Funny Pathan Jokes | Urdu Lateefay Pathan | Jokes of Pathan

Continuing
The flight continued along as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Nary a bump or jostle. Hours later, I was playing with the in-flight entertainment system when Major Nak awoke.
I toasted him with a fresh drink and asked if he felt fully functional.
“Doctor?”, he asked, “Have you slept at all?”
“On the flight? Nah.”, I replied, “I slept well last night. Besides, this flight’s been fascinating.”
“Do you always drink like that?” he asks.
“Of course not!”, I replied, indignantly, “Sometimes, I really twist off and tie one on.”
“Seriously?” he asks, shocked.
“Major, I’ll let you I on a little secret.”, I said in confidence, “I’m a member of a certain class of unusual creatures; I’m an ethanol-fueled carbon-based organism. Many other geologists are as well. We tend to be drawn to that particular science.”
He stares at me with a look that is a cross between incredulity and “you fuckin’ with me?”
“You’re not normal…”, was his only reply as he shook his head.
“Not by a long shot!”, I laugh, drain my drink, and signal for another.
After one arrives, Major Nak stumbles to the head. A few minutes later, the annunciator notes that we are on the flight path to Bhavnagar Airport and should be landing in 20 minutes.
Another drink and beer chaser later, we’re buckled into our seats and on final approach. We land light as a feather without a crosswind, a perfect three-point touchdown. We taxi for a bit and stop out on the tarmac, next to a large non-descript gray-colored four-door sedan.
We begin to deplane and I see my luggage being loaded into the sedan already. Before I get off the plane, I am asked for my passport. The steward of the flight stamps it and welcomes me to India.
Off to the sedan and I see it’s larger than most usual 4-door types. It’s a minor limo of sorts, with rear and front-facing seats, like an old London taxi, except one wall is taken up with a fold-out bar.
Oh, I’m going to like this job.
I am instructed to sit in the back. Major Nak is sitting up front, working on papers of some sort.
I am told the travel time to Alang, the place where I’ll be staying, is approximately one to one and a half hours. I am asked to please make myself comfortable and if I desire, there is a humidor on the back forward-facing seat. I am to help myself to that and the bar, and enjoy the ride.
Which I did. The scenery was your bog-standard usual coastal highway sort of stuff, moderately interesting for the first 5 minutes, then it just sort of blurs together.
I sampled the humidor and most of the bottles in the bar while we wound our way south to Alang. It was getting late in the afternoon, so it was decided that I would be taken to the “Raj”, the company’s corporate house for when high-ranking business types, visitors, and guests arrive for more than a single overnight.
Alang is a company town, and that company is the Ship Breaker’s. It’s a fairly common sort of one-industry town; kind of shabby, kind of old, kind of desperate. It’s not horrible like some oil towns in West Siberia, Venezuela, or West Africa; but it’s no Paris, Texas either. There are some green areas, quite a slew of shops selling sea-sailing ship-sourced stuff, and a few residences.
We travel along and I can smell the diesel, dejection, and desperation in the air. This place is an area of low wages, hard work, little to no environmental or HSE controls, and throngs of men wanting to work. This is going to be some kind of experience.
We wheel around a well-planted and manicured corner and arrive at the “Raj”. It is a colonial-era, how can I put it? It’s a fucking mansion. Situated behind security fences on grounds of approximately 4 acres, at least. It’s an Edwardian or Georgian pile some four stories thick. There is a security shack out front and even Major Nak has to show his ID in order to enter.
They take my photo, particulars, and have me sign-in. Looks like I’ll be the only VIP staying here for the duration of my contract. However, I certainly won’t be alone.
There are butlers, cooks, chauffeurs, maids, and other forms of domestic help. And they are all there just to make my stay as pleasant as possible.
We drive into the compound, for the lack of a better term, come to a thick security door where the driver punches in a code and we are allowed to enter the underground parking facility. There are several security vehicles parked down here, a couple of motorcycles that I intend to ask to borrow. Before we went underground, I saw at least two teams of security forces patrolling the grounds with huge Alsatian dogs.
“Is all this security really necessary?” I asked Major Nak.
“Better safe than sorry”, he bewilderingly replies.
“OK”, I reply, “Thanks for the clear-cut answer.”
He smiles and confides that they’ve never had any trouble here, but since it’s where VIPs and corporate shills stay, they make a brave noise to dissuade anyone with evil on their mind. Shipbreaking is big business, with receipts measured annually in the billions of rupees. Yes, I agree, better safe than sorry.
We exit the sedan as two worker bees attend to my luggage. We are lead to an elevator and get in, take a quick ride due up, and exit on the main floor.
“Holy shit!”, I exclaim lowly. “This place is incredible.”
Full late 1800’s glory expressed in dark, thick hand-carved wood, leather, and dripping in opulence. It’s quite the sight, and it takes me a minute to realize that all this pomp and circumstance is being laid out for me. Now it’s Major Nak’s time to smile on my bewilderment. He asks me to walk with him as he needs to ‘introduce me to the staff’.
But first, a young lady appears, in a traditional maid’s outfit, and asks if I require anything.
“Loaded question”, I smile, “But I am a bit dry. If you could rustle me up a drink, I’d be beholden to you.”
She smiles and looks to Major Nak for a translation. He speaks in Hindi and she smiles wider and scurries off.
“What did you tell her?” I ask.
“That you’re American and can’t be expected to speak normal English”, he laughs, “Plus I told her of your favorite drink.”
“Why, thanks Major.”, I smile.
“Anytime, Doctor.”, he replies.
We walk along and the cute maid reappears with my drink. Major Nak is holding off and abstaining for the time being.
We walk along and meet the head of the household, the Majordomo, one Mr. Kanada. We exchange greetings.
“If you require anything, Doctor”, he tells me, “Please let me know. I have read your contract so when I say ‘anything’, that is precisely what is meant.”
“I will do that”, I reply and give him a hearty handshake in return.
Suddenly, a young male individual type appears. He looks very intent and earnest.
“Doctor Rocknocker?” He asks.
“Yes. And you are?”, I reply.
“I am Sanjay. I am your personal assistant while you are here in India.” He smiles back.
“Nice to meet you, Sanjay”, I reply, “What are your qualifications?”
I’m not messing around. I’m going to have a full tour on this job. He appears quite young but does have a good handle on English. At least English that I can understand.
“I hold a Bachelor’s Degree in Geology. I am going for my Master’s next semester, once this virus business is over with. I speak Hindi, Urdu, English, and some Russian. I carry a light, the time, and your favorite vodka. I am 100% at your disposal.” He smiles and hands me an airline-sized miniature of Blest Vodka; a local favorite.
I look at Major Nak, “Oh, I like him. Good choice.”
Sanjay beams. Major Nak smiles as well.
Major Nak continues, “Sanjay here can show you the rest of the house. If you’ll excuse me, I must be off to camp”.
“Most certainly, Major Nak. It’s been a pleasure.” I reply as we shake hands in a very manly fashion.
“I hope to see you before you leave, Doctor. Perhaps at the yards to see your progress. “ he notes.
“I look forward to that, Major.” I smile
He smiles to Sanjay, and does a briskly military about-face and disappears.
“Doctor Rocknocker”, Sanjay continues…
“Sanjay.”, I interrupt, “Call me ‘Rock’, it’ll save everyone a lot of time.”
“Oh, OK. Sure. Doct…um, Rock”, he says, as I smile back. “You must have made a big impression on Major Nak. He hardly talks to anyone he oversees.”
“Oversees?”, I smile, “OK, he seemed harmless enough. Affable chap. Can’t hold his liquor worth a shit though. But you’re not to say I said so. ..”
“Understood, Doc…Rock”, Sanjay smiles, “Let me show you the rest of the house. Let’s go to the basement first. “
“OK, fine. You lead and I’ll follow.” I replied.
The basement was one of wonders. A large heated and chilled pool, a sauna, fairly well kitted out gym, and a game room. The game room held a snooker table, a billiards table, a ping-pong table, and a Ms. PacMan table video game and a Galaga upright game. Vintage. Sweet.
There were cupboards full of ping-pong paddles, ping-pong balls, pool, and snooker cues, as well as the remotes for the sound system and large, flat-screen TV, with uncensored 7-satellite feed, hanging on one wall. There were several comfy chairs strewn around. This would be a nice place to relax after a long day of blowing the living shit out of old rusty boats.
“Nice”, I noted, “But no beer cooler or bar in the rec room?”
Sanjay smiled and motioned me to the elevator.
“Moment.” was all he said. He did speak a bit of Russian.
We go up two floors and exit the elevator. One side of this floor was taken up with a huge library, complete with a huge antique harp, a very shiny black Steinway grand piano, hundreds if not thousands of books, and several large leather chairs and a couple of leather couches and ashtrays strewn about.
Another place to waste a modicum of time.
Then Sanjay points me north to the other side of the floor.
There was a huge bar, fully stocked, with about a dozen barstools in front. There were at least a dozen taps of Indian, British, and Indonesian beer. There were hundreds of bottles of non-repeating liquor. There was a large ice machine humming away in the corner, full bar glass set-up, wash station, and dishwasher under one corner of the bar. There were several under-bar coolers full of carbonated drinks, juices, and other potential mixers.
“We have two dedicated barmen at your disposal”, Sanjay smiled, “Or you can go ahead and use it self-serve if you desire.”
I look at the empty glass in my hand and decide we’ll go ahead and inaugurate it now and not bother to call the barmen.
Sanjay, eager to please, runs behind the bar and asks what I’d like.
“Well, since we’re in India”, I say, rubbing my chin, “Let’s start out with a nice IPA.”
“Certainly”, he replies, “Light or dark?” as they had two on tap.
“Oh, dark, I think.”, I said, “And since you’re back there, why not grab yourself one and get me 100 milliliters of the finest chilled house vodka.”
“Yes, Doctor!”, he smiled and fetched our drinks.
Sanjay and I spent an hour or two at the bar getting to know each other. Several times, house employees rolled through to see if I needed any dinner or a cigar or…
“Good lord”, I say to Sanjay after the fourth one in an hour was dismissed, “They keep this up and I might take them up on something off the menu.”
“I can arrange that”, Sanjay smirked.
“Thank you, no. That was a joke.”, I told him, “I’ve been married 39 years to the finest partner and deadliest crack shot this side of Annie Oakley. Besides, I have no desire for any of that sort of extracurricular shenanigans. It was a joke. Seriously.”
“Understood, Rock”, Sanjay said. “I’m not married, but I am engaged. I understand fully.”
“Good and congratulations”, I replied, “No need to get off on the wrong foot or anything.”
“Or anything?” Sanjay smirks and raises an eyebrow.
“Keep that up and I might just keep you on as my assistant.” I said, “You will need a good sense of humor before this all over.”
Sanjay quaffed his beer and smiled broadly.
After I had him get me another beer and asked for my room as I was needing a cigar. He pulled out a phone, dialed a few numbers, and Hindi’ed directly into the device for a minute.
“No worries, Rock”, he said, “One will be here directly.”
“Fine”, I replied, “Now Sanjay, this job is not all skittles and beer, if you take my meaning.”
“Oh, look. Your cigars have arrived.” He says, totally distracting me.
An ancient butler pushing a silver tea cart appears. On the cart is a very large humidor full of many different shades, shapes, and sizes of cigars.
I went to grab one when the butler stops me and tells me to make a selection.
“Oh, oh, oh! Very nice.” I say and point to a likely looking Oscuro Churchill.
He takes the cigar, carefully wipes it with fine cheesecloth, and asks what type of cut I like; V-cut, punch, or slant.
