On the Low Budgetry of Nationalistic Tissue Boxes and...I don't even know what that thing is

I started writing this as my latest post to Super Pavs, as indeed, when I had the experience I am about to detail for you, I only felt the deepest of pavsness for everything about this situation. But as I've continued thinking about it days afterward, I cannot stop asking myself WHY key decision makers involved in the product design and purchasing of the goods you see below thought these things were good ideas, when in fact, for reasons I shall explain, they are ultra low budget. But, still, for me, this is also intrinsically pavs (unlike babies, who are also cute, unlike anything seen here), so I'm sharing with you the complexity and duality of my emotions.

We got in a cab going to Carrefour, the crazy Costco-style supermarket here in Cairo (in that it sells pretty much everything, but unlike Costco, you won't end up buying a box of 500 eraser caps or anything). Our old, short, bald cabbie who lacked a good few teeth drove us the best route to Carrefour--the quickest, shortest path there, but incidentally also the rockiest. So, we puttered along the rocky road, and I was trying to take a picture of how well this guy's aged and dusty complexion matched the landscape and the antiquated, rundown charm of old Cairene taxis.

But then, I noticed the decor of this particular cab, featuring a tissue box decorated like an Egyptian license plate whose characters are intended to add up to "25 January," the date of Egypt's Revolution early this year.

Cool, I can understand that. Nationalistic, commemorative, for the everyman. But, friends, herein lies the rub: Egyptian license plates, unlike the Arabic language, are read from left to right. So, despite the best intentions of the revolutionary Kleenex, the text, if accurate to the image it is meant to evoke, would not read "25 yanair," 25 January, but instead something like "riyani 25," rendering this important and hallowed date in recent national history largely meaningless, at least as far as this tissue box is concerned. But also, in order for the characters in sequence to actually mean 25 January, the letters must be linked as يناير, not discrete and fragmented. Can we please think on what it means to FRAGMENT this date, emblazoned everywhere in Cairo as a date to live on in the Egyptian consciousness as a symbol of the power of the collective voice to cast off the bonds of oppression, instead reinforcing divisiveness and meaninglessness? And lastly, of all the possible choices of commemorative memorabilia for one's car-- a sticker, a hood ornament, a rear-view-mirror-dangly--WHY A TISSUE BOX? Why do you want to BLOW YOUR NOSE on what COMES OUT OF THE REVOLUTION? FAIL MEMORABILIA. FAIL TISSUE BOX. Fail.

All this made me somewhat intellectually pavs and angry, but nothing made my face and heart contort into the classic, signature expression that is only pavs more than when that sorry, squished-face, plush mop creature sitting on the dashboard came into view, disarming every defensive layer I acquire when out in the streets of Cairo. Immediately, I was overcome by a slew of questions that made me more pavs, more confused, and more incredulous than any plush toy in a cab has ever wrought upon me: did this mop-thing have a fully articulated face when it was first purchased, or did the purchaser choose it fully cognizant of its facial abnormalities? What cruelty of time could make its facial features disappear if they were there to begin with? Did its manufacturer think that somehow the yellow goatee it sports improved its salability or general level of quality? WHY does this cabbie have this pond scum in his cab? Does he actually appreciate its aesthetics on some deep level? Did it and does it still have nostalgic significance to him? OR has he forgotten to care what his surroundings look like such that he DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW PAVS/LOW BUDGET THIS LOOKS?

I leave you with one final question: given the presence of the patriotically-misguided tissue box, why have ANOTHER TISSUE BOX on the same dashboard, which you can see peeking out from behind the mop-thing? HOW MANY TISSUES DOES ONE NEED?

Well, let me tell you, I did need some tissues after having witnessed all this. And I did buy some tissues from Carrefour. To cry on.