Lessons Learned

Please forgive this (and any future) references to Army-speak. It really is sometimes difficult to translate the language I have used for the past 30+ years into something that is easily recognized by everyone.

Lessons Learned, in Army-speak, is one of the most important tenets of survival. Not only physical survival (which is important, duh), but emotional and promotional, too! Back in the day (Geez, I hate that phrase! Who invented that?!?!), "zero defects" was a common mentality. This, of course, meant that there was one chance, and only one chance, to get something right. Get it wrong, and out the door (back to civilian life) you went. Thankfully, that did not last long and the Army (and other Services) transitioned to a learning enviroment where mistakes, missteps or FUBAR (another acronym for http://www.acronyms.com/) were more tolerated... as long as the lesson was learned and the mistake not repeated. The Army went so far as to develop a large operation called the Center for Army Lessons Learned or CALL (call.army.mil). CALL collects and analyzes data from current and historical sources, then produces lessons for commanders, staff, and students. It is a great way for leaders to learn from the experiences of others.

So, here is my main Lesson Learned: Do not have a vehicle accident in Kuwait. How did I learn that lesson? I had one. It wasn't a big one. In fact, if we were in the States, I would have likely just exchanged information with the other driver and then paid for his repairs. But not here. Oh no...

Yes, it was my fault. Well, 90% my fault.

On Friday, Will and I were on a shopping mission (you know the difference between men and women shopping, but that is another story) for a rug and a bookcase. Unfortunately, we waited until early afternoon to head to the Friday Market , which was our first mistake. It was a madhouse. Packed. Must have been 50,000 people there. Well, at least a couple thousand. Parking was horrible. Horns honking. Moving inches at a time. You get the picture. Never go to the Friday Market on Friday afternoon. Next Lesson Learned: Go early, or do not go at all. So anyway, we get there and actually find a parking spot that was fairly close (too close, it turned out) and proceeded into what must be the world's largest swap meet. This place is an open-air menagerie of gigantic proportions. There is new stuff, used stuff, clothes stuff, furniture stuff, trinket stuff, gold stuff, appliance stuff, shoe stuff, cosmetic stuff, cleaning stuff... and rugs. If you can name an item, it is there. It is a wonderful place.

Here is a cool part. There are these guys, mostly Indian (no, not Native American... from India, silly) who are there to carry the items a person may purchase. They shadow you like little stalkers, pushing dilapidated wheelbarrows, waiting to pounce the moment you buy something, so you don't have to carry it yourself. Kinda convenient, when you think about it, but it is also kinda creepy having these guys hover around you like a vulture. They especially love following Westerners (like us Ugly Americans), because we usually tip better than the Kuwaiti's do.

So we walk around the rug area, searching for a rug for our living room that matches the pattern of our other rugs that we bought at the Friday Market. Up and down the half-dozen aisles of rugs, probably 50 different rug vendors, shadowed by our little wheelbarrow-guy. Could we find the pattern? No. Every time we have been at the Friday Market for the past 4 months, we see the same patterns over and over again. Our pattern? Suddenly not available. Aarrgghh! So, my man mind (remember the difference between men and women shopping?) said, "No exact match + Don't want to buy something that Lori wouldn't like + Don't know what she wouldn't like = Don't buy anything." So that is what we did. On to the next mission... bookcase for Will.

There is furniture at the Friday Market, too. So, we looked. "Will, how about this one?" "Nope." "That one?" "Nuh-uh." "That is a nice one." "Are you kidding, Dad?" Oh, we are still being stalked by the way. Poor guy has been following us for nearly 30 minutes. I'm sure he is muttering, "Come on, man, BUY SOMETHING!!!" But, in the end, there is nothing that fits what Will thinks he needs. I'm sure he would have liked just about anything I brought home (had I been shopping/hunting on my own), but nope. Next Lesson Learned: Do not go shopping with Will, at least until he learns the way to shop like a man.

Back to the car we head. Poor Indian guy gives up and searches for someone who will actually buy something. He'll probably remember me... not fondly.

Remember I said we parked too close? Well, it probably took us 20 minutes to reach the main street away from the Market, a distance of about 300 yards.

So, off to the IKEA store in search of a bookcase. Actually, this was going to be easy. Lori and I had been in IKEA a week or so ago and found a bookcase that we agreed would be perfect for Will. Don't know why we just didn't buy it then, but we didn't. IKEA is fairly close, within a mile, to the Friday Market so it didn't take us long to get there. There is great underground parking at The Avenues mall, where IKEA is, so under we went. It was packed. Whoever in Kuwait City was not at the Friday Market must have been at The Avenues.