“Oh, V-cut, if you please,” I reply.
He V-cuts my cigar and with his with gloved hands, holds it out for me to inspect.
“Lovely,” I reply. I jam the cigar in my yap and start digging around the pockets of my field vest for my lighter.
He taps me on the shoulder and extends a lit piece of cedar bark. The ‘traditional’ British way of lighting a cigar.
After all that, he tells me his direct number is 214 and that if I need anything more to have one of the staff ring him. With that, he turns heel and exits without another word.
“Well”, I smirk, “That was weird.”
Sanjay just smiles and tells me to get used to it. They will do everything here for you if you allow them.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”, I say, get up and pour myself a new beer. A ‘Tiger’ this time. I ask Sanjay if he’s ready for a refill and he tells me he’s good.
I grab another 100 milliliters of chilled Old Fornicator Vodka and sit back down at the bar.
“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Can you be a hard ass, Sanjay? Can you tell your peers ‘no’?” I ask.
“Will I have to?” he asks.
“Yep.” I say, “Damn, this is a really fine cigar. But working with me, you best develop a thick skin and a hard head.”
“Oh, OK”, he says, obviously confused.
“Right.” I say, “Serious talk time. I’m the boss on this project. What I says, goes. No questions. Period. You’re my de facto second in command. We are here to teach 24 of your comrades how to blast boats to smithereens and how to train the next set of like-minded individuals. This is a step up for them, every one. It means more money, more security, more prestige. I need only 24 and from what I hear, there’s what, up to 30,000 workers here? Guess what? That means a lot that are going to go home disappointed. They might hold that against me and you, Me? I don’t give the tiniest shit. But I’m going to leave after a couple of weeks. You’re here for the duration and going to take over my spot. Some of these characters might get shirty and decide to tap dance on your head if you tell them no. You have to be ready for that. Can you deal with that situation?”
Sanjay just sits there and looks intently at the finely polished hardwood floor.
“This is old hat for me,” I tell him. “I’ve had to tell some good friends that they weren’t picked for the job or contract. It’s business. And some have been less than adult about how they handled the rejection. There have been threats, usually hollow and empty. There have been altercations, usually unimportant. There have been fights with bloodied noses, broken arms, and police reports. But in the end, I had to stick to my guns. You ready for that, young Mr. Sanjay?”
“Thank you, Doctor Rock…”, he replies, “I never thought about it that way. But, yes, I think I can handle that situation if it arises. It’s business like you say and I am able to defend myself.”
“That’s good”, I reply, “At least physically. What about mentally? You might have to tell a good friend to get stuffed; in a nice manner, of course.”
“I think so.”, he replied, “I’ll follow your lead over the next couple of weeks. Call it ‘on the job training’.”
“Mr. Sanjay”, I say, “I do think you’ll do.”
We talk a bit more and I decide that after one more round of drinks, I’ll call 214, grab a couple of cigars and have Sanjay show me my room.
On the way down the long hall, Sanjay is smiling in a weird sort of way.
“OK, give,” I say.
“No, no yet. Wait until you see your room.” He snickers.
Now I’m worried.
We come to a large, polished, and engraved oak door. He produces a key from out of the depths of a Stephan King novel, twists it in the lock, and the door silently swings open.
“Holy shit!”, I exhale.
The room is enormous.
En suite bathroom where one could hold an Olympics meet in the Jacuzzi. American Standard bog, flanked on either side by bidets. Twin sinks, a shower with tropical, right out of the ceiling rainfall, or the new waterfall shower design. Or both. With steam function. Not boiling water, but live steam like any sauna.
“I could get to like this”, I mutter.
The room is fully carpeted with tapestries on the walls. A large, Victorian oak desk is over on one side, with a very nice dual-screen computer work station at my disposal. There is a note with my login and password in the leather-bound legal pad on the ergonomic computer chair before it. There is a huge flat-screen TV over on the other wall with the same 7-satellite feed as in the rec room.
“Whoa!” I say, “Data overload.”
My luggage is next to the built-in wardrobes. One houses a bespoke mini-bar.
“The maids would have put your clothes away”, Sanjay explains, “But they were locked. I can call them if you’d like.”
“Sure”, I reply, “Why not?” I see two of the aluminum cases that I marked “Careful: Scientific Instruments” are next to the computer workstation.
Two maids presently arrive and I unlock my luggage. They set to putting it away and are tsking that it needs to be pressed first.
“Perhaps later”, I said, “It’s been a day and I’m a bit knackered.”
“I will turn down your bed then”, one of the nubiles remarks.
Sanjay is now smiling way, way too broadly. I go through the door to the master bedroom.
“Holy shit squared,” I say.
There is a huge four-poster Edwardian? Georgian? bed. The carved wooden uprights are the diameter of telephone poles. I’m a pretty large person, but on this bed, I’ll need a personal transponder as its large enough for me to get lost. Easily 3x4 meters and the mattress is nice and firm, just the way I like it.
On top of the bed are blankets, a comforter, a quilt, an afghan, and more feather-stuffed keep-warms than I ever saw outside of Siberia. Under those, I’d sweat away to nothingness; but it looks so damned comfy.
The bed properly turned back, I thank the maid and make the noises like I want her to get the fuck out so I can get horizontal.
Sanjay notes that and has her and the other maid exit. All my clothes are put away, even my field vest I discarded when we walked into the room is tutted over and hung up.
“So, Rock?” he laughs, “What do you think?”
“I think if I didn’t have a serious job to do, I’d come down with some damned virus that would require me to stay home and socially distance myself.” I laugh.
“Sorry, but work begins tomorrow. What time would you like for me to ring you?” he asks.
“Right”, I said, “About that. I want to be on the job at 0600. Not leaving here at 0600, not wheels up at 0600. I want to be ready to select my 24 candidates beginning at 0600 tomorrow. I leave that to you. When do we need to leave, so when do I need to be rung up?”
“I’ll call you at… 0430…?” he cautiously says.
“Fine.” I reply, “Make certain that the notices I sent were posted. I want my 100 applicants ready and on-site spot-on 0600. I’ll need a large black coffee in a travel mug. Green?”
“Green?” he asks.
“My shorthand for ‘are we in agreement?’” I say.
“Oh, yes. Rock. Very green. See you in the morning.” He says, shakes my hand and departs; but not before leaving me the room key.
I lock the door and strip down. A steamy shower and a couple of very well-appointed in-room mini-bar bourbons later, I’m going over Email. Seeing nothing that can’t wait until the next day or two, I flop into bed and immediately become a missing person.
The phone cheerily chirps at me at precisely 0430. If I had my Casull, that phone would be in another dimension. As it is, I drag my carcass to vertical, grab the phone, say “Thanks” and hang up.
A quick shower, a couple of shower sunrisers, and I’m feeling much better. Damn near human. I gather the day’s necessities, don my vest, and Stetson over my usual field outfit and toddle downstairs. I’m not 5 steps out of the room when the maids arrive with the intent of committing premeditated neatness in my room.
I wave to them, and gargle an obligatory “Morning”, and head down to the main floor.
I am greeted by Sanjay, who is holding a large metal thermal coffee travel mug for me.
“You are a gentleman, scholar, and life-saver”, I say to him.
He beams in the way-too-early morning light.
“Breakfast, Doctor?” he asks.
“Just coffee. I don’t want to eat too much these first few days. ‘Delhi belly’ and all that. Too much work to do.” I remonstrate.
“Understood.” Sanjay complies, “Cigar?”
“Yes, it is,” I say.
“I have brought along a box of them for you today,” he adds, smiling.
“Outstanding”, I say and sip my coffee. Surprisingly, it is of the Greenland variety.
“The driver is waiting. Anytime you are ready, Rock”, Sanjay informs me.
“Give me a few minutes,” I say as I review the morning edition of the Times of India. I was actually waiting for the fine coffee to take effect.
A few minutes later, we’re headed down the coast to the beach; right where the rubber hits the road. Or rather, the ships scrape the sand.
Alang is the biggest ship breaking facility in the world. There are more than 400 ship breaking platforms here. They break about 1,500 ships every year. At any time about 300 people can be working on a single ship. The total workforce here is 40,000 plus. There are complaints about the treatment of workers and their service conditions. Ships are broken down crudely by hand using the minimum machinery; typically oxygen lances and welding torches.
It’s a horror show. Huge, rusty, jagged pieces of ships everywhere. Puddles of every color, containing noxious chemicals of every description. Lead, organotins such as tributyltin in anti-fouling paints, polychlorinated organic compounds, by-products of combustion such as polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, dioxins, and furans are found in ships and pose a great danger to the environment and personnel.
There is a singular lack of PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) here. Thatched, woven palm-frond ‘hardhats’. Steel-toed sandals; if you grasp the irony. No coveralls, gloves nor much else. Ragged shorts, torn shirts, and car-tire soled sandals are the uniforms here.
Well, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s change this.
We wheel into an area containing a huge tent-like structure, a couple of Quonset huts, and a smattering of non-descript outbuildings. The place is swarming with workers. All male, all young, and all looking to be part of the chosen 24 today.
We park and I’m shown into the large tent-like structure. At the head of the tent are a table, a PA system microphone, and a desk where we can sit down and tally the day’s take.
“OK, Sanjay”, I say, “Time to work. Remember I sent ahead the qualifications I’m looking for in trainees?”
I had cabled ahead for them to pre-select 50 candidates, 175-225 pounds, 5’ 9” to 6’ 3”, preferably unmarried bachelors, which tend to be the best kind. They must be English reading and speaking. I need the larger guys to handle the physical demands of the job. They need to be within the height requirements as those are the heights my pre-ordered coveralls will fit. They must be fluent in spoken and written English as I don’t have time to learn Hindi.
There were easily 5 times that number milling about just outside.
“OK, here’s the deal”, I said, “Here are 100 numbered chits. You will pass them out to the first 100 gents outside that pass initial muster. That is their ticket inside. Pucker time. Think you can handle the throng?”
“I’ve got this, Rock”, he says, with a stalwart look.
“OK, but if you need help, you know where I am,” I reply.
I busy myself constructing a 10x10 grid on a sheet of paper. I number it 1 to 100. This will keep tabs on our candidates.
Behind me, on the wall, are 24 brass tokens, ‘chits’, about the size of a US$1 Silver Bullion coin, about 1.5 inches in diameter, numbered 1 to 24. They have a flat space for a name to be engraved upon. These are the coveted chits that enable a person to graduate out of the swill and into the ranks of blasterdom and eventual teaching.
Right now, they are the most coveted possession within hundreds of miles.
One by one, pre-selected individuals are filtering in and finding seats. Sanjay is doing quite the job, as so far, they all fill the bill nicely. Whether they pass or fail muster will be determined in the next couple of hours.
I sip my coffee and smoke my cigars. The room swells by the numbers. Soon, all the seats are taken and Sanjay rejoins me at the head podium.
“Good job, Mr. Sanjay”, I say, shaking his hand. “Let’s take a couple of minutes and then we shall begin, OK?”
He agrees. I head to the loo and he takes my coffee for a refill. We reappear a few minutes later and I grab the microphone for the PA system.
I key the mike, “Hello! Please, everyone, quiet down and pay attention!”
Very few replies much less capitulation.
Sanjay stands and shouts something in Hindi.
The room goes deathly silent.
“Remind me to ask you to teach me that,” I say and return to the job at hand.
“Gentlemen. Welcome to the selection board for Blaster’s Assistants. If you are not here for that particular position, the exit’s to the rear.”
No one moves, except to shift to pay me more attention.
