Politically Incorrect

She cracks. Promising to keep the blog free of bleeding-heart vaguely political angst was obviously a ridiculous undertaking. I mean, where do I live?! And today's fodder comes directly from the street. King George Street.

So I'm annoyed. Not because of any of the local leaders and their latest round of lying. (Well, that too, but one becomes immune after a while.) I'm pissed off because a young boy kicked a dent into the driver's side of my car. While I was sitting in it. And I'm now getting annoyed with myself for questioning if I even have a right to be angry with him.

Some background: (see, I am at least considerate. Even if I do get momentarily furious with kids) There are many young boys peddling dubious wares at traffic junctions across the city, particularly in the East, where it is a popular after-school activity, or so my Palestinian friends inform me: the same friends who, incidentally, tell me I should never by anything off these kids, but hey: sometimes a girl needs her little flashy rubber balls made in Taiwan.

I'd be lying if I said there were no other heal-the-world motivations in buying from Palestinian - or other- street peddlers (Big Issue, anyone?) But just as I now know that the pound I gave to the Ethiopia Appeal in 1986 did not end the African Famine, I am also aware that me buying crap-with-a-smile from eager Palestinian kids at traffic junctions is not likely to bring any immediate solutions to the Middle East Peace Process. And I've learned to say no! That, and the fact that there is only so much crap a person can fit into one apartment.

So back to my dent. When the boy, who hawks this particular junction with his brother, approached my waiting car, I indicated- as I have done many times before- that I didn't want what he was selling. This happens to him every day, I have been a regular witness. And I have winced as drivers are rude to these boys, strike out at them, make noises in a "get-away-from-me" vein more appropriate to addressing stray animals. I did none of those things, merely shook my head, expecting him to amble down the hill and try his luck elsewhere.

But no: clearly, noone had told me that today was the day of reckoning for my Side Impact Bars. What followed was a sudden assualt on my car, accompanied by violent screams. Just what the Dr. ordered after a hard day at work. The time from when he started kicking until the lights changed was probably only a few seconds, but it seemed much longer, and I had absolutely no idea what to do in that time. His brother, a few years older and a few cars away, did nothing to restrain him.

The part of me that feels the pain of the Palestinian people can appreciate that it is more than possible that this boy chose the exact moment I refused to buy his lighters to take out his many frustrations against his "evil" occupiers. But frankly, that doesn't excuse this behavior away. Anyway, if that was the case, why not vent personal-political anger upon one of the vehicles nearby emblazoned with stickers and flags with rude, racist, anti-Arab slogans instead? (Slogan Stickers on cars are a popular way of denoting political affiliation here) But no. Clearly, kicking the sticker-free car of a woman who spends time advocating on his people's behalf-and taking rap for it too- was preferable. Good move, little boy! My resolve is momentarily shaken, your foot hurts, my car is slightly damaged, and you've now got yourself a packet of unsellable lighters and a lifetime guarantee that I won't be buying any more novelty squeaking animals off YOU.

For anyone who is worried: I am not about to suspend my political beliefs as a result of this encounter. But my colleagues have now armed me with several Arabic phrases for "Piss Off, you little creep!" for the future: Now I'm prepared. And if all else fails when it comes to unprecedented self-defence against kids young enough to be my own offspring, I'll keep my bobble-head ring which squirts water close at hand.