Apr 2001
In this issue:
Moose of all Trades 3
Faham Guy
Issue: Apr, 2008
As a 16-year old, I once refused to set a foot in al-Sultan coffeeshop in Amman’s Shmeisani neighbourhood because it served argeeleh – I believed, slightly puritanically, that it was inappropriate for school kids to frequent such establishments. Over a decade later, I am making the rounds in the same place, igniting the smoking machines of 2008’s 16-year-olds. In that time, argeeleh smoking seems to have graduated from the entertainment of choice for grumpy old men and Nabulsi housewives to became the ultimate entertainment device across the Arab world –whatever your age, gender or health.
I decided to split my time on the new job in two shifts: firstly at a male-exclusive coffeeshop where guys watch football and play cards, and then at the less-testosterone-infested confines of would-be bohemian hang-out Books@Cafe. After a couple of hours at each venue during which the nonstop “Fahemmm” could have caused Ghandi to snap, I was sorely tempted to shout: “Why don’t you take that hose out of your mouth for a few minutes and try to take a deep breath before stuffing it back in?”. But I learned that people can get real bitchy when their argeeleh is not firing on all cylinders.
Work mate Ahmad al-Jazzar handed me the job tools – a coal bucket and a pair of tongs – as I asked him what is the hardest part of the job. “You mean other than the boss?” he said, only half-jokingly. “The job has more to it than coal. You may be asked to bus tables or take and deliver orders depending on how busy the place is.” He also warned me that the key to success is to identify each customer’s size preference. “Some prefer big chunks while other prefer smaller pieces spread around,” he said. “Remember what each one prefers and it will make your life much easier”.
It was only a few minutes after I received my first coal-distribution tip when a customer stared at the mid-sized piece I placed on his argeeleh and uttered the timeless line “we are not trying to barbecue here”. There is no way I could get past 20 minutes without hearing this beauty. When I complained to Ahmad about the not-too-friendly attitude of my customers, he suggested that Jordanians should slip a little more than tobacco under their argeelehs. “Just imagine everybody being slightly happier and a bit more relaxed. That would solve so many problems from car accidents to the non-existent sense of humour”.
At Books@Cafe, the atmosphere was more laid back. On a perfect-weather Saturday afternoon, the job was less demanding. The tips, though, were extremely thin. “I usually get tipped once or twice a week,” confessed workmate Yahya. “And sometimes tips can be a pain in the ass. Someone gives you half a dinar and then expect you to be always available around them as if you are their personal coal grill”.
I started thinking of how realistic is it to expect someone who is forking out five dinars to top it of with a tip. I closed my eyes and started reminiscing to the days when the standard argeeleh price was 1.5 dinars, when another “Fahemm” call interrupted my happy thoughts. That is when Yahya took over the tools and proceeded to place the right size coals with speed and accuracy that will need, frankly, too long to muster.