“OK. Great. I am Dr. Rocknocker, the headmaster of this special education class. I am the boss. The hookin’ bull. The head cheese. I am the Maharaja of this project. What I says, goes. I am an American, I am a geologist, and I don’t tolerate tomfoolery or bullshit from anyone. I say jump, you say ‘how high’? I say shit and you ask ‘what color’? You will follow my instructions implicitly, without question. Are we in agreement?” I ask.
There are a few feeble “Yeah’s”, and “OK’s” that drift up out of the crowd.
“Gentlemen. I am an American, as I said, and I’m old, weary, and slightly hard of hearing. I don’t expect you to use your indoor voice around me. You answer so I can hear you, loud and clear. Understand?”
“Yes.” Comes a few half-hearted attempts.
“GOD DAMN IT! I’m the fuckin’ deaf one. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?”
“Yes, Doctor!” came the reply.
“What? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”
“YES, DOCTOR!” came the thunderous response.
“Outstanding,” I reply.
There were some snickers and chuckles in the crowd. It was time to toughen up the crowd and see if I can thin the ranks early.
“Gentlemen! Your attention.” I roar.
I had their attention.
I hold up my gloved left hand. I rip off the glove and show everyone my physical deformity. There were gasps, groans, and a couple of less hearty souls bolting for the door.
“I received this in a Russian rig accident years ago. It was not from a blasting accident. I’ve never had one and don’t intend on starting now. If this bothers you, leave. This is me and I’m the instructor.” I announced. “That fact will not change.”
Physical deformities here really scare some folks. I figured I’d get this out of the way straight off, and that would be one less thing to worry about. We lost three with that revelation.
“Groovy,” I said as I replace my glove.
“Now, we will begin the final selection. You all have your numbered tokens, one through a hundred. If you thought because you had a low number, you’d be first, forget it. I have a random number generator application on my phone, set from one to one hundred. And the first number is number…Lucky 13! Lucky 13. Come forward, front and center, and be recognized.” I say.
Sanjay is seated next to me with our book of the job. He’ll be handling secretarial duties whilst I do the interviewing.
“Your token?” I ask.
The young gent hands me lucky number 13.
“Fine.” I say, “Name?”
Name go in book.
“Age? Company number? Years with the company? Married? If so, children?”
All data goes into the book in the proper zones.
I ask a few questions about the job, to make sure they know what they’re in for.
“How’s your English?” I ask.
“I speaks it very goodly”, was the reply.
“Marvelous.”
I pick up this month’s Journal of Explosives Engineering monthly and hand it to him.
“Page 22. Read the first paragraph, please.” I instruct him.
He fumbles with the magazine, counts singly to page 22, and tries to read some random, but not first, paragraph.
I retrieve the magazine, thank him, and tell him we’ll be in touch.
Everyone and I mean everyone, chosen or not, will be personally told of their results.
I mean, it’s only right and fair. It’s the way I’ve done business for 40 years and it’s worked pretty well so far.
Candidates number 9, 57, and 42 results in much the same way.
“Number 77!” I call.
He lopes up to the podium.
“Your token, please,” I say
He hands it over.
We gather the information and he’s unmarried and without children.
How refreshing.
I hand him the journal and ask him to read the last paragraph on page 52.
“iRing has announced, “a breakthrough technology in ring design for underground mines” that uses a completely new blast design model. The development of this innovative blasting technique uses a unit charge and stress reflection methodology in conjunction with electronic detonators to design ring patterns with the objective of transforming underground blasting operations into primary crushing operations.”
“Your name again?” I ask
“I am Waazir Naidu.” He replies.
“Mr. Naidu, welcome aboard,” I say as I hand him his brass token. “You are trainee number one. Do not lose your token. It is your key up out of the swill.”
He smiles broadly and turns to the crowd to display his brass letter of acceptance. There are growls from the crowd, as well as a smattering of applause.
“We will reconvene in Outbuilding #2 at 1300 hours. See you there.” I say and shake his hand.
He’s all beaming smiles as he almost literally floats out the door.
We spent the rest of the morning thinning the herd. There were some judgment calls, but by 1130 hours, we were down to two candidates and one last brass token.
“Number 79!” I call.
He approaches, we do the usual and get his information.
“Please read paragraph three on page…oh, I don’t know, 31.”
He fumbles with the magazine a while and stutters and stammers somewhat.
“OK, thanks.” I say, “We’ll let you know.”
“OK, number 5! The best and last number 5!”
“About time!’ He scowls.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“You really are deaf, Yankee benchod.” He sneers quietly; but loud enough for me to hear.
He figures he’s a shoo-in; last number called, last chit on the board.
“Sanjay, a moment,” I ask.
“This “benchod”? Not a term of endearment, I take it?”
“Ah, no”, he stammers.
“And it means?” I ask.
“You don’t want to know.” Sanjay hopefully replies.
“But, yes, I do. I insist.” I reply.
“It means colloquially ‘motherfucker’. ‘Sister fucker’ literally.” He splutters.
“Hmmm. OK. A new term for my dictionary. Fine. Let us continue.”
Name, age, etc. all go in book.
I hand him the magazine. He almost rips it from my hands.
“OK, please read the ad on page 55. All of it.” I instruct.
He flips the magazine to page 55. There’ a half-page ad in Russian for a new form of blasting cap super-boosters.
“I can’t read that.” He complains.
“Well, then me ol’ mucker; looks like you’re just shit out of luck. Good day.” I say.
“Sanjay”, I say, “Go outside and find number 79. He’s our last candidate trainee.”
“You said you wanted good English readers.” The rejected complains.
“Yes”, I agreed, “But I also need people that can follow instructions and not have a Gibraltar size chip on their shoulder. I’m the boss, and what I say goes. And I say you go, dick cheese. Ta-ta.”
He realizes his mistake and beings to entreat me with tales of woe.
“If that was a loose blasting wire, we’d all be dead. I don’t need an attitude. I need people with brains enough to listen. Now, piss off. We’re done here.” I say.
“Benchod fucker”, he snarls. “I keel you.”
Luckily my coffee mug was nearly half empty. Otherwise, it could have really left a mark across his face where I slammed him with it.
He’s down on the ground, wondering what hit him. I’m standing over him, towering and glowering. It was that kind of day. I don’t have time for monks resisting the carnival.
“You get the fuck out of my sight, you sawed-off little prick. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and don’t give you a fucking C-4 enema. Or kick your scrawny ass to death. You might still have your shit job here in the yard, but I hear from anyone one more foul oath or unkind word out of you and you’re going to be Alsatian chow back at the Raj. You diggin’ me, Beaumont”
He just looked at me with eyes as wide as cheap paper plates at a windy Sunday picnic.
“Get out of here, you asshole.” I snarled and puffed mightily on my cigar.
He got up and scarpered. He didn’t even take the time to dust off.
Sanjay arrived with number 79 just as he hit the exit.
I hand number 79, one Mr. Yudhishthira Bahaiti, brass token number 24.
“Welcome aboard. Sorry about the foul-up. It’s been handled. See you in building #2 at 1300 hours.” I say.
“Sanjay? Lunch?” I suggest. “I could really use a fresh coffee.”
After lunch, Sanjay and I are smoking away in Outbuilding #2. It’s about 1245 hours or so and already a couple of new recruits have appeared. They are sitting in one of the 24 seats which look for all the world like elementary school desks way back in the day.
There are 24 locker boxes stacked along one wall. These are the new locker boxes for my recruits.
These contain a number of specialty items which they will now need in the execution of their new jobs.
Some of it could be considered quite pricey and there are needs for security, especially since this bunch will be dealing with high, low, and medium explosives. I’m getting that teaching vibe again. I love geology, I love blowing shit up, but I really love to teach. Especially a new crop of fresh recruits.
I’ve watched Full Metal Jacket far too many times.
It’s 1300 hours on the nose. All 24 recruits are assembled and in their proper numbered chair. Sanjay has made up a seating plan for me so I can get to match a name to face and locker box number.
It’s showtime.
To be continued…

Al Sallamu Alaikum,
​
I've been meaning to write this out for a long while but didn't want to rush it as the purpose in posting my MM experiences here are in the hope that I can help sisters, (and possibly brothers too) Inshaa Allah. I am not bashing the opposite gender as obviously I can't see what the female profiles look like. Also apologies for the long post but I think details are crucial.
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Early on when I first started using MM app I must admit I was rather naive to what's out there as prior to this, interest I was getting was in real life through my parents etc.
One day as I was using the app I came across a dude's profile. Let's name him.. 'Mo', he was a teacher and 5 years my senior, he later told me he was half Spanish and half Russian. He was not stunning but he looked well put together. His profile was an interesting read and seemed professional.
At this stage I decided that I was going to make the first move and swipe right. Prior to this I was like a sitting duck waiting for matches thinking it was the 1800's or something lol. Shortly after I had a notification to say that he swiped me right and it was a match!
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From memory I think he sent me a short message to say Sallam and I replied. We went back and forth with the usual chit chat and within a few days of talking he asked to exchange numbers in order to speak on Whatsapp. I'm very private but agreed to exchange details as the app was really glitchy and admittedly the poor matches. The conversation on whatsapp started with him being 'cheeky' saying things like save my number as 'goregous man' and calling me 'sweet cheecks'. I was a bit taken a back by this as seemed a bit egotistical and cheesy (which are 2 traits I dislike). I did call him out on it there and then by saying 'sweet cheeks? what are we 16? lol'. I think he got the jist that I wasn't falling for that rubbish. #Redflag1 (being overly flirty too soon and trying to charm)
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I asked him straight up why he was there and he came across as rather defensive and said my question was 'odd'... as mentioned before I was somewhat new to the app and thought perhaps I offended him. Looking back now I don't feel that there was a reason to be defensive but anyway the convo continued to him saying message me back at 8.15pm. #Redflag2 as this was the 'controlling' aspect coming out ... read further down to see where I'm coming from.
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He bought up the question that I had asked before regarding why he was on the app ... it was weird as thought that I dealt with this already. Again I went into detail to state it's because the dudes that I had previously spoken to seemed serious on their profiles but after speaking to them were only trying to pass the time or looking for someone with loose morals such as themselves. To this he disclosed that he had met 2 girls the previous month and both seemed confused. I thought right OK finally we're on the same page...
All of a sudden he said 'I would definitely like to meet you whenever you are ready *****'. I said i'd feel more comfortable speaking on the phone prior to meeting up. He seemed to be fine with this. We decided on a day and time to speak on the phone which was a generic conversation. Can't remember too much of it tbh.
I didn't hear from him the next day after our telephone convo and thought I'll message him in the evening to follow up, he replied several hours later...midnight to be precise. Admittedly I'm a bit of a night owl so didn't mind but this became a bit of a habit the more we spoke. #Redflag3 (when they message late it means you're an after thought or a boredom toy).
That same evening he said he was preparing for an event for 'his business' and said he has another one coming up and whether I'd be interested in going to this 'event' which happened to be very close to where I lived at that time. I thought OK as it wouldn't be a pressurized environment and I can calm my nerves a bit before we go for a coffee and talk properly.