We spent the next 30 minutes or so, inching up and down the rows of parking... searching for an open spot. Finally found one that lots of people were passing by (turns out good reason...). I'll take it. It was on the end of the row, so curb on one side and car on the other. This car, well actually the driver, managed to pull diagonally into a perpendicular parking spot with about half the car protruding into the empty spot there on the end. I'm thinking, "No problem, I drive an SUV, I'll just get one side of my car up on the curb and I'll be all set." So I did. No problem. Backed right into the spot, kinda close on the one side where the other car is, but once again my superior backing skills are up to the test.

Off to IKEA we go. Find the bookcase, pay for it, and head back to the car. The other car is still there. Load up our prize and off we go. Traffic in the underground parking area is still horrible. In typical man fashion, we were on a search-and-destroy (purchase) mission so we were only in IKEA for 15-20 minutes. As I inch my way out, I temporarily forget to remember how close to that other car I am and as I start to turn.... rub, rub, scratch, OUCH, his taillight bursts red plastic shards into the parking lot! Our cars have kissed. DANG IT!! (or other appropriate words)

Now, we are warned during our orientation, first day I think, that we do not want to get involved in a traffic accident for a number of reasons. But if we do, we are told, call this number right away. So I pull out my cell phone and dial the number. The voice of one of our Host Nations reps is calming and he assures me that he'll be there in 15 minutes. Call the police, he says. Okay. Nice. Everything will be okay. So I call the police. I ask for an English-speaking operator just like I was told. "Wait," she says. Okay. One minute, two, five... finally... So I tell them that I just had a vehicle accident, there are no injuries, could you please send the police (it is impossible to get a car fixed here after an accident unless there is a police report). The answer? "The police will come... Inshallah." Inshallah. Wait, not Inshallah. God willing? The police will come, God willing? Are you kidding me?

The other driver comes back. A nice Kuwaiti young woman, good English. I am apologizing for the trouble. She calls her brother, who also turns out to be very nice. So the brother and my Host Nations guy show up at about the same time. Lots of Arabic between them, but no bad vibe detected by me... standing there looking stupid. NEXT LESSON LEARNED: I REALLY have to learn some Arabic. Now we wait for the cops. After about 30 minutes, we mutually decide it will be much faster to go to the nearest police station. Guess where? The Friday Market. During this time, we decide (actually the brother asks the Host Nations guy who asks me) if it is okay that we do all the police stuff with him and not his sister. No problem. The Host Nations guy asks if I mind saying it was my fault so we can make the process simpler. No problem, it was my fault... mostly.

We get there. Find a parking spot. More like "make" a parking spot. I am careful not to park too close to anyone. We enter the police station and my Host Nations guy is talking to the guy at the desk. They do not have a traffic investigator there. Great. The cop at the desk does some sort of preliminary report that we need to take to another police station. Back to the cars, fight traffic back out to the main road, and off to the other police station.

Okay, time reference. Our cars kissed at about 3:15 pm. It is now 5 pm.

We walk into the police station and see there are a number of people sitting. Every so often, one of them gets up and looks in the investigator's office. He is there, but (apparently) not doing much. The guy behind the desk tells us to have a seat, the investigator will be with us "Inshallah." Not again...

6 comes and goes. So does 7. About 8, the Host Nations guy and the brother go to a nearby shop and get Pepsi and candybars for all of us. Will is still with me. At about 9, the Host Nations guy tells me that we can either stay until the investigator gets to us, who knows when that will be... Inshallah, I guess... or we can come back Saturday night at 10pm when the investigator is on shift again. I am ready to go home, so we do.

Now Saturday night 10 pm. Remember, Kuwait is on a Sunday-Thursday work week, so Saturday night is like a Sunday night back home. Nice and quiet. We get there at 10 (just me and the Host Nations guy and the brother, not Will). Wow! Same faces as the night before... cue the Twilight Zone theme... But the investigator is not there yet. Not at 10:15. Not at 10:30. Not at 11. Finally, at about 11:15 pm, the guy shows up. We were not there first. He finally gets around to us at 11:45. He looks at our vehicles, and has the brother explain what happened. This is good. He wasn't even there... and he conveniently leaves out (I discover later) that his car was half in my parking spot. But, hey, since we are all lying anyway what does a little piece of truth matter?

The Host Nations guy tells me to sign the two forms the investigator hands in my direction. I do. One, I later discover, is an acknowledgement that I was at fault and that a court would decide, at some later date, my fine. The other is the accident report. It is now 12:15 am. And I head home to bed and wait for my alarm to ring at 4:30 am.

The cars were barely damaged. Insurance will take care of my new friend's busted tail light. They aren't even going to fix the paint scratches on my car. Over 8 hours of my life wasted because a Kuwaiti girl couldn't pull straight into a parking stall and I forgot to keep that in mind when I pulled out of my parking stall. Life is good.