Sunday, August 2, 2009

Mystery of the Balsamic Vinegar Bottle


I am a rebel. More. I am a drunk. Or at least this is how I am perceived by a cleaning lady at my office.
She is always very well hidden behind her hijab, and at the beginning I was fascinated and maybe a bit too interested in how she could work in these clothes. Apparently, she can.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting by my desk and trying to summon all my intellectual power to write a very complicated report. I was so focused on my screen that I didn't notice that somebody entered the room. Suddenly, a cold voice from behind me asked: "What is THIS?" I jumped on my chair scared to death! A mysterious figure, all covered in black was standing right behind me holding triumphantly an empty bottle I left in my bin after lunch.
"Is this ALCOHOL?" - she asked with the same cold voice.
Finally, I recognised our cleaning lady!
"No, it's balsamic vinegar" - I said with a big smile.
"What?" A complete lack of understanding in her eyes made me realise that she wasn't joking. A quick analysis of the situation helped me realise that I was being investigated after daring to commit a horrible crime.
"This is balsamic vinegar... [same condemning face] eee, salad dressing". Nothing. She stopped listening, placed the bottle on my desk and left my room.

For the next week, I couldn't stop thinking about it, but then as it always happens, I just forgot about it. Until last Friday:

I was in the bathroom brushing my hair and the same woman was cleaning sinks behind me. Suddenly, she asked: "Is this soap with ALCOHOL?" pointing at the plastic providers with super-strong alcohol-based gel. This time she was clearly worried and her voice was really sad.
She didn't know that on that day, we had all received an email explaining that swine flue had become a pandemic in Birmingham, and from now on we were all supposed to use this gel to limit the spread of the virus.
I made an enormous effort, stopped all my face muscles and... with a very serious face explained the situation to the poor woman who (to my surprise) listened carefully and nodded. When I finished, she took the provider and moved it into the far corner and came back to cleaning with a very sad face.

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In June newspapers reported that a Taliban fighter was found with an Aston Vila tattoo on his arm.

This Taliban fighter could have been her husband. Maybe somebody couldn't explain to him the mystery of a balsamic vinegar bottle? Maybe it's impossible to explain that?