He confirmed the date and said I was on the VIP list. I did ask what type of business but he said it would be better to talk in person and for him to explain. Thought fair enough, it will be a talking point. In that same convo he said he was going to pray and read some Qur'an, I thought brilliant and asked him if he could read it in Arabic, there was no motive to the question I was merely intrigued. He said he reads it in Arabic... I thought mama..I've hit the jackpot! lol
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The following few days which let up to the meeting were short conversations of what you've been up to today? what did you eat? etc. the messages were coming through late in the evening as before so I tried to keep them short as thought we are meeting soon anyway. He was trying to be a bit flirty & I ignored the compliments etc
Finally the day came to meet...I was a bag of nerves! I think it's because I liked him and wanted everything to go well. I spoke to my girlfriends who gave me some tips on questions to ask and how to chill and be myself. An hour before the meeting I got dressed in my business attire and marched my way to meet him at this place. I went into the lobby area but there were so many people... so I messaged him to let him know that I was there. When alone get on your phone, so I busied myself with that. I must have been waiting for about 10 mins or maybe less but it seemed like an eternity. Finally I heard someone utter my name and I looked up and there he was. Have to admit he looked a bit different than his profile pics in terms of his hair looked longer and he had a bit of jewellery on with a suit that had a pattern that I can only describe as kitchen towel flashbacks.. he looked cheesy. Anyway we said hi to each other and did the small talk before we rushed to sign the entry register and made our way up to the next level and waited at the front of the line in order to get into this large conference room and it was packed! He disappeared briefly and I got talking to some sisters who didn't have a clue what the talk was about either. I didn't mind as felt safe as obviously I was amongst about 100 people.
So he comes back and they open the door and he keeps calling me to sit next to him. The setup is a large room with rows and rows of seats. So I sit next to him and smile as you do, it was rather loud so no chance of a convo. Shortly after the conference started. A guy goes up to the stage and starts talking a bit about the company and how well it's doing and his reason for joining the company which was to enjoy life and to savour time and basically not slave away our lives working and get out of the car race. There were some videos basically saying the same thing and how precious our time is and how we should work smarter to make money instead of working our fingers to the bone ...yada yada...I still had no idea what this company was about... An hour goes by and the main dude on the stage starts to invite some people to this stage.. some more vague wishy washy talking...more videos from their CEO in the US with thousands of people clapping... eventually they move on to presenting some people with awards and giving a shout out to some of the 'leaders' that have done really well...one by one they stand up and people clapping away. Then the guy giving the shout outs says Mo's name and he gets up and everyone claps. Still no idea what is going on at this stage... and tbh I lost interest as it had been several hours of vagueness. I later looked up the company and there is a heck of a lot of info about the company being a pyramid scheme and even had ex employees testimonies.
​
Eventually the whole thing is over and we make our way out. Mo asks me if there is anywhere nearby to grab a bite/ coffee which looking back now he should have known there would be as he mentioned to me previously that every sunday his 'company' has a meeting there... (how is it your company when you're not the CEO and merely an employee amongst many others?), at the time I didn't clock as it was busy and my brain was fried from the pointless meeting/ conference. I knew the area well so suggested a nearby cafe which we went to. It was a tad awkward and I was still a bit nervous but tried my best to ask all the right questions. I asked about his family, parents, siblings, friends, lifetyle, hobbies, likes/ dislikes etc he disclosed to me that his dad was out of the picture as he was an alcoholic, he also mentioned that he had no interaction with his Russian dad's side of the family but had a great relationship with his Spanish mum and her family.
Don't worry I wasn't fan-girling over him because of his mixed background as I come from a humble mixed background myself & don't see that as a big deal but this will become more apparent later on in the story as when I saw his picture I put him down as 'asian' looking, maybe Afgani, (he hadn't disclosed his ethnicity on his bio at the time).
I was touched by his closeness with his mum and how hard he worked to support her, (he was living at home)... I felt assured that he knew how to respect women. We talked some more and walked a bit and I called it a day. He suggested he gives me a lift but i politely declined. (Never get into a strangers car ladies & gents!).
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Later that evening I received a message to say 'it was lovely meeting you'. The conversation seemed positive and pleasant. He asked me what I was doing and I explained I was looking at a first-aid book which my friend had gifted me as I've been a first-aider for many years and it's one of my interests... I sent him a pic of what I was reading which included a few drawings of how to perform mouth to mouth to adults and babies. He picked up on this and was trying to low key oversexualise the drawing in a jokey way. I played it off and joked back that I wasn't trying to imply anything. I brushed it off basically. #Redflag4 (low key turning anything normal into something sexual is a sign to look out for).
The convo's continue back and forth over a few days and one day he stops messaging. I didn't bother messaging first as was busy and felt that if he wanted to talk to me he knew how to contact me and he knew that I had 4 days off work as had informed him previously. 4 days I heard nothing from him. it was like he purposely avoided contacting me. He eventually messages out of the blue saying 'hi' and talking as if we were having a conversation just yesterday. I jokingly called him out on this as would have thought it would be the perfect opportunity to talk some more and get to know each other. The convo was playful but had an undertone that left a bitter taste in the mouth a bit.
​
A few days go by and I come to the conclusion that it's time to step it up a notch as the convos were dying out so asked him what he'd be doing at the end of the week. He said he had plans, I thought ok fair enough and suggested another day which suited him too and we agreed to meet that day. We decided on a time and a place.
The conversations that followed were somewhat normal although he was being flirty, I put it down to his nature and thought to myself don't be a prude and laughed mostly, no flirting back from my side. So it was the day before our meeting and I thought i'd drop him a message in the evening to check in to make sure he was still up for out meeting. He replied back saying that his car was at the garage and that he was going to get it back the next day but had to push our meeting later on in the evening...much later in the evening. I thought it was weird as he didn't mention it before so I pressed him for a specific time that he thought he'd get his car back and he said he wasn't sure. I was getting some flakey vibes and arranged for other plans so told him we'd have to reschedule for another day. I wasn't willing to cancel my plans for him when we had previously agreed a date and a time and he hadn't informed me about his car at all the when we were talking. He said fine lets arrange another day. #Redflag5 (stuff happens in life but if you're genuine you will keep the other party informed and updated regarding anything that will alter the plans agreed, bearing in mind I messaged him first that evening and only then did he disclose this info).
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He messages the following day with the usual 'hi, how are you? etc as if nothing had happened and he didn't provide any further explanation or apology for flopping. I tried to keep it polite but I was annoyed inside. He continued messaging every night around 12am right before I went bed so the conversations were very short. His messages were hot and cold. One night he'd be overly sweet..sickly in fact and the next he'd be cold or not message at all. I was now waking up and seeing the redflags by his behavior, being flirty and trying to brush things off, messaging late, mixed messages etc. My annoyance turned into disappointment as I felt that his behavior was belittling me and trying to make it seem like it was perfectly normal to be treated the way he has treated me and frankly I was bored of the BS and knew my worth!
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I felt s*tty, so my gf's arranged for us to go out for a meal and catch up. I told them what was going on and showed them a photo of him as per their request. One of the girls eyes widened and she shrieked 'I know him!'....My heart sank. She went on to say that she had spoken to him previously on MM and they had met! She said nothing came of it as they decided to be friends. I asked her when that took place she said over a year ago which didn't line up with his story when he said he had only been using the app for a month. The more we talked, the more I realised how much BS this dude had spun.. he even lied about his racial background! She said he told her that he was half Pakistani & half Spanish and that he spoke fluent Urdu. No Russian background at all... Suffice to say I was p*ssed!
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At that moment whatever respect I had for him was gone out of the window. My friends suggested I message him right there and then and ask him directly where this is going as he hadn't made any effort to meet up again and was playing games. So I did.. he played the whole 'we've only met once' and that 'we'd need more time to establish whether we want to pursue things or not' ...basically trying to make me seem like i'm being pushy.
When I called him out of giving me mixed messages, messaging me so late in the early hours of the morning, not suggesting we meet again after he flopped, flaking out of our meeting etc. I laid it all out on the table. His response was 'I work during the day dude so the fact I message you at 'random' times is better than not messaging you at all. Yes you did take the initiative to suggest meeting but you also said you had stuff on in the evening when I informed you the night before that I was without a car. I'm pretty tied up for the next two weekends with prior commitments so if you feel you're making the effort without any response then I sincerely wish you good luck'.
He was making it seem as if he was too important and sooo busy even though the so called pyramid scheme he was part of talked about freeing up time and enjoying life etc. He was also making it seem like he was doing me a favour by messaging me at all. He was also making it out that he was the one who told me about his car being at the garage even though I was the one to message him to make sure everything was OK for our meeting and he dropped this on me last minute #RedflagI'veLostCount
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I could have said so many things but to me it was pointless as I had lost respect and trust in this person so I replied to 'Mo...all i'm going to say is that I wish you all the best back. Hope you find whatever you're looking for. Sallam'. He replied with 'Likewise ****, I'm sorry you feel the way you do' ...again making it seem like I was irrational and delusional and he has done nothing wrong...
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I went on living my life and keeping busy with work, family, friends and I was in the process of accomplishing an important goal in my life so it was helping me forget him, not that I was in love with him but it was my fault that I had put him on a pedestal and allowed my bar to be lowered.
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3 days go by and guess who pops into my whatsapp? Yip you guessed it right, our not-so-Russian mate Mo.. it was at a time when we had a lot of snow and most of the people were off work. His message consisted of 'Good morning ***** wakey wakey rise and shine. Have a great day at work or enjoy your day off like the 75% of the country :) ' ... suffice to say I ignored his message.
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Another 3 days go by... I receive yet another message stating 'All the best :) '.. again I ignore this message...
A week goes by...yet another message stating 'Good Morning' .. I came to the conclusion if I don't block him he'll keep annoying me so I blocked him and put an end to it Alhamdulilah.
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The moral of the story is do NOT ignore redflags, go with your gut instinct, don't put anyone on a pedastal just because they say they pray, read Qur'an and NEVER allow anyone to treat you with disrespect or make you seem like you're the crazy one ...know your self worth! Do not lower the bar for anyone and if you aren't receiving respect, honesty and transparency know that you're wasting your time and you need to move on!
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If you've made it this far, I hope my story will be some kind of help to peeps out there or at least it was an entertaining read :)

CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP
“OK”, I think to myself, “We’re traveling at 120 knots, due wet, i.e., offshore, in a vintage BELL 412 SP/EP. Yep. Oh now look: 121 knots.”
So far, so good.
“No compass. Radiotelephone was non-responsive. VHF, HF, and UHF radios are all kaput.” I note, “We’re tailgating behind another newer crew transport helicopter because we’re carrying specialty bespoke hyper-magnetic logging and retrieval tools. Of course, no chopper’s that shielded against magnetic flux of that magnitude.”
I spy a blood-red, rapidly flashing warning light blinking merrily “1-2 AHRS FAIL”. This warning light’s blinking, meaning all electronic helicopter heading information and guidance was completely lost.
But, we expected that, right?
Now, I’m certified to fly rotary wing aircraft as I have over 1,500 hours of stick and rudder time, and a US/Russian license. But there’s the rub, we’re not in the US. Oddly enough, I can fly choppers in Mother Russia. It might be time to let my employers know this fact. With my dual license, I’d just have to send the properly-acknowledged documents to the proper ministry.
That fact alone would give my sponsors the jibblies if I only would let on…
We’re currently thrashing the hot and humid summer air into submission about 300 meters above the Persian Gulf just offshore of a very small GCC Arabic peninsular country known as Qutur, headed for their Norse Field. It is the world’s largest non-associated gas field (Reinick & Blandings, 1997), meaning its reservoirs contain only natural gas and no oil, but they do contain condensate.
Why? Because I’m the goddamned Chief Geologist out here, and the cement-headed drillers twisted off the BHA, or bottom hole assembly, at 27,459 feet measured along hole; as the well was a long-reach lateral. It wasn’t horizontal nor vertical, but approximately 45⁰ along the trajectory when the driller fell asleep, was out getting a blowjob or doing something other than watching the goddamn Martin-Decker; the big gauge that indicates the weight on the bit at the bottom of the hole.
