After a brunch at Casablanca to celebrate Carrie’s official entrance into the foreign service (yay-she starts training in D.C. in January) and a bit of relaxing at home, Ethan and I headed to visit some friends of ours in Achrafiyeh. We knew that an early dinner was on the agenda, so we decided to pop into the Monoprix near their apartment to get some ice cream to bring with us. Monoprix is a French chain, and there are several of their grocery/department stores here in Beirut.
Neither of us had ever been into this particular store, and once inside, we realized the the grocery store part was not right there- we had entered into the clothing section. I glanced around quickly, decided that finding and buying ice cream (presumably on another floor) would make us late, so we just turned around and left. No big deal, until the alarm went off as I was leaving. I had no bag with me, just a wallet and cell phone in my jacket pocket, so I figured turning out my pockets would be enough to convince security that their machine was just sensitive, and we’d be on our way. Nope.
They hustled me off to an office on the side of the store, and started making phone calls. I continued to protest. The security guards blocked the door. It was ascertained that there was some sort of label on the inside of my jeans, which I could feel along the hemline near the thigh, which was setting off the sensors. So no big deal, a no-theft tag put in in by the manufacturer that I should have cut out. Obviously, I didn’t steal anything, time to go. A woman was brought in.
She was sympathetic- “Oh, you got these jeans in New York, that is why.” I tried to leave.
“No, we must remove the tag.”
“No, I will just do it at home, I’m not taking my pants off right now.”
“I’m sorry, we need to get it out.”
What? I have to take my pants off and give the tag to this woman because it set off the alarm in the store she works for? I am standing in front of a glass door in a tiny little office, no way am I taking my clothes off to hand over this stupid tag. For all I knew, it could be sewn into the jeans and it could be a whole process to remove.
So I pushed past her and the guys outside, and we left, ignoring the flood of protests. I don’t think I will go back to Monoprix anytime soon.
The rest of the evening was far more pleasant. We spent a few hours with our friends and their 2 awesome children. We are lucky to have met so many interesting people here in Beirut.
It was pouring rain when we left to head back to Hamra, but we found a service pretty easily. The driver was a real character, a pudgy 37 year old who had a real talent for beat-boxing. It was amazing how many different sounds he could make with his mouth at once. All the way home, he cracked us up by beat-boxing to random BeeGees and Rod Stewart songs.
