Lucky #7

The license plates in Dubai are numbered. For example, the number on our plate is 10870. There is a rumor that the royal family has all of the lowest number plates, so Sheikh Mohamed, the ruler of Dubai, would have #1 on his ride, then supposedly, the numbers go up in descending level of importance, meaning Stan and I would fall ten thousand, eight hundred and seventieth on the influential scale. Not bad, really. But the truth of the matter is the low numbered plates are auctioned off to the highest bidder. In 2007, number seven went for the equivalent of nearly $3 million, which supposedly goes to charity. You don’t have to be important, just rich (and do not confuse the two, especially out here) to have a low number plate. Nevertheless, it’s hard not to turn your head if you see a car with a license number of say 10 or less. The owner is gonna be local, very rich, and probably think he is very important.

One morning last week I dropped Stan at his office in Festival City. I was driving back through town, across the Garhoud Bridge to get onto Sheikh Zayed Road to return to my pink villa in Umm Suqeim and have some coffee. It was the morning rush hour and there was considerable traffic. Cars were moving rather slowly and jockeying lanes to get into position to take the bridge across the creek. Imagine six lanes, all merging in and out of each other, maybe going 40 miles per hour or so.

I needed to get over one lane to my left, to get onto the bridge. There was an opening, so I indicated, checked my mirror and saw a black Range Rover, which is a typical Emirati gas-guzzler of choice, in that lane. I looked over my shoulder, and judged that if he were traveling about my speed, I’d have plenty of time to get over. After all, we were all slowing to a stop anyway. He must have seen my flasher, because he honked. I was like, “Whatever dude, I want that spot and I’m coming over.”

I accelerated slightly and pulled into the lane a safe distance in front of him. He must have accelerated as well, because he came RIGHT UP on me. It’s not like he had to brake or anything, I merely took the spot in front of him. Apparently he didn’t appreciate that because he laid on his horn. By now, we’ve all slowed to a near stop anyway! Remember, I hadn’t had my coffee yet so I was a bit irritated. I jerked my head around to see what stupid idiot was riding up my tail blaring his horn. I saw a white dishdasha (local male dress - pun intended) and a white gutra (local do’ rag). Whatever, not scared of you single-digit boy. I contemplated sticking my tongue out at him in my rear view mirror when I saw his license plate - #7.

Oops. Do you suppose the guy behind the black Range Rover’s wheel was the same #7 guy that paid nearly $3 million for the right to sport that lucky number? But wait a minute, I didn’t do anything wrong. I merely changed lanes. I gripped the wheel at 10 and two and snickered to myself. Tee hee. I’m going to get across that bridge before someone who paid millions of dollars for his license plate, even if it was for charity. I say it was for vanity. Na na. Good thing I didn’t flip him the bird though, I’d likely have had my coffee from the ladies’ prison in Satwa, and I’m guessing they don’t carry soymilk.

http://www.gulfnews.com/Nation/Society/10190212.html