The torque built, the BHA stopped spinning, the mud system clabbered up, the bit and mud motor along with the directional gear seized up and snapped right the fuck off the drill string.
Now I have a ‘fish’ at the bottom of an over 5-mile deep hole and I can’t latch on, in, or over the damned thing. And the fuck if I’m spending the money in sidetracking around the fucking fish. Bottom hole temperatures here are reaching ‘HELL’, or Hostile Environment Logging Level and are HPHT, High Pressure, High Temperature, intensities of over 175⁰ C and pressures in excess of 25K psig bottom hole in the Kruff Formation of Permocarboniferous age.
Plus there’s H2S, CO2, and nasty ol’ nitrogen. N2 forms noxious and toxic compounds with down-hole gasses and oils, and loads of high-API gravity (60⁺⁾ hot, high-pressure condensate.
I’d rather spend some time with a tricked out, high-powered, ‘rip your fillings out if you’re Slavic’ high intensity, ubermegagauss fishing magnet and go in with a ream and junk basket to try and drill it up. Rather than have to drop a cement plug, set a whipstock, back off the hole, come up a few thousand feet, and start a new trajectory over the fish.
Another fun fact of which I was somehow denied knowledge was that local, intense thunderstorms were predicted for this part of the Persian Gulf today.
So, I’m with my pilot de jure, Dasharath Phuyal, late of the Royal Nepalese Air Force, Pro Station, and Tire Salon.
“Dash”, I ask, “We’re you excepting any weather today?”
“Umm,” he replies, querulously, “No Doctor. We checked the weather radar and it was clear.”
“What weather radar?” I inquired. Qutur doesn’t have any of their own yet, particularly those of the Doppler^® variety.
“The one from Dubai”, he says.
“And when was this?”, I asked.
“Oh, late last night”, he smiles back at me.
”Just watch that chopper in front of us”, I grumble, “Last night? You do know things tend to change a bit quickly out here…”
I never got to finish that sentence as I was rudely interrupted by a huge clap of thunder.
The sturdy, but timeworn, airframe of the Bell helicopter juddered, shimmingly and shakily.
“Ooh-whee!”, Dash whoops, “That was a close one.”
I reminded Dash that I was much closer and he should pay more attention to the job at hand rather than whooping up our impromptu roller coaster ride.
Luckily, the water here in the Gulf isn’t that deep, is bath-tub warm, and while it is home to some nasty, toothy critters, it’s not like being dumped in the South Atlantic around Cape Town in August.
Still, going for a swim after escaping a drowning helicopter just wasn’t on my list of fun things to do today; and I wanted to keep it that way. I mean, we do have to get our THUET, or Tropical Helicopter Underwater Escape Training, certificate. It’s an annual good time. I’ve been through it over 20 times, but novices and tyros really get grumpley and pukey once the mock-up of the chopper spins upside down and ker-splashes into the cold pool water.
I just sit in my seat, slowly undo my restraints and watch to see if anyone is in real trouble. Sure, they have rescue divers all around, but sometimes they are distracted by a full-load of novice characters losing their collective shit and lunch. I like to help out when I can. I’m no savage.
We also have to obtain T-BOSIET (Tropical Basic Offshore Safety Induction & Emergency Training), Basic Hydrogen Sulfide (H2S), T-FOET (Tropical Further Offshore Emergency Training), Compressed Air Emergency Breathing System (CA-EBS) and Travel Safely by Boat (TSbB) certifications. They just don’t let any breed of dummy out on an active offshore platform. You have to be a dummy that can stay awake through hours and hours of boring droning instructors.
I am one of the very few that also hold an AHUET, or Arctic Helicopter Underwater Escape Training, certificate. That’s a very cool time as well.
Anyways, we’re being slammed around like the last squash ball in the tin. It’s not raining yet, but there’s thunder, lightning, waves, and teeth-rattling thunderous repercussions of storm shock waves rebounding off the warm, Gulf waters.
It’s weird, but in the north, you get some severe summer and fall thunderstorms. All you need to watch out for is lightning, downward, and lateral thunder-shock waves, and rain. But out here, you get all that and the added bonus of thunder-induced shock waves rebounding off the warm waters of the Gulf, upward. It can drop your craft into the water just as certain as an angry downdraft can.
“So, Dash.”, I say, “We’re going to try and avoid any of that today, right?”
Dash ignores me as it’s raining now like a cow peeing on a flat rock and the wipers aren’t doing such a good job keeping up with clearness. Considering we’re probably 50 or so feet behind another helicopter, our safety guide, that margin for safety could go away almost instantaneously.
He’s sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market, striving to keep the tail rotor of the helo in front of us just out of our reach and just within visible range. I decide I’ll read him the riot act later, once we are safely landed on the platform.
This goes on for a few minutes more when suddenly, the rig pops into view and the sun breaks through the roiling, cloudy deck.
But first, there are some protocols that must be satisfied:
These procedures will be based on the following requirements, or equivalent, which define when an approach is considered stabilized:
a. The aircraft is on the correct flight path and the correct navigational data has been confirmed as entered into the navigation system for final approach to the desired airport, heliport, or helideck and the aircraft is stabilized for the approach.
b. Only small changes in heading/power are normally required to maintain the correct flight path, unless the environmental conditions on a particular day may require power changes larger than normal.
c. All briefings and checklists have been completed, except for the final landing check.
d. The aircraft is in the correct landing configuration.
e. The sink rate is no greater than 750 fpm upon arrival at the altitudes prescribed below, or as recommended by the manufacturer. If an approach will require a rate of descent greater than 750 feet per minute, a special briefing should be conducted.
f. All flights should be stabilized by 1000 feet above landing elevation in IMC and by 500 feet above landing elevation in VMC unless the following flight profiles are in use:
– For helicopters where the transit height is less than500 feet above landing elevation, the aircraft should be stabilized by 300 feet and 60 knots ground speed above the landing surface.
– For some operations, such as seismic work involving a high level of low altitude external load operations and remote landing sites where it is necessary to complete an overhead flight reconnaissance before landing the typical profile may require modification by the operator.
g. Anytime an approach becomes “unstabilized” (out of compliance with the above guidelines) a go-around / missed approach should be executed immediately unless the operator has established a limited number of deviation protocols that can be safely used to return to the stabilized profile.
i. Once the approach minimums (altitude, time, etc.) are achieved the correct airport, heliport, and helideck are confirmed.
OK, got all that? Good, you have 5 minutes and you’re traveling along at 123 knots just 250’ off the deck, with no instruments or compass. It’s raining, blustery and the wave tops are seemingly slopping over your toes.
GO!
We plop down gracelessly on the helipad and I’m glad Dash was stickhandling it today; as he immediately goes through the shut-down procedures.
Guess I’ll need to buy him a beer rather than chew him out when we get back to shore.
I hit the klaxon and several logging company hands run over to the helipad. I tell them to wait until the chopper’s secured and then they can drag that fucking magnetic tool off the bird and over to the drill floor.
Once we do a little cuttin’ and chewin’, we’re going magnet fishing 5 miles deep.
I go over to the doghouse, a steel-sided shelter that serves as the onsite office, communications center, rig top command center, tool and safety equipment storage, first aid station, and extreme weather shelter.
And my fucking active drilling office.
“WHOOT! WHEET!” someone yanks the alarm when I appear on the rig floor. “Boss man’s here. Everyone quit fuckin’ up for a while!” The horn is only local, on the drill floor. It doesn’t resonate back through the rig very far.
The drill floor is immaculate, as it should be. We haven’t cut a foot of new hole in the last week. I give everything a quick visual and everything seems to be in order. A floor hand arrives instantly with a mug of hot black coffee for me.
“No, you can’t go home early, Jake”, I say, “But thanks large for the java.”
Jake looks slightly depressed, but every time he hits 11 or 12 days on his 14-day hitch, things start happening at home. Dog’s pregnant, wife’s pregnant, Uncles dead, Granma’s dead; half the family’s dead and the other half are pregnant.
Every single fucking hitch.
And Jake’s not even married.
Into the doghouse, my chair is still warm as it the monitor for my workstation.
“I find the asshole that’s been accessing PornHub through my workstation and he’s or she’s shark bait. The cocksucker never leaves the unblocked URL so we can visit the website.” I growl.
The internet is a dodgy thing in the Middle East. All of a sudden, international instant access to porn, ideas, forbidden subjects, and well, you name it. It’s a hilarious cat-and-mouse race to watch one group try and block all the nasties and the other group finding easy ways around the blockages.
Still happens today, but with VPNs and such, the Ministries of Censorship just gave up. They went back to hand-coloring British Women’s magazines that show too much thigh or cleavage in the summer swimsuit issues.
It is such a weird place.
I call a meeting with the section heads and everything’s about ready for go. I give the OK and we’re tripping back in the hole with a concave cone-buster reamer and going down some 5 miles to chew up a metal bottom hole assembly. After that, we’ll run-in with the magnets and junk basket. Hopefully, in a day or three, we’ll have the hole clear, circulated, conditioned and ready for drilling again.
Tripping back in the hole some 5 miles means running in some 400 or so stand of ‘tribbles’ or three-30 foot (10 meter) sections of drill pipe already screwed together, or made up. We will need to make another 399 connections and RIH, run in the hole before we even arrive at Fish Central.
So, I’m off to the head; ‘chopper potty’ is not a joke. One tends to get sequentially homogenized on long trips and your bladder takes a harmonic beating. It’s not at all pleasant.
Then some chow, a movie, maybe the gym, and off on the platform to the back smoking area. No hurry, I’ve got at least 24-36 solid hours of boredom in front of me.
Before I go, I give Esme a call and see if she has any further information on Lady and her travels. She was supposed to meet us here and start her short quarantine period before she could join us; even though we’re still at the hotel. The company we’re paying huge sums of money to handle her transition are being royal pains in the ass. Nothing but excuses.
“She got a late start. No room for a dog that big on the flight booked.” Sounds sketchy as hell.
“She’s so big, we needed to have a new travel carrier constructed for her.” Ka-ching! Another call for more money.
“She got stuck in Zurich. She’s fine and will be here shortly.” “Zurich?” She was to go from Houston to London to Duhu.
Esme answers the phone.
Not a single word was spoken. I knew right from the start there was trouble.
“Es, it’s me. I made it to the rig OK. What’s the problem? Are you OK? The kids alright?” I asked.
“Oh, Rock”, Es cries, “I’m fine. The kids are fine. Lady’s dead.”
The shock hit me like a direct lightning-bolt strike and an immediate in-chest thunderclap. I actually thought someone lit off the flare boom directly behind me.
“Es”, I stammered, “What happened? Plane crash? Terrorists? Economy class chow?”
“No, Rock”, she sniffed, “Brown recluse spider.”
“What?” I spluttered.
“According to the assholes to whom we’re paying so much money, Lady was in a “climate-controlled” warehouse waiting on her flight out of Texas. She was being walked, fed, and watered on a regular basis. Just before her flight, they went to walk her and she was ‘unresponsive’.” They said.
“They let my dog, my boon companion, my children’s best friend, die in some overheated Texas warehouse from a motherfucking spider bite?” I roared.
My mind went into overdrive. I could snake the chopper and be at the international airport in less than 2 hours. Wheedle up a flight to London or Amsterdam, then one to Houston. I could be kicking the shit out of these assholes in less than 36 hours.
“Es”, I ask, much more angry that sad; as that would come later, “What do you want me to do?”
