My lady Mariam "Mare" Nesrallah is one cheeky gal, in every sense of the word. I knew the tall, raven-haired and bronze-skinned Middle-Eastern beauty was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her. Something about the way she carried herself sent my bells ringing, as it were.
Of course, I'm no stranger to trouble myself. My name is Aziz Gueye and I'm a big and tall young Black man of Senegalese descent living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I was born in the City of Diourbel, Senegal, and have been living in Canada's Capital region since the tenth summer of my life. I'm an orphan, and learned at an early age that life throws hardship our way and that we emerge stronger as a result.
Two years ago I graduated with a bachelor's degree in computer science from the University of Ottawa. I thought I had it made. Someone forgot to tell me that having a university degree is no guarantee of employment, that's why I decided to pick up a trade. I'm working in construction now, a job I never saw myself doing, come to think of it.
I'm glad I'm a construction worker now, though. Hey, it sure as hell beats being one of those overly educated bozos slaving away at government offices downtown, or one of those equally overeducated and unlucky bozos serving them coffee at Starbucks and Tim Horton's, dreaming of the day when they'll find work in their chosen fields. I'm making decent money, I actually like the people that I work with, and I've actually met the lady who might be the love of my life thanks to this job.
Walking through the Rideau Shopping Center like she owned the place, Mariam Nesrallah attracts a lot of attention wherever she goes, which is perfectly okay since she's a beautiful woman. You see a lot of them in downtown Ottawa but in her stylish dark gray pantsuit, white blouse and high heels, the lady in question managed to look both classy and sexy.
I was one of the peons sitting in the food court, devouring my plate of Chinese food when I noticed her walking nearby with a Pepsi in her hand. Outside the mall, the Ontario winter was in full blast but I swear, my temperature skyrocketed when her eyes met mine.
Typically, Average Joes like me don't step up to gals like her but I had to, man. I got up and walked up to her, and greeted her in Arabic, since I'd already guessed that she came from that part of the world. My guess turned out to be right on the money, in more ways than one.
"Ente Jamile Masha'Allah," I said to her, taking off my construction worker's helmet, and smiling at her. Mariam looked me up and down, and then the lady actually smiled, and nodded gratefully. I could tell that my bold approach surprised her, and that she didn't know what to make of it.
"Thank you kindly," Mariam said, and I looked at her name tag on her shirt, and then asked her if I knew her from somewhere. The lady told me that at her job, she met a lot of people, then she wished me a good day and excused herself. I watched her walk away, and my eyes zeroed in on that thick ass of hers which threatened to spill out of her dress pants.
"Target acquired," I whispered to myself, and the next day, I showed up at the bank where Mariam worked, went straight to her booth, and inquired about opening a bank account. Clad in a blue silk shirt, black tie and black silk pants, with black timberland shoes that I bought at Wal-Mart the week before, I looked like I meant business.
Now, I've already got accounts with the Royal Bank of Canada, TD Canada Trust and the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce but I wanted to open up an account with her bank. What can I say? The bank of Mariam Nesrallah appealed to me, in more ways than one.
"Thank you for choosing our bank, Mr. Gueye," Mariam said, and I smiled, for she's the first person in a long time who didn't butcher my name. I later learned that Mariam's Lebanese Christian parents sent her to a French Catholic school growing up, so she knows how to pronounce French names properly. I'm from Senegal, so I learned French and Wolof at home. I found Mariam's French accent positively charming.
"Merci beaucoup mademoiselle," I said, and then extricated three hundred bucks from my wallet and told Mariam that I'd like to deposit them into my new checking account at the bank. Just so she knew that I meant business. When I walked into the bank, recognition and surprise shone in Mariam's dark eyes but she acted cool. Too cool, in fact.
Mariam smiled, and then asked me to follow her. The lady walked me through the process of getting a debit card, selecting a pin number, depositing the funds, and then sent me on my merry way. Right before I reached the door, guess what happened?
"Mr. Gueye, we like to help our new clients in any way that we can so please take my card," Mariam said, and she smiled as she handed me the card with her cell phone number and a smiley face on the back, followed by the words " I liked you better with the helmet".
I smiled at Mariam and nodded, shook her hand in a businesslike manner, and then walked out of the bank. I managed to make it across the street before I laughed out loud and did a little victory dance. Dude, I'm in like Flynn! Wallahi, this hot Lebanese chick won't even know what hit her.
Typically, I wait a day or two before giving a chick a call once I've got them digits. Don't want to appear too eager. I didn't have to worry about that. Two hours after Mariam Nesrallah gave me her card, I sent her a quick text, just to say hi, and telling her to save the number. Imagine my surprise when Mariam called, around five, and asked me if I had plans for the afternoon.
"I'm bored and tired after all this office crap and sure could use a drink," Mariam said, her throaty voice dripping with sexiness over the phone. I thought about it for all of two seconds, and then told her that I knew the perfect watering hole for someone in her condition.
"Join me at Honest Lawyer bar on the By Ward Market, you won't regret it," I said, and Mariam laughed and told me that she'd be there around seven. Sounds good to me, and we chatted a bit before hanging up. For the second time that day, I did the victory dance.
See what confidence will do for a man? Any man can talk to any woman, even if she's smoking hot and makes more money than him. It's all about manly confidence, and the right approach. Females love confidence in a man and can't stand weak, insecure bozos. Don't be a bozo. Be a man, dammit!
Mariam later told me that she has an MBA from Carleton University's Sprott School of Business, and her father Michel Nesrallah is a successful real estate agent and a major figure in the Arab Christian community of Ontario. The gal comes from money and probably does alright for herself working at the bank. What's she doing with a construction worker? My confidence and rugged good looks intrigued her.
"For an Ottawa U guy you're alright," Mariam said to me, as we downed one beer after another while watching the Senators get smashed by the Boston Bruins on TV at the Honest Lawyer bar. I looked at the tall, lovely Middle-Eastern gal and smiled. Ottawa University and Carleton University have a fierce rivalry, which I've never really understood, since they're both so similar.
"Miss Mariam, you're pretty cute for a Carleton University chick," I said cockily, and Mariam playfully smacked my arm, and then fixed her lovely dark eyes on the big TV screen. I've never been a hockey fan, but I respect every sport because I'm a former athlete. I used to play intramural soccer at University of Ottawa, and I loved it.
The ease with which Mariam Nesrallah downed them beers got me worried, seriously. A lot of females can't take their liquor. Not trying to be sexist, just saying the truth. Hell, some dudes can't handle their liquor either. I ended up putting Mariam into a cab and sending her home.
