Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Many of the people who work in Dubai seem to have a real inability to tell the truth. It's not even a matter of honesty but rather a fear of saying "no". It's mainly taxi drivers but real estate agents can't seem to do it either, nor can bankers.

Each day when I am going to work I get in the cab and ask the guy: "Al Quoz, do you know where it is?"

Taxi: "Oh yes sir, of course sir, three bags full sir."

I, comfortable in the fact the driver knows where he is going, get stuck into my book (Craig Clevenger's The Contortionist's Handbook) only to overhear him on the phone 10 minutes later asking a fellow driver for instructions on how to get to Al Quoz. Why don't they just admit they don't know and I can then direct them? The fact that my sense of direction is as bad as my mother's is neither here nor there.

Another example is the real estate folks: "Oh yes sir, you can have that villa, I have the contract in my hand. I will come by your office and you can sign it...yes...I'll just come now." Three hours later still no sign of him and of course it would be rude to call.

Bankers? "Yes, you're buying a car? Of course, yes. You can have the money by tomorrow." Four days later I still don't have my money and the car is gearing up to be sold to someone else.

It's still definitely taxis, however, that do my head in the most. Despite being cheap, the drivers blatantly lie to your face. So this week I decided to lie back to them. When in Rome and all that.

I get a taxi from work and tell him that I just need to run inside to get some lunch. Would he mind sending another taxi to come and get me in half an hour as I have no credit in my phone to call one. "Where are you going?" he asks.

This is where the lie is required. If you say, "I'm going to the beach" he is going to think to himself, "OK, that's about a five minute cab ride. I'm not going to wait half an hour for a five minute cab drive," and he will drive away leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere with no credit to call a taxi. However, if you cunningly 'forget' for a second that you are really going to sun yourself, and instead tell the driver, "I'm going down to the HSBC bank in Bur Dubai; right next to the creek," the Dirham signs will light up in his eyes as he realises he can get about Dh70 for waiting half an hour. I call this move The Play, but it gets better.

I then go inside and enjoy a microwaveable burritto as he waits outside. I pack up my beach bag, grab my book and head back out to the car. As I get in I set my phone to play its ringtone. I answer the fictitious phone call and proceed to pull off an Oscar-worthy albeit one-sided performance of an irate customer who has just been told by his bank manager that there is no point coming to Bur Dubai as he is going to be on training: "No...NO! I told you I can't come tomorrow. I'm working tomorrow!... So when can I come then?...Four o'clock...fine...I'm not happy about this though...OK...yes, you do that...goodbye." And the phone snaps shut.

"Sorry about this driver but my bank manager has let me down. Can you just take me to Beach Road instead please so I can kill some time." The driver agrees, after all, he heard the conversation and it's not my fault.

Finally, in a stroke of genius that displays my audacity I ask the already-vexed driver: "Why is it you can never trust anybody here in Dubai??" Ho ho. Revenge is sweet.