“Rock”, Es sniffles, “As much as I’d like you to go back to Texas and blow the fuckers up, I’m afraid it is what it is. There isn’t much we can do, in fact, nothing will bring Lady back. They already got her to Dr. Tom Nokhoi (our vet in Houston) who will handle the red tape. I’ll tell the kids tonight,” Es continues”, “But if you could call Dr. Bob, our family attorney, and let him know what happened, I’m certain he’ll make their lives not worth living from here on out.”
“Es”, I stammer, “I never said I was sorry to you about all this. I apologize deeply. Guess I’m not hitting on all 12 cylinders. I’ll get Dr. Bob going after these assholes. He’ll have their guts for garters. I’ll be home in a few days, or sooner if you want.”
“No, Rock”, Es rationalizes, “You have your job to do. I have mine. Don’t be surprised if you come home and we now have a pony, a new aquarium, a herd of gerbils, and a kitten or three.”
“Whatever it takes, “ I reply, “The kids will be devastated. They’ve known her…all…their…lives…Oh, fuck. This is a shitstorm on so many levels. Let me get after its wild ass and turn Dr. Bob loose on them.” Right now, the idea of Dr. Bob chewing on their metaphorical and economic asses…well, that’s the only thing that is giving me any sort of solace.
“OK, Rock”, Es sniffs, “I’ll take care of the home front, you release the Dr. Bob on these assholes. Stay safe. Come home to us in one piece. Love you.” She sighs and signs off.
I am beyond pissed. Past furious. Way past livid. I’ll let Dr. Bob take whatever he can get from these asswipes. The money doesn’t matter. I want revenge. A reckoning. Vengeance. Reprisal. Retribution, not restitution.
I sic Dr. Robert ‘Bob’ Roberts, JD, Esquire, of Kingwood, Texas on them. He knew something was askew when I called him at 0300 hours. He really liked Lady. He’s going to make these assholes an example for the Texas Law Journal. Or the Houston Chronicle obituaries.
Beyond that, there’s not much I can do. I wander back to the smoking area on the backside of the rig, pull out my secret flask, and a new cigar. I finished both solo to Lady’s memory. I didn’t even go to my office nor check-in, I was so pissed off. The important people knew I was here, that was enough for the time being.
I know one should adhere to the rules of the rig and out here, 125 miles from the coast in an Arab land, ‘no alcohol on the rig’ is pretty much a given.
Guess they need a real introduction to the Motherfucking Pro from Dover.” Besides, this time, it’s medicinal. Either that or I break into the explosives locker and I begin to blow up shit until I feel better. Guess which one will probably take fewer lives?
In the doghouse again, we’re back on bottom with the custom-made mill I had custom fabricated in Texas, and we’re grinding away. What we’re doing is sensu stricto not legal, as we’re chewing up the LWD/MWD, Logging While Drilling/Measuring While Drilling tools, and they carry some radioactive sources.
In the States, in the event of a loss involving a radioactive source, the tool and hole must be filled with cement, plugged, and abandoned to safely entomb the sources. These sources are infinitesimal amounts of Americium-241, and Cesium-242, much like what is found in commercial smoke detectors.
But, the stuff we’re currently turning into expensive metallic confetti is 5 miles deep in the earth and with a half-life of just 150-5,000 years. It ain’t never, no way, going to make it back to surface. We just keep calm and carry on grinding.
Drill, grind, shred. POOH, pull out of hole, run in hole with the magnet, and junk basket, energize, and POOH. Rinse and repeat. Finally, we’re making some headway until we hit the tungsten carbide insert drill bit.
These are usually classified as ‘undrillable’. Lose one of them, and it’s Sidetrack City.
Usually ain’t no other fuckin’ way around them.
Or is there?
I have them C&C the well, that is, circulate and condition the hole, so it’s stable top to bottom and not stratified; the mud column in the well is homogeneous in nature. Then we POOH again and I’ve got this cunning plan. Stick a tail on it and you could call it a fox.
If we can’t drill up the bit, perhaps we can just nudge it out of the way. We can steer our bottom hoe assembly, so maybe a push downward…It’s like hitting an oncoming asteroid. You don’t have to destroy the thing, just deflect it a mite. If we can literally shove it out of the way a few feet, we can slide by with the new Bottom Hole Assembly, save days and days of rig time, at some US$1.85 million/per 24-hour period, and get back to drilling.
I have the floor hands rig up a special BHA of my own design: a heavy, concave-faced lead impression block at the front, then hydraulic jars, shock sub, heavyweight drill pipe, and remex crossover sub that connects to the drill pipe.
It’s not ‘elegant’, basically a power hammer with a steerable trajectory. But, we get onto that bit and get good contact, we might just be able to hammer and power slide that SOB out of the fucking way.
It’s worth a try.
So, we RIH, run in the hole, and down the obligatory 5 miles until we make contact. We achieve what seems like a good seat and try to slide under just the weight of 24,000+ feet of drill pipe; over 1.65 million pounds of hook-load.
We’re blocked.
OK, that’s fine. That means the lead impression block is molding around the bitter end of the bit like a custom hand-in-leather glove. Now when we apply the hydraulic horsepower, it’ll have to move forward. Give a little more juice left or right, up or down and we should be able to steer it out of the way.
We can’t just build a ‘hump’ in the well path around the bit. With sliding, reciprocating, and rotation, that’d be what we in the industry call ‘a bad thing’. It would key seat, wear preferentially and cut holes in drill pipe and casing…just causing all sorts of grief.
So. We need to steer it out of the way of the pre-ordained well path and hammer it the fuck out of the way. We’ll pull back, drop some cement in the bottom of the hole, trip back in and drill our way back on target.
Jarring and hammering with the rig is a slow, tedious prospect. Keeping an eye on all parameters, more so than usual. If you inadvertently punch into a sub-seismic fault zone, an area of overpressure, or a high-pressure gas zone, you could well and truly be fucked.
So, it’s a slow, deliberate go. I personally run the show for the first 15 hours until I’m certain we’re off the predetermined well path and the bit’s being stuffed off to Bolivia, or Greenland or… I don’t care where just the fuck out of the way.
I hand the rig over to the rig superintendent and tell him that unless anything funny happens, we’ll keep hammering and pushing until 0800 hours. That way, the bit will be out of the way and we can trip back in, set a cement plug, and get back to drilling.
I’m exhausted, still mightily pissed about Lady, and thought about calling Dr. Bob.
Nah, too early, besides I need some chow and rack time.
Chow first.
One thing about every offshore rig I‘ve worked on, the food is fabulous. Amazing quality and quantity. And if you get a specific head chef, like Huib Klein Huismink from Dutchland or Đỗ Trọng Nghĩa from Ho Chi Minh City; you’re gonna have a good tour.
They don’t just cook, they chef. In their own inimitable styles.
We’re lucky enough on this project to have Đỗ Trọng Nghĩa, or Doh!, after a famous American cartoon sitcom noise.
He can make the most amazing SE Asian dishes. How he and his crew does it three times a day for over 145 hungry bodies just beggars imagination. He also keeps a supply of high-octane ‘cooking juice’ available for me in exchange for some of my cigars.
It’s called the barter system and has served mankind for billions of years.
“So, Doh, whaddya know?” I ask, walking up to the steam tables laden with not dinner and not quite yet breakfast chow.
“Fucking morning warnings to you very much, Doctor Rock”, Doh smiles by way of greeting. His English is as dodgy as my Chichewa.
We’re the best of friends.
I hand him a box of Cubans I confiscated from Duty-Free back in Amsterdam. Pricey, but that box will last Doh and me the whole project. So, economically, it makes sense.
“Doctor”, Doh asks, “See anything you like or want Doh to make you something special?”
“Doh”, I reply, “I require meat. In great, gory, giant, bleeding hunks. And a couple of your world-famous rice-paper shrimp spring rolls for starters. Also, some of that incredible Vietnamese Iced Coffee you got me hooked on.”
I loathe sweet iced tea and coffee. Except for Mr. Doh’s. With heavy crème, strong boot-black coffee, and a very secret liqueur over ice in a French Press. It’s ambrosial.
Mr. Doh quickly hands me a small 2-cup French Press, ready to go. He tells me to sit, savor a soupçon and he’ll have my dinner-breakfast ready before I start on the second cup.
The coffee has enough caffeine to give a cadaver a chubby, and it helps me to throw off the general funk I‘ve had afflicting me since I spoke last with Es. A double-pair of shrimp spring rolls arrive as amuse-bouche before Mr. Doh’s main event.
Before I can pour another cup of his amazing coffee, a prime dry-aged porterhouse steak, easily 36 ounces, charred on the outside, blue on the inside, arrives. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes some sort of flower-pepper grilling sauce that so light, so subtle, and so sneaky, you’re halfway through the steak before you break out in the sweats and your brain happily melts.
It’s marvelous; in every sense of the word. Always make friends with the chefs, especially when you’re part of a captive audience. No Qwik Stop, 7-11, or Stop-n-Robs just around the corner out here.
Properly satiated, I wander back to my room. Now, on a rig such as this, where people work in 12-on, 12-off shifts, most folks that are not management ‘hot sheet’ it. That is, they share a bed with someone on the opposite shift. Hey, there’s only so much room on a drilling rig platform, one must sometimes make concessions.
But not me. I’m running the show and as such, rank has its privilege. I have my room which is also my on-rig office with en suite full bathroom, in-room refrigerator, fax machine, computer with non-governmentally interfered internet lash-up, work desk, chair, monitors for every aspect of the rig and a private, encrypted telephone.
It’s my room, my office. Imagine my surprise when I round the corner and see a line extending out of my room and down the hall.
I walk straight on by, as most everyone on the rig probably wouldn’t recognize me.
Like hell, they wouldn’t. I run safety orientations, resolve onboard personnel issues, greet new hires and boot slackers and goldbricks. Besides that, I run the operations for this vessel. Like hell, they don’t know who I am. But I haven’t made my presence back on the rig generally known.
Yet. They think that by ignoring me, I won’t be able to see them.
I walk 10 feet to my room/office, see it’s a shambles. Shambles as in all my cigars are gone, someone’s on the Internet ‘Turning Japanese’ over amateur-midget leather-fetish dog-n-pony show porn. Plus, there’s actually someone or some three in my damned bed.
Vesuvius in 79 CE had nothing on me when I went off.
“WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?!” I bellow, “What the fuck are you assholes doing in my office?”
Yeah, kindly ol’ Dr. Rocknocker is a wee bit pissed off.
“Up against the wall, you redneck motherfuckers. Each and every one of you.” I roar. I hit the klaxon in my office to call security when I notice that three of them are currently holding up a piece of bulkhead.
“Looks like we’re gonna need a crew boat, the Federales and some new security officers,” I growled.
The vast majority of these goombahs are East Indian or subcontinental ex-pats. They’re paid a pittance and do all the shit work. But, they knew the job was dangerous when they took it, no one is holding a gun to their head in Mumbai or Chennai or Islamabad forcing them over here. It wasn’t me.
One or two decide to make a break for it, thinking I wouldn’t notice. My size 16s made short work of that ill-formed idea.
“Next one that tries that goes over the side”, I growl loudly, telling them of an impending 225-foot straight south swan dive if anyone gets cute again. “Don’t think I won’t do it. You’ll be holding just enough C-4 that’ll detonate just before you hit the water. The local sharks will love that.”
They all know of my proclivities for solving problems with devices that generate rapidly expanding gases. Most of them shudder at the thought that, yes, I am that pissed and that unhinged to actually make good on my threats.
