How I saved time, money this sale storm weekend
Last Thursday, as I stood outside my building waiting for my ride to office, I assumed my usual, spondylosis-in-the-making stance: neck lowered, eyes at screen, and watched (the not so usual) dust settle on my phone. It was that kind of day, all haze, no respite. And phooo, phooo, are the sounds you’re reduced to making as you run your phone on your side to wipe off the sand.
No one loves a dust storm, especially not in the desert where it isn’t followed by lashings of rain and that gorgeous rain smell. But let’s not go there, revives pangs for a different climate.
On days defined by dust, some people are at more of a disadvantage. Not that this sand prancing about maniacally, ruining your skin, hair, mood, does anyone any favours. But still, like, a colleague said her cleaners were wailing about why ‘madam’ chose that hazy Thursday for a morning of tidying, when everything would be unclean and dusty again in no time. When it’s as bad as it’s been recently, rubber strips on the lengths of doors and windows aren’t an adequate barricade. Sand will sneak into your lungs and dry out your eyes, mummify yourself however you like with those scarves.
On Sunday morning, the weather was like Thursday’s. This time, I took the metro. The stairs were swept with dust. Commuters were wincing, faces lowered, trying not to ingest sand. Two commuters stopped by a glass window to take a photo of a tree that had collapsed in a park. No swings were broken, no kids hurt, thankfully.
Before stepping inside the metro, I was one of those people outside, for whom the wind was making it difficult to walk properly in the direction of the gust. Would thinner, lighter, bonier people blow off, I wondered. Something to Google when the mind isn’t occupied with how to remain standing and execute a basic task like walking forward.
The people who have it worst in a dust storm (apart from cleaners and residents of tall, inflamed buildings, and asthma patients) are wearers of contact lenses. It’s true. In a dust storm, the marginally blind of us who wear lenses, are united in our heartfelt swearing at the weather. The sensible thing, naturally, is to wear glasses and watch the sand carpet the lens in front of your eyes. ••••••••••• The three-day sale at the malls in Dubai over the weekend, I was happy to hear, was complete madness. At one store, an eye witness told me, women were jostling and elbowing each other for the last of one kind of handbag on 70 per cent off. The eyewitness managed to grab one and conveyed the price to me victoriously. Dh90 only.
Meanwhile, it took all my will power to not head to one of the malls over the weekend, an effect of listening to Dan Ariely’s book (on Audible.com) Predictably
At one store, an eye witness told me, women were jostling and elbowing each other for the last of one kind of handbag on 70 per cent off.
Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions. Apparently, we humans are suckers for all sorts of things that involve zero cost and no risk. Of course, we know this. But listening to a behavioural scientist’s take on why we love sales and everything free worked like a cold shower.
And so, I had to call on the rational side of my brain. This resulted in skipping a trip to the mall, skipping the queues, and saving money. Instead, I carved out time to read, meet my friends, and do some housekeeping. Can’t remember the last time I cleaned photo frames properly. Properly as in disassembled entire frames, the back stand, the photos, and the glass and gave the glass a good wash and shine, using one of several squares of lens cleaner fabric that (I use for my glasses). Now, the accomplishment of chores (whether mind-numbing or meditative, depends) that don’t usually get accomplished should make me happy. But in the twenty percent lizard part of my brain, I feel like I missed out on some great deals. I guess FoMo explains that.
— nivriti@khaleejtimes.com