Broadway in Kuwait

In my humble experience at a government institution, I thought I had seen it all. From the egotisical and overpowered to the frustrated and underpaid, the unmotivated and underworked to the stressed out and overlooked. I've seen it all, so I thought. But there ain't nothing like the sight of a room full of middle aged men engaging in fierce verbal combat bombing away atrocious insults and ego lacerating accusations from across the table.

Aye, the plot does thicken. For in this room only one woman is honored with front row seats to this theatrical event, under the prime responsiblity of documenting this meeting; the details of which will be later incorporated in a monumentally grand "Official Report".

So in this historical boardroom from which I will gather the necessary developments for the "Official Report", I planked a tent as far as Switzerland and declared neutrality even before the ensuement of war. I am not there to take sides and participate, nor am I there as the United Nations to regulate. I am simply there to witness and record. Mouth shut, but eyes wide open.

The dogfight commenced almost as instantly as the shut of the door. Spittle was flying in the air hands clenched into tight fists and frighteningly intense glares emitted pungent radiation. Then came the offending statement of outrageous splendor:

"KIL KHARA"

Immediately, the offender apologetically turned to me as the only woman in the room, along with all the other men to check that I hadn't broken into a 100,000,000 fragile pieces for hearing such revoltingly foul language. A short moment of silence commanded the room during this stare-down, and I felt obligated to fake a look of disgruntlement expressing severe displeasure that my feminine virgin ears were subjected to such horrid articulations.
Ok, so I frowned. Can we get on with the show already? Nay. The silence lingered. And it resonated into stillness. I supposed the men needed a moment or two to collect unstable thoughts and mentally prepare more cordial insults. While I don't really care if they curse their mothers out till the break of dawn, I was glad to have a few minutes to rest my hand violently exhuasted from furious writing. As soon as I put the pen down to enjoy a momentary relief, a hollering scream was fired from across the room:
"CD! !! You are supposed to write this"

I am sweating in a simmering pool of moritification, humiliation and utter embarassment. Did he really have to say my name and give me a role into this mess? For God's sake, be a man and shoot your fire at the actual enemy, not at neutral Switzerland, quietly participating as the gentle audience! Well, I suppose something was needed to break the awkward silence, and in matters of war, what better way to re-instigate the fire than dragging the neutral parties into the heated pit. No one can really ever enjoy complete neutrality, can they?

So no worries, I moved on, reconciling myself with the fact that is was a nominal price to pay to witness such grand A+ , first class entertainment; better than any Ramadan soap opera on TV or silly Qurgai3an antic. Alas, the thirst for real theatre and fine drama is now finally, satisfyingly, quenched!