Rig Security arrives and I first chew them a new asshole for allowing such a disaster to happen.
“They were probably selling raffle tickets”, I roared, “How the fuck could you not know this was going on?”

“OK, if that’s your response, I’m calling it. Rig shut down! NOW!” And I go to get into my office and hit the big, shiny red Panic Button. One smash of that and the reactor’s scrammed, metaphorically speaking. That is, all power is cut to standby, the well’s made static, and all electrical power is diverted to the doghouse until the well is shut-in and steady.
I press that button and it’s easily $4-5 million dollars down the drain in lost time and productivity; as we have previously completed wells flowing through the tubulars of the rig. We’re not just a drilling platform out here, we’re a production platform as well.
“So, Dr. Rock”, the tribunal asks, “Why did you think it necessary to hit the Panic Button?”
“Because these motherfucking brain-dead security shitheads couldn’t be trusted enough to keep the other assholes out of management’s offices. Can you imagine the state secrets they’re selling to the guys just 20 miles north across the border in Irun?”
At least, that’s what I would have said if a couple of the security guards hadn’t fessed up and admitted they knew what was going on. They were actually taking kickbacks from workers so the workers could take showers, use my bed which was by now, indescribably filthy, and the spooge all over the Internet.
“OK. Let’s see. You, you and you, hand in your cards. You’re done here. Get to the rec room and sit there until the next crew boat arrives. No choppers, those are for workers.” I inform them. “You get to wait for the next crew boat and hopefully a really nasty thunderstorm.”
Two comply, but the former Sergeant of security protests that I’m too draconian. Besides little damage was done.
“You’re lucky I don’t hold you in irons, Sgt. Shitheels. It’s Rule of the Sea out here, bucko. You’re damned fucking lucky I just don’t stuff all your asses in a rubber raft and set you off adrift, left to your own devices.” I snarl back, as they knew I could legally do so.
By now, real security had arrived. I told them to collect each and every one of these assholes green and yellow cards. The green ones allowing them to work in the country, and the yellow ones allowing them to work on the rig.
“I want a list of names, I want a list of sponsors, I want phone numbers, and I want my office back in order within the next 3 hours. That doesn’t happen, then you all can explain yourself to the tribunal I’m calling back onshore.” I snarl, almost slathering.
“I will be in the rec room,”, I inform security. The rec room is a pretty good-sized open area for ping-pong, pool, snooker, TV, movies, smoking, and drinking your non-alcoholic drinks when you’re off duty. I’m commandeering it as an ad hoc jury room.
“I want to personally see each and every one of these asswipes before me starting in 15 minutes. The first ones I want to see are the three assholes caught in my bed. We green?” I snarl.
I am handed a couple of stacks of green and yellow cards.
“First one, 14 minutes. We green?” I ask again.
“Oh, yes, Doctor. Very green!”
“Goddamned idiots,” I growl and walk down to the rec room.
Luckily, I have a locker in the rec room where I keep some extra personal items. Gym stuff, spare shades, safety gear extras, earhole plugs for well tests, and a box or two of cigars. Smoking is allowed in the rec room, but being enclosed, I’m usually Dr. Nice Guy and don’t fire up a heater in there.
However, today is different. Very different, sorry to say for the group of laughing boys I’m going to be interviewing starting in 10 minutes.
I’m sitting behind a table with a notepad, a lit cigar; OK, I did fire up the in-room Smoke Eater, and a transcribed list of names and cards, all alphabetized. I‘m ready to dispense some maritime frontier justice.
The first three show up and they’re the ones getting all cuddly in my bed. Besides being personally squicked out about all that, even though I don’t give a shit about a person’s personal proclivities, I do at least ask, respectfully, to keep it the fuck OUT of my bed.
Consenting adults can do what the fuck they want as far as I’m concerned. But doing it on the rig floor, on top the helipad when we’re trying to land, or in my GODDAMNED bed sort of pushes the edge of the envelope a bit.
“So?”, I ask holding up their cards, “These yours?”
They all nod. They can barely speak Urdu, Pashto, Hindi, or Outer Buttfuckistanese much less English, Russian, or Mandarin. I dragoon one of the driller’s hands into being an improvised translator. I want to make certain that these characters understand the thunder they’ve called down.
“Can you understand me now?” I ask.
“Yes”, “Yes”, and “Yes”, came the hang-dog replies.
“Why we’re you in my bed?” I ask, further, “You must have known whose office that was. What the actual fuck, guys?”
No replies other than a sudden interest in the rig’s riveted and engine-turned metal floor.
“Look”, I say, “Right now, you’re all on the way back to Calicut, Lahore, Kathmandu or whatever other gritty shithole you assholes call home. You’re all fired. Done. Finito. Plus I keep your green and yellow cards. Good luck finding a job where ever you end up. Should have spoken up when you had the chance. Next?”
They hear the translation and all the color drains from their faces. One of them, an engineer of some sort, screws up the courage to call me an asshole and says “What difference does it make. You weren’t there and it wasn’t being used! You asshole.”
“OK”, I smile, “At least we’re communicating. You married?”
He puffs himself up. “Yes. Many years.”.
“Yeah”, I smile, “Me too. So it’d be OK for someone from your town to be fucking your wife right now, correct? I mean you’re not there and she wasn’t being used. Right, you asshole?”
I thought he was going to explode. He was livid, enraged, and otherwise peeved a bit.
“Fuck you goddamned big American asshole. Fuck you and your family too!’ he spits.
“Whoa!”, I smirk, “Guess I hit a nerve there, didn’t I? Going to go out anyways, may as well go out in a blaze of glory, right you little smirking dooly-boy cocksucker?”
He just stood there and fumed.
“OK’, I say, “Use a little of that ire and give me a reason not to toss your ass to the wolves; or sharks, as the case may be.”
“It cost us money. To pay off security guards. They started it. You weren’t even here and your room was empty. They sold it off in pieces for the most money. Say anything to boss people and you will go away. They threatened us.” He averred.
“Oh, ho! Right. OK, let me see if that’s the case.”, I call over to one of the security guards I could trust and tell him to go get those other 3 erstwhile guards and bring them over.
To be continued

Al Sallamu Alaikum,
I've been meaning to write this out for a long while but didn't want to rush it as the purpose in posting my MM experiences here are in the hope that I can help sisters, (and possibly brothers too) Inshaa Allah. I am not bashing the opposite gender as obviously I can't see what the female profiles look like. Also apologies for the long post but I think details are crucial.
Early on when I first started using MM app I must admit I was rather naive to what's out there as prior to this, interest I was getting was in real life through my parents etc.
One day as I was using the app I came across a dude's profile. Let's name him.. 'Mo', he was a teacher and 5 years my senior, he later told me he was half Spanish and half Russian. He was not stunning but he looked well put together. His profile was an interesting read and seemed professional.
At this stage I decided that I was going to make the first move and swipe right. Prior to this I was like a sitting duck waiting for matches thinking it was the 1800's or something lol. Shortly after I had a notification to say that he swiped me right and it was a match!
From memory I think he sent me a short message to say Sallam and I replied. We went back and forth with the usual chit chat and within a few days of talking he asked to exchange numbers in order to speak on Whatsapp. I'm very private but agreed to exchange details as the app was really glitchy and admittedly the poor matches. The conversation on whatsapp started with him being 'cheeky' saying things like save my number as 'goregous man' and calling me 'sweet cheecks'. I was a bit taken a back by this as seemed a bit egotistical and cheesy (which are 2 traits I dislike). I did call him out on it there and then by saying 'sweet cheeks? what are we 16? lol'. I think he got the jist that I wasn't falling for that rubbish. #Redflag1 (being overly flirty too soon and trying to charm)
I asked him straight up why he was there and he came across as rather defensive and said my question was 'odd'... as mentioned before I was somewhat new to the app and thought perhaps I offended him. Looking back now I don't feel that there was a reason to be defensive but anyway the convo continued to him saying message me back at 8.15pm. #Redflag2 as this was the 'controlling' aspect coming out ... read further down to see where I'm coming from.
He bought up the question that I had asked before regarding why he was on the app ... it was weird as thought that I dealt with this already. Again I went into detail to state it's because the dudes that I had previously spoken to seemed serious on their profiles but after speaking to them were only trying to pass the time or looking for someone with loose morals such as themselves. To this he disclosed that he had met 2 girls the previous month and both seemed confused. I thought right OK finally we're on the same page...
All of a sudden he said 'I would definitely like to meet you whenever you are ready *****'. I said i'd feel more comfortable speaking on the phone prior to meeting up. He seemed to be fine with this. We decided on a day and time to speak on the phone which was a generic conversation. Can't remember too much of it tbh.
I didn't hear from him the next day after our telephone convo and thought I'll message him in the evening to follow up, he replied several hours later...midnight to be precise. Admittedly I'm a bit of a night owl so didn't mind but this became a bit of a habit the more we spoke. #Redflag3 (when they message late it means you're an after thought or a boredom toy).
That same evening he said he was preparing for an event for 'his business' and said he has another one coming up and whether I'd be interested in going to this 'event' which happened to be very close to where I lived at that time. I thought OK as it wouldn't be a pressurized environment and I can calm my nerves a bit before we go for a coffee and talk properly.
He confirmed the date and said I was on the VIP list. I did ask what type of business but he said it would be better to talk in person and for him to explain. Thought fair enough, it will be a talking point. In that same convo he said he was going to pray and read some Qur'an, I thought brilliant and asked him if he could read it in Arabic, there was no motive to the question I was merely intrigued. He said he reads it in Arabic... I thought mama..I've hit the jackpot! lol
The following few days which let up to the meeting were short conversations of what you've been up to today? what did you eat? etc. the messages were coming through late in the evening as before so I tried to keep them short as thought we are meeting soon anyway. He was trying to be a bit flirty & I ignored the compliments etc
Finally the day came to meet...I was a bag of nerves! I think it's because I liked him and wanted everything to go well. I spoke to my girlfriends who gave me some tips on questions to ask and how to chill and be myself. An hour before the meeting I got dressed in my business attire and marched my way to meet him at this place. I went into the lobby area but there were so many people... so I messaged him to let him know that I was there. When alone get on your phone, so I busied myself with that. I must have been waiting for about 10 mins or maybe less but it seemed like an eternity. Finally I heard someone utter my name and I looked up and there he was. Have to admit he looked a bit different than his profile pics in terms of his hair looked longer and he had a bit of jewellery on with a suit that had a pattern that I can only describe as kitchen towel flashbacks.. he looked cheesy. Anyway we said hi to each other and did the small talk before we rushed to sign the entry register and made our way up to the next level and waited at the front of the line in order to get into this large conference room and it was packed! He disappeared briefly and I got talking to some sisters who didn't have a clue what the talk was about either. I didn't mind as felt safe as obviously I was amongst about 100 people.
So he comes back and they open the door and he keeps calling me to sit next to him. The setup is a large room with rows and rows of seats. So I sit next to him and smile as you do, it was rather loud so no chance of a convo. Shortly after the conference started. A guy goes up to the stage and starts talking a bit about the company and how well it's doing and his reason for joining the company which was to enjoy life and to savour time and basically not slave away our lives working and get out of the car race. There were some videos basically saying the same thing and how precious our time is and how we should work smarter to make money instead of working our fingers to the bone ...yada yada...I still had no idea what this company was about... An hour goes by and the main dude on the stage starts to invite some people to this stage.. some more vague wishy washy talking...more videos from their CEO in the US with thousands of people clapping... eventually they move on to presenting some people with awards and giving a shout out to some of the 'leaders' that have done really well...one by one they stand up and people clapping away. Then the guy giving the shout outs says Mo's name and he gets up and everyone claps. Still no idea what is going on at this stage... and tbh I lost interest as it had been several hours of vagueness. I later looked up the company and there is a heck of a lot of info about the company being a pyramid scheme and even had ex employees testimonies.
