“Sarrr DM what happened?” the voice was shrill like a broken siren.
Both DM and the owner of the voice took a breath as either closed their eyes, the former trying to calm his temper and the latter knowing she had made a mistake.
“Sorry I know you said don’t say ‘sir.'”
“Yes,” DM limped just a bit as he walked up to the desk. “How’s it going Paroo?”
Not having the ability to catch subtlety, Paroo did not realize that DM was trying to change the subject.
“But DM, sir…Mr. DM,” she stumbled and then went back to first gear, “What happened to you leg?”
“Oh just a small pull of something when I was at the gym,” DM rotated his ankle as he took some pressure off the foot near the desk.
“Still bad?”
“No, but I shouldn’t have continued to work out on it,” DM shook his head and shrugged.
“See this is why I don’t go to gym,” Paroo smiled like she had just passed her arts college entrance exams.
“Well for me I’d rather have this than have tits that touch my feet,” DM said as he prepared to walk away and not waste any more time.
At the mention of tits, they each glanced briefly at each other’s chest region, Paroo noticing DM’s lack of said tits and DM noting as he knew that Paroo’s were sagging with lack of exercise.
DM was first to note that such thinking of the chest region was not proper for work. He tried to make a getaway comment.
“So how is the migration thing coming?” he asked, and then winced knowing that the answer would not be a short one. They were never short.
“It’s taking so long and it’s so hard,” Paroo whined. “So tough, you see.”
DM prayed that someone would come through the door and end the start of what he felt was a timewaste of a story.
“So hard,” Paroo echoed, not being at all subtle at wanting to be cajoled to tell more.
The woman annoyed DM to no end. His only interest in her migration was that she would migrate far from Dubai so he would never have to see her again.
“Why is it so…hard,” DM was fighting himself to both not ask and give a shit.
“You know DM, I was wondering too,” Paroo pulled one leg up so it was under her bum.
DM grimaced at the Indian sitting that was happening in the European-styled office.
“I was wondering and so I asked a few friends here and there. Then my cousin – my mother’s brother’s wife’s niece – spoke with me one Facebook from Calgary and told me. Do you know what a Dirty Sanchez is?”
DM was almost at the door to his office but was slowed down by his foot. If she began the story before he reached, he would have to listen.
The mention of the last bit made him turn around, even though DM knew not to.
“Yes I am familiar somewhat with the thing,” he said.
“Naughty DM!” Paroo crooned. “I found out also. Anyway-“
Apparently it all happened because of some incidents that trace back all the way to 2012. Such a simpler time. No Trump and all that. These Americans. Idiots. Now Modi Ji, he’s a great guy (DM was shocked constantly by these BJP types that worked in Muslim countries – though the UAE was only as Muslim as a falafel-stuffed ham – while brandishing their tridents and saffron). But yes, back in 2012 things were so much easier. I’m told when you came to Canada to migrate the customs agents even put a garland around your neck. So nice na? Like back home when a VIP visits.
Anyway, one day white Canadian guy was eating a burger. You know when you and me we eat, we sit na? But in Canada these guys they like to stand and eat. They have standing bars at most hotels so they stand and eat like this.
(Paroo here demonstrated at her desk by putting both elbows on it while sticking her butt out as far as it would go so that it looked like she was presenting. DM grimaced.)
Then this man who had just gone there – he was Philippino – he was walking through the hotel and you know what he did? He came up behind the man and gave him that Dirty Sanchez. You know what it is DM, but I just found out as I said recently. One finger in the ass and then he made a moustache on his face with his kaka. How could he do such a thing?
Thing is you know how here we wash out bums after we make kaka – not sure I should say this at the office? But anyway, in the West you know they just wipe their asses and go. Yuck. So when this Philippino man pushes on the white guy’s ass so much kaka must have come on his finger. I don’t want to think about it, but basically he wouldn’t even need to push in too much. Maybe not even inside. Who knows, maybe there was kaka caked outside his hole.
Can you imagine? You’re happily having your burger and then someone violates you like that. Can you even continue eating?
The white Canadian guy he screamed, of course.
He kept yelling, “HOW CAN I EAT MAA BURGER WHEN ALL I CAN SMELL IS SHIT!?” (Paroo here did her best impression of a Canadian white male, which was more of an impression of her father were he cosplaying as a white man).
You know how these Canadians sound? No? I met once when I went to visit some place called Sasketchooon or something on visit visa. You know, to see if it was good to migrate to. Same like American, but if an American was holding his head underwater.
Anyway, apparently that was just the first. But many more kept happening. All these Dirty Sanchezes. So bad. That’s why Canada government is so careful about who they let in now. Come on DM, do I look like someone who would do such a thing?
DM’s head was spinning. He had so many questions but did not want to ask any.
“You do know this is a bullshit story, right?” he managed to say as he opened his office door, hoping for things to end quickly.
“No, no, it’s true!” Paroo insisted through the closing door. “Think about it – Sanchez is a Philippino name. I think the first guy who did it was called Diego Sanchez.”
Rainbow Kandura 