Halal HAPPY Hour? Yeah Right!

Episode One:

So apparently I have been having writers block lately. I mean real bad writers block. I was meaning to write this post for a long time and I kept on procrastinating. Why? That was the question that I kept on asking myself for a long time. Then again are you kidding me an ABCD would depress any intelligent human being. What does ABCD stand for my confounded audience:


I mean really confused and this event that I ended up  going too brought up the reason why it was  difficult mingling within my own community. Lets begin!

So I had gone to this event in May which had been advertised as Halal Happy Hour. I was intrigued by this and wanted to go. I was hoping to find make some friends and expand my social network. Sounds like a line from a bad movie doesn’t it? Trust me there was no Justin Timberlake as eye candy.

So I went to the designated venue which was at Whitman and Bloom in NYC which was being sponsored by MAZA NYC. What does that organization stand for? I have no clue. Meanwhile they claimed all the proceeds would go to the victims of the Nepali earthquake. Tickets were $22 from Ticketleap. No drinks included or even at a minimum appetizers. Get this…….the Happy hour was on a drumroll please…… MONDAY! So much for caring that the next day was a workday. Trust me I was peeved that my hard-earned cash bought me literally nothing!

The chick at the door that greeted me looked me up and down. There was a look of incredulity at the fact that I was just dressed business casually and wasn’t properly glammed up. I guess there was no expectations of actual employed individuals showing up. Thanking her for allowing me entrance to a charitable event that I hoped was being distributed as advertised, I felt the lack of a warm welcome. Meanwhile the floor was still empty. Disappointingly most of the people coming in were South Asians. A heavyset girl with a camera came over and introduced herself, “I am from Seattle. Are you born or raised here?” Right away I was rankled. Uh Did I forget my passport? Or birth certificate.

The bad vibe made me grate my teeth. Like are you kidding me what happened to polite company and just liking people for who they are? It seemed like that heavy question was directed at me so that she could treat me accordingly to the answer. Meanwhile has it occurred to her that her parents were immigrants when they came to America? Immigration was apparently a heavy question everywhere. Sheesh.

One  guy came over and asked me where I was from. I couldn’t believe that was the only thing people could find in common. Where I was “from” didn’t mean in the USA but my race or country of descent. He was proud to tell me that he was from Pakistan but had spent most of his life in Dubai. Meanwhile another girl came along and introduced herself as Marwa. She went on to say that she was from Chicago and was in NYC for an internship. “My parents are from Pakistan. I am born in Chicago.” I looked at her astounded. I mean what happened to being a Pakistani American? I mean I felt like I was in a room full of people who had low self-esteem and inferiority complexes. Meanwhile the Guy from Dubai, whose name was Musa told me that he was born in Dubai so that didn’t technically make him Pakistani. Last time I checked Dubai didn’t go by place of birth but by your forefathers descent when it came to citizenship.

The girl Marwa was one of many girls that was dressed very Westernized and there was no sense of modesty from a Desi regard. I say Desi because that word applies to all South Asians and they were many at this event. She was wearing a dress and it was skin-tight with pantyhose. Some didn’t even bother with pantyhose but just want barelegged. I mean I get assimilation but what about being proud of your heritage? These girls were trying so hard to fit in that it oozed with desperation. Meanwhile I was offended. Why? I was being judged by my birthplace. No one cared to know me as a person. It was another story that once the DESI’s found out I had a GOOD job and was from NYC that they wanted me to hook them up with the job. Bottom line I wouldn’t bother hiring people who were so busy putting each other down that they forgot that we are part of the same planet. Your parents or grandparents were immigrants at one point people and were treated in such a fashion by someone based on their place of birth and wouldn’t be too happy to see that your forwarding that cycle of exclusion.

After talking to an Indian dude who decided I wasn’t worthy of speaking too because I lacked a Master’s degree. I disgustingly exited this sorry excuse of an event. At this time the place was packed and it was hard to move. I felt like I was in a dance club to the point of being inappropriately groped. In my defense I elbowed and shoved my way out of the den of wolves. I almost bumped into a guy that had a Mary Poppins hat on. I mean what fashion statement was he trying to make? From the sixties?

Trust me I had complained to MAZA NYC on their Facebook page about how congested the place had gotten. My constructive criticism was promptly deleted. All I can say is I have doubts that my charitable contributions really went towards the Nepali earthquake victims unless I could  see the actual receipt! Plus do these people really want to help individuals that are born inside of a country they deem citizens unworthy of respect?

Am I the only who asks the hard questions people?