The Education of Sinbad

My dear Famzers,

I have come to believe that it is my destiny, my fate, to be surrounded by the weird and the wonderful. I do not think that I have ever once had what could be considered to be a normal friend. They all seem to have some quirk, that either renders them bizarre or spectacular. The most recent addition to my gang of oddities is Arshad.

Arshad is three quarters Pakistani, and a quarter. He is more light skinned that his heritage would suggest. At first sight, I thought he was mixed race. I thought he was one of those characters that was so mixed that it would take several hours for him to tell you just how it was that his great-great-great grandfather's great-grandfather was a soldier in Alexander the great's army and how it was that he saw a local girl by the well somewhere in current day Chittagong and decided then and there that the best course of action would be to have a bastard by her and so on... and so on. He stands at about 6 foot and two inches. He is good looking in a healthy sort of way. Even though he has lived most of his life in Liverpool his tongue is untainted by the Liverpudian drawl, as a result of this he is quite well spoken and very easy to understand. You would think that this middle eastern stud of a man would have it all figured out but you couldn't be further away from the truth. He lies in wait like a ghoul on facebook ready to ambush anyone that dares to come online. It is slightly true that even I, his friend have come to avoid going on facebook for fear of being accosted by him on matters so mundane that it is a wonder how they managed to be brought to conversation.

On one night at two am, Arshad called me. I ignored his first call as I could not think of anything that was so important, that it could not possibly wait till the break of dawn. When he called me a second, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time I began to fret. Surely he had landed himself in the deepest quagmire humanly possible. I began to imagine that he had killed someone by accident. I slipped on my industrial gloves, put the bleach at the ready and prepared myself for call number 6. It came swiftly.

"Afam, Afam! something horrible has happened." He cried to me in a voice so thick with desperation that I imagined that he must be wringing his hair out of his hair in anguish.

"What is it that has happened? Tell me!" I replied authoritatively. The panicked need to be handled with gruffness and fortitude lest they panic themselves to the ends of the earth and back again.

"It is so horrible that I cannot speak it on the phone. Please come." he said. I imagined that he was on the verge of tears. His voice was unnaturally thick with emotion.

It was as I feared. It made perfect sense that he would not want to disclose the nature of what he had done on the phone. The police could record his phone call and use it against him in the court of law. I was born for an adventure like this. Hours of CSI, and the Good Wife had prepared me for the worst eventuality. I grabbed my bottle of bleach and a scrubbing brush and ran to his one bedroom apartment across the road from my building.

He quickly buzzed me in and I marched in to his apartment with the purpose of an undertaker.

"Where is the body? Get out your biggest knife and a few refuse bags, we've got some work to do." I said with all the authority of an army general.

"What are you talking about?" He asked. He looked confused. It occurred to me then that I might have the wrong end of the stick.

"Do you not have a body that needs to be disposed of?" I asked in reply albeit a little gingerly.

"No! But the worst thing has happened!"

I said nothing back. He was obviously being a drama king. It is common knowledge that you don't call a friend at 2am and say the worst has happened unless you've killed someone.

"Basically it all started at about mid-day-" He started.

I stopped him before he could go any further. It was three in the morning. There was no way I was going to let him subject me to fifteen hours of a story with all manner of tragic and pathetic happenings.

"I don't need to know about the beginning. You can start with the end." I said with crushing finality.

He began again,

"Tonight I went to Factory 251 with some mates. You know the one?" He asked tentatively.

"Yes, I used to be a frequenter of the establishment but then it got shit. Is it any good?" I replied.

"It's a decent night. Anyway, I had a few drinks."

I interrupted him again.

"You drink! Aren't you muslim?" I asked.

"Yes, but clubbing is no fun sober. Believe me!" he replied.

This true. Clubbing is a challenging experience when you're sober. Clubs are often smelly and filled with people who have no respect for personal space. When you're drunk, you're so focused on your good time that none of this seems to matter.

"We went on the prowl for girls..."

When Arshad goes on the prowl, he really does go on the prowl. However his prowl is really more like a fevered scamper of desperation. He calls at any and all doors, and the presents the full brunt of his devotion to anyone who offers the even slightest inkling of interest.

"... at first it was a little bit of a struggle..."

It is always a little bit of a struggle with Arshad. He is generally an asteroid of intent. To say the he has his eyes on the prize is an understatement. He has his whole body primed towards it but he lacks the means to obtain the proverbial prize. Rather than inspire lust and affection with carefullu whispered words and delicate touches, Arshad belts ill formed drunken mutterings and maws with his rather large paws.

"... then I got lucky. I made out with a girl. She wasn't very pretty but any hole's a goal right? We made out for a while then she agreed to come back to mine."

I was deeply impressed. I didn't think his methods would ever be rewarded with success.

"Well done buddy!" I interjected.

"When we got back to mine, I pressed my suit keenly. Soon I had her naked on my bed with me on top of her. While doing the deed that I had sought after almost single mindedly for at least 6 of my twenty years, I noticed that she was bleeding. I asked her if she was on her period and she insisted that she wasn't. I had no choice but to send her away." He finished.

I hung my head in shame. I could not fathom how he didn't realize that a bleeding girl is only evidence of her chastity. 

"She was a virgin." I said while picking up my bleach and my scrubbing brush. As I walked home, I could not help but wonder if I was ready for a friendship with him. They say show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are. If you remain friends with someone that you know is questionable then it means that you stand willing to beat him or her into shape. I do not know if I am up yo the task of educating Arshad, but I'll be damned if I don't try.

Happy Days,
Afam