The Omani woman who saved me from my inner hulk

Despite a five hundred and seventy-three-hour wait for this food delivery company's customer service representative to finally call me back, we somehow managed to keep the conversation about a serious complaint polite and friendly. The lady was Omani, and that is probably why.

I do not really like having to deal with big companies about stuff like forgotten or pending refunds, hard-to-cancel memberships, misleading advertising, or hidden fees.

These are the kinds of things that can make ordinary people like me feel like dopey, nagging fools, as though we have just been “mugged” in broad daylight.

“It might be just a drop in the overflowing bucket for you, but to me it is a lot of money!” I cannot even count how many times I have said or written this to big companies around the world.

“Stay patient, Robin Red Riding Hood,” I kept telling myself during this particular chat, while drumming my fingers on a book and staring at our fish in the tank for peace of mind. One of them was this stunning, bright-red Betta with her huge, flowing, layered tail that looked like a fancy evening dress.

Ironically, beautiful Ms Betta usually goes after the smaller fish inside the tank.

I waited for the kind lady to talk to her manager. In the living room, the television was on. The sound was low, but I could hear the newsreader talking about an economic D-Day, followed by a feature devoted to the legacy of the late Dolly Parton. They were calling her ‘The Good American’.

While waiting, and like the guy about to turn into the green Hulk ("Do not make me angry, you will not like me when I am angry"), I did keep picturing myself morphing into this middle-aged Mzungu madwoman. (I already explained once that Mzungu is a Swahili word for foreigner, white person and/or wanderer, and why many Omanis have been calling me one to my face for many years now.)

But because the person on the other side was kind and patient, she prevented me from actually morphing into some lunatic, Karen-ish lady who complains loudly and demands to speak to a manager or threatens to contact the Omani Consumer Protection Authority (an entity I trust).

Although she still did not solve my problem, I said thank you, and the customer representative told me, “You are welcome, bye, Madame.”

“Shukran!” I quickly added, trying to be a good little immigrant. I mean, come on, I should be fluent in Arabic by now.

“Afwan habibti, Masallama.” As soon as she switched to her native language over the phone, she repeated her goodbye, which, if you literally translate it, is a lot warmer than what was said in English. I guess Arabic is just richer in endearments. It sort of means, ‘You are welcome, (my) love. Goodbye, and wishing you peace and safety.’

Once I hung up, I did change into a madwoman for five minutes, though, because despite the sweet, sugarcoated talk, the kind lady and her manager did not solve my problem. I started feeling like I was being taken advantage of and added the company to my list of the powerful and the seemingly ordinary freeloaders in this world that I want to hold accountable.

I told myself that there are those customers who have had it a lot worse, like my friends who arrived in Oman a year ago, bought second-hand cars that looked amazing but turned out to have been in major accidents in the United States of America. They broke down, once even in the middle of the road.

Luckily, my friends, after briefly turning into hulks themselves, had the Consumer Protection Authority on their side, and the garage had to fix the damage.

In the end, Hulk or no Hulk, we become who we need to be in each context. Not fake, just different faces of the same person. Perhaps we are never just one self, but many selves, each brought out by the people we meet and the situations we find ourselves in.