Ahmed is getting married tomorrow, which the woman yelling at him on the phone of course doesn’t know. He’s also running incredibly late for a tenant’s meeting, which she does know but just doesn’t seem to care. We’ve been waiting to enter the 86th street station for about ten minutes when Ahmed gives in, signals a cab. It’s my first taxi ride, so I’m not displeased.
To do this line of work means being yelled at on the phone a lot. Not just on the phone, of course--by email and in person are also perfectly reasonable options. I have not yet seen an angry fax, but the summer is young. But no matter the medium, this anger finds its way out. This is the strangeness of public work. To place yourself on the side of the people is to place yourself between them and power. And that means to place your eardrums in the midst of the shouts.
Ahmed doesn’t mind the woman yelling at him on the phone, it doesn’t shake him at all, in fact. He’s quickly become a friend of mine, and it’s for all the usual reasons--he’s funny, we’re nerdy in similar ways, it’s a good fit. But it’s also for this reason, for the way he hangs up the phone, after a half hour of verbal abuse, and then picks it right back up to make a phone call on behalf of the abuser.
Not everyone yells, of course, in fact most people, the vast majority of people, are so gracious, so graceful. But those who do, it would be easy to give up on. It would be so easy to say fuck off and wash your hands of the whole thing. Their humanity is easily disguised within their anger. But Ahmed sees right through to it. He has placed himself on the side of the yellers.
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