Little White Lies

A repost of an incident that happened to me some time ago in Bahrain. As implausible as it may sound, it really happened exactly as I describe it here. Enjoy.


This was in the mid-80s, not too long after I arrived in Bahrain and went to work as PR Manager of the Gulf Hotel. I was the only American working in the hotel, which absolutely wouldn’t have been able to operate without its masses of foreign workers, but I digress.

The GM was naturally, Bahraini. Let’s call him Mohammed B., because, well, that’s his name. He was a really cool guy, about my age (I was 40 at the time) and he was pro-American (at least he was unless Yasser Arafat was on the premises!) and he was very proud of having the only American hotel PR manager on the island, among all the Brits.

As part of my job description, I promoted and generally ‘took care’ of the entertainment groups that we hired for the restaurants and lounges. These artists were always hired for at least a two month stay and we housed and fed them in the older el of the hotel (where I also had an apartment).

At this particular time, we had a great, small band from England playing in the Al Murjan, which was our 5 star restaurant. The lead guitarist/singer was a real hottie, so naturally we started dating. This usually meant we would meet up at 10 after their last performance, go back to his place where we would party for several hours. I used to be able to stay up half the night and not be the worse for wear to begin work at 8 am the next morning. Boy, that’s gone out the window!

Let’s call the guitarist/singer Barry, because that’s his name. He was a lot of fun and we would almost always partake of some weed at these nightly parties, along with the rest of the band and a few invitees I had befriended along the way. I know, I know, you’re probably disappointed in me now, but hey, I did inhale and I did enjoy it, and you might as well know it now.

One morning, I had just gotten into my office when I had a phone call from the GM’s secretary, Melinda, who was about my age and always very friendly, but that’s about where the similarity ended. Mel, as we called her, was from the Philippines, married, and working to send money back home as did most of the foreign workers in Bahrain. Mel told me Mohammed wanted to see me right away.

When I got to Mel’s office, (right outside the GM’s office, of course), the conversation went like this:

Me: "Hi Mel, how are you doing this morning?"
Mel: (very serious) "Fine, Jane."

Me: "Great. What’s up? You said Mr. B. wanted to see me."

Mel: (staring right into my eyes) "Yes, he does. But first, this package arrived for you."
(I had noticed a small package, about 6” square, sitting on her desk.)

Me: (excited) "Really? I wonder who it’s from? I wasn’t expecting anything from home."

Mel: (still very serious, still staring directly) "It’s not from the states, it’s from London."

Me: "Really? I don’t know anyone in London who’d be sending me anything."

Mel: "Are you sure? It’s addressed to you with your apartment number."

Me: (totally innocent but knots suddenly had appeared in my stomach) "Well, let’s see what it is." (and I reached over and picked up the package, which was already opened)

Me: (still innocent) "Oh! It’s been opened."

Mel: (still staring, even more serious) "Packages to our (since when did she become part owner of the hotel?) employees are always opened at the post office before they send them to us. This one is quite interesting."

Me: (feeling not so innocent now, but still not sure why) "I didn’t know that, but that’s okay." (I opened up the flaps and inside sat a large baggie, filled to the brim with marijuana. Oh shit!)

Me: (still kind of innocent but now understanding the stare) "Oh, someone sent me some oregano! I wonder who?" (I closed back the flaps and couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a complete return address and the name of some guy I’ve never heard of.)

Mel: "That’s oregano?"

Me: (smiling but stomach churning; I’d heard they beheaded you for lesser offenses in the Middle East) "Oh yeah, but I don’t know why he sent so much!"

Mel: (staring really hard now) "I thought you said you didn’t know anyone in London?

Me: (butterflies batting at my stomach walls) Well, I don’t really know him, but I mentioned to Barry that I’d love to have some fresh oregano because I make great spaghetti and I guess he asked one of his friends to send it to me." (not bad for on the fly!)

Mel: (cocking her head to one side) "Are you sure that’s oregano?"

Me: (this took some guts here) "Sure!"
(I opened the baggie, took out a few sprigs, brought it up to my nose and took a big sniff, then offered it to Mel) "Here, smell this. Really fresh!"

Mel: (never taking her eyes off mine, she took the sprig and smelled it) "I’m not sure this smells like oregano."

Me: (really winging it now!) "Well, to be honest, it doesn’t smell like the fresh oregano I get back home either, I just figure it’s another species... like Cuban oregano."

Mel: (still staring, but not as intently) "Well, if you’re sure it’s oregano."

Me: (the butterflies are still churning) "Oh, I’m sure all right. I’ll have to get some more things but I’ll let you know when I’ll be cooking spaghetti… you’re invited for sure."

Mel: (a wee bit of a smile now) "Okay. Let me know when."

Me: (getting up and getting ready to get the hell out of there) "Hey, I thought you said Mr. B. wanted to see me."

Mel: "Well, he did, but it was about this package and he told me to find out what it was."

Me: "Oh, so he doesn’t need to see me now?"

Mel: "No, that’s okay."

Me: (feeling the butterflies abate a bit) "Oh, just tell him it’s oregano and I’ll let him know when I’m cooking spaghetti too". (knowing damn well he wouldn’t come!)

Mel: "Okay, see you later."

Me: "Take it easy."

After I fled from Mel’s office, I went straight to Barry’s apartment, and banged on his door… loudly. The gist of our conversation contained snippets such as:

“What the hell were you thinking?”
“Hey, it’s a little surprise.”
“Why the hell did you send it to me?”
“I didn’t think they’d open your packages.”
“I could have gotten deported, you idiot!”
“My God, there’s almost a kilo here!”
“Don’t you EVER use my name on anything like that again!”
“Hey, could I hide it in your apartment?”
“You fuckin’ jerk!”