Eventually the whole thing is over and we make our way out. Mo asks me if there is anywhere nearby to grab a bite/ coffee which looking back now he should have known there would be as he mentioned to me previously that every sunday his 'company' has a meeting there... (how is it your company when you're not the CEO and merely an employee amongst many others?), at the time I didn't clock as it was busy and my brain was fried from the pointless meeting/ conference. I knew the area well so suggested a nearby cafe which we went to. It was a tad awkward and I was still a bit nervous but tried my best to ask all the right questions. I asked about his family, parents, siblings, friends, lifetyle, hobbies, likes/ dislikes etc he disclosed to me that his dad was out of the picture as he was an alcoholic, he also mentioned that he had no interaction with his Russian dad's side of the family but had a great relationship with his Spanish mum and her family.
Don't worry I wasn't fan-girling over him because of his mixed background as I come from a humble mixed background myself & don't see that as a big deal but this will become more apparent later on in the story as when I saw his picture I put him down as 'asian' looking, maybe Afgani, (he hadn't disclosed his ethnicity on his bio at the time).
I was touched by his closeness with his mum and how hard he worked to support her, (he was living at home)... I felt assured that he knew how to respect women. We talked some more and walked a bit and I called it a day. He suggested he gives me a lift but i politely declined. (Never get into a strangers car ladies & gents!).
Later that evening I received a message to say 'it was lovely meeting you'. The conversation seemed positive and pleasant. He asked me what I was doing and I explained I was looking at a first-aid book which my friend had gifted me as I've been a first-aider for many years and it's one of my interests... I sent him a pic of what I was reading which included a few drawings of how to perform mouth to mouth to adults and babies. He picked up on this and was trying to low key oversexualise the drawing in a jokey way. I played it off and joked back that I wasn't trying to imply anything. I brushed it off basically. #Redflag4 (low key turning anything normal into something sexual is a sign to look out for).
The convo's continue back and forth over a few days and one day he stops messaging. I didn't bother messaging first as was busy and felt that if he wanted to talk to me he knew how to contact me and he knew that I had 4 days off work as had informed him previously. 4 days I heard nothing from him. it was like he purposely avoided contacting me. He eventually messages out of the blue saying 'hi' and talking as if we were having a conversation just yesterday. I jokingly called him out on this as would have thought it would be the perfect opportunity to talk some more and get to know each other. The convo was playful but had an undertone that left a bitter taste in the mouth a bit.
A few days go by and I come to the conclusion that it's time to step it up a notch as the convos were dying out so asked him what he'd be doing at the end of the week. He said he had plans, I thought ok fair enough and suggested another day which suited him too and we agreed to meet that day. We decided on a time and a place.
The conversations that followed were somewhat normal although he was being flirty, I put it down to his nature and thought to myself don't be a prude and laughed mostly, no flirting back from my side. So it was the day before our meeting and I thought i'd drop him a message in the evening to check in to make sure he was still up for out meeting. He replied back saying that his car was at the garage and that he was going to get it back the next day but had to push our meeting later on in the evening...much later in the evening. I thought it was weird as he didn't mention it before so I pressed him for a specific time that he thought he'd get his car back and he said he wasn't sure. I was getting some flakey vibes and arranged for other plans so told him we'd have to reschedule for another day. I wasn't willing to cancel my plans for him when we had previously agreed a date and a time and he hadn't informed me about his car at all the when we were talking. He said fine lets arrange another day. #Redflag5 (stuff happens in life but if you're genuine you will keep the other party informed and updated regarding anything that will alter the plans agreed, bearing in mind I messaged him first that evening and only then did he disclose this info).
He messages the following day with the usual 'hi, how are you? etc as if nothing had happened and he didn't provide any further explanation or apology for flopping. I tried to keep it polite but I was annoyed inside. He continued messaging every night around 12am right before I went bed so the conversations were very short. His messages were hot and cold. One night he'd be overly sweet..sickly in fact and the next he'd be cold or not message at all. I was now waking up and seeing the redflags by his behavior, being flirty and trying to brush things off, messaging late, mixed messages etc. My annoyance turned into disappointment as I felt that his behavior was belittling me and trying to make it seem like it was perfectly normal to be treated the way he has treated me and frankly I was bored of the BS and knew my worth!
I felt s*tty, so my gf's arranged for us to go out for a meal and catch up. I told them what was going on and showed them a photo of him as per their request. One of the girls eyes widened and she shrieked 'I know him!'....My heart sank. She went on to say that she had spoken to him previously on MM and they had met! She said nothing came of it as they decided to be friends. I asked her when that took place she said over a year ago which didn't line up with his story when he said he had only been using the app for a month. The more we talked, the more I realised how much BS this dude had spun.. he even lied about his racial background! She said he told her that he was half Pakistani & half Spanish and that he spoke fluent Urdu. No Russian background at all... Suffice to say I was p*ssed!
At that moment whatever respect I had for him was gone out of the window. My friends suggested I message him right there and then and ask him directly where this is going as he hadn't made any effort to meet up again and was playing games. So I did.. he played the whole 'we've only met once' and that 'we'd need more time to establish whether we want to pursue things or not' ...basically trying to make me seem like i'm being pushy.
When I called him out of giving me mixed messages, messaging me so late in the early hours of the morning, not suggesting we meet again after he flopped, flaking out of our meeting etc. I laid it all out on the table. His response was 'I work during the day dude so the fact I message you at 'random' times is better than not messaging you at all. Yes you did take the initiative to suggest meeting but you also said you had stuff on in the evening when I informed you the night before that I was without a car. I'm pretty tied up for the next two weekends with prior commitments so if you feel you're making the effort without any response then I sincerely wish you good luck'.
He was making it seem as if he was too important and sooo busy even though the so called pyramid scheme he was part of talked about freeing up time and enjoying life etc. He was also making it seem like he was doing me a favour by messaging me at all. He was also making it out that he was the one who told me about his car being at the garage even though I was the one to message him to make sure everything was OK for our meeting and he dropped this on me last minute #RedflagI'veLostCount
I could have said so many things but to me it was pointless as I had lost respect and trust in this person so I replied to 'Mo...all i'm going to say is that I wish you all the best back. Hope you find whatever you're looking for. Sallam'. He replied with 'Likewise ****, I'm sorry you feel the way you do' ...again making it seem like I was irrational and delusional and he has done nothing wrong...
I went on living my life and keeping busy with work, family, friends and I was in the process of accomplishing an important goal in my life so it was helping me forget him, not that I was in love with him but it was my fault that I had put him on a pedestal and allowed my bar to be lowered.
3 days go by and guess who pops into my whatsapp? Yip you guessed it right, our not-so-Russian mate Mo.. it was at a time when we had a lot of snow and most of the people were off work. His message consisted of 'Good morning ***** wakey wakey rise and shine. Have a great day at work or enjoy your day off like the 75% of the country :) ' ... suffice to say I ignored his message.
Another 3 days go by... I receive yet another message stating 'All the best :) '.. again I ignore this message...
A week goes by...yet another message stating 'Good Morning' .. I came to the conclusion if I don't block him he'll keep annoying me so I blocked him and put an end to it Alhamdulilah.
The moral of the story is do NOT ignore redflags, go with your gut instinct, don't put anyone on a pedastal just because they say they pray, read Qur'an and NEVER allow anyone to treat you with disrespect or make you seem like you're the crazy one ...know your self worth! Do not lower the bar for anyone and if you aren't receiving respect, honesty and transparency know that you're wasting your time and you need to move on!
If you've made it this far, I hope my story will be some kind of help to peeps out there or at least it was an entertaining read :)

This is going to be half question and half vent. I’m only posting it here because I feel like other desis might be able to relate in some form or the other, I’ll be blunt and honest about everything I write.
For those who don’t already know - I’m 23, Pakistani, atheist, and my dick is 12 inches when I fold it in half...ok sorry just wanted to make that joke.
Shoutout to Snapchat memories for bringing up feelings of inadequacy that I have. I got a notification from 3 years ago - it was a picture of me and this girl, the girl I lost my virginity to, last girl I had sex with, last girl I kissed, etc.
I’m just kind of sitting here wondering why I’ve had nonexistent luck with women since then. Im not trying to come off as an once or man going their own way, I just see very real struggles and barriers that a desi dude (with Muslim parents) has to go through just to be able to date somebody.
Growing up and even now, parents have been against the concept of dating and frowned upon having friends of the opposite sex until I hit my later years of high school. Dating is still frowned upon but my parents don’t particularly care if I say I’m going out with a girl-friend because.
That being said, parents constantly drilled the mindset into me that “you’re never going to bring a girl home” which I guess is understandable, it’s also impossible for somebody like me considering my mom doesn’t work and my dad technically works from home, I have the house to myself maybe once or twice a year, if that.
But I’m not here to say my parents fucked up my dating life, I can only blame them for so many of my issues before I have to start taking responsibility as an adult. Still, I’d be lying if I said the rules my folks have had in place didn’t affect me and my mindset.
I’ve just always found it difficult to try and put myself out there. My folks don’t let me go out at night unless I can give them a detailed plan of what I’m doing which means clubs and bars are off limits. As a result of their strict rules, I unintentionally became way more introverted over the past 5 or so years. I’ve resorted to tinder again but I get maybe 3 matches every time I make a new account, probably a good testament that dating apps are bullshit.
I’m sorry if this is coming off as a ‘oh woe is me’ kind of mentality, I’m just going through a bit of a depressive episode today mainly because of my failure with the opposite sex and also kind of realizing that a lot of friends aren’t even friends - but that’s a topic for another day. Point is? I guess I’m feeling insecure and unliked.
No, I don’t just sit here and feel sorry for myself. I have actively tried but at this point, I’m not even sure how to meet new people. I’m not going to flirt with somebody in class, they’re there to learn, not to get my number. I’m not going to flirt with the barista, she’s just doing her job, I’m not going to approach a random woman on the street, she’s most likely been catcalled and I don’t want to creep her out. The list can go on and considering I’m almost done with college/CUNYs don’t give you a real college experience, I’m afraid that I’m running out of time to expand my circle and find new potential romantic partners and friends.
I made a few girl-friends last semester, they were literally all attractive and cool people that I get along with. As far as I knew, most of them had boyfriends but like I said, I’m not going to flirt with somebody in school when people are at school to get an education. It also doesn’t help that I don’t know how to flirt with people whom I’m unsure of their interest. If somebody likes me? They’re going to have to write a big ass sign with glitter stating their interest and even still, I’ll be skeptical.
Sorry for kind of ranting. I just needed to get some of this shit off my chest, lord knows I can’t talk to anybody about these things without being deemed a loser. At least I don’t care what reddit thinks. Ya boy is just tired and lonely in terms of both friends and romantic interests. Tempted to consider myself a born again virgin and move to the mountains of Tibet with some monks. I like my hair too much to shave my head, though.
Maybe being non-cultured, not knowing Urdu and being an atheist is a detriment to me. I’m not desi enough for other desi people but I also know I’ll never be black or white. Culture x religion is very important to people, I probably just come across as white washed to desis or too desi to everybody else. I’m comfortable with the person I am but I know it just causes more rifts with other folks.
Edit: just wanted to say, y’all are some really nice people who offer sound advice. I appreciate you guys and gals.