortunately i needed the man with the blue stamp, and it is absolutely haraam for the red stamp man to use the blue stamp. i left, went back to the office and asked Mohammed to go in the late morning for me. He has wasta, he got it done before 2.

The next week i got the engine steam cleaned so it would look all clean and shiny. I put two new tires on it, and rotated the others, changed the oil, vacuumed the interior and just generally got it all spiffed up, so i wouldn't be laffed out of the police station when i take it in for the final inspection.

Was going to do that last week but one evening last week Master took Emerson to the Sultan Center and some yahoo broke the passenger side rear view mirror. i didn't want to pay $100 for a new one, so i asked Master if we could go on a date. (my euphemism for a trip to the scrap yard) He said yep, and so this afternoon after work, that's just what we did.

i love the trip to the scrap yard. i love the scrap yard itself. The drive out in the desert is great. This time of year it's almost a perfect trip. The flowers are all blooming, and the camps are still out there. There is something absolutely beautiful about the desert. Lots of people think it's just empty space covered with sand, but it's much more than that. It's hard for me to describe. Maybe some day i can get a picture that shows what the desert is to me.

The scrap yard itself is an amazing place. Now i have to admit i don't have a whole lot of previous scrap yard experience, but this one is a marvelous place. It's huge, but filled with individual businesses. In my mind, if you wanted something for a chevy truck, you'd go to the scrap yard and just hunt till you found the right truck, and then hope it had what you needed. At the Kuwait National Scrap Yard, you first hunt for the particular area that deals in the kind of car you have. Then you go dicker with an afighani ex-taliban member about the price. They love to dicker. Then you walk back into the bowels of the scrap yard, disappear for about 20 minutes and when you come back out, you have what you were looking for. At least that's what happens when Master goes in. i sit in the car and watch the world go by. i do love watching people.

While we were there, Master also got me a new second hand wheel cap. Just in case those are required for the inspection. Then the best part of the trip. Near the exit gate, there is an iranian bakery. For about $.30 you can get fresh Iranian bread still warm off the roof of the mud oven. Master knows that if He buys be bread and a fresh bottle of water i'm His to do with whatever He will. And, if He buys me an ice cream for desert, i melt. I'm such a slut for the scrap yard. Master calls me a cheap slut date.

We got home in time for me to talk to daughter and daughter-in-law. Today is a good day. Tomorrow Mohammed said he will tackle the final steps of registration for me. There are some perks to being the boss person in the unit.

i hear the iron whispering my name. i better go take care of business.