I put on my work gloves and clothes and then start preparing everything for the shawarma: separating the chicken steaks, cut some of them, put some of them on the shawarma bar, cut and put, cut and put, and it goes like that for four hours until 1:30.

I turn the fire on and start making the sandwiches. Customers come and order one, two, maybe ten sandwiches. But the job drives me crazy, especially when a sophisticated man comes in asking for five or six sandwiches, insisting that he wants two of them without pickles and one without ghee and the other two without tomatoes and with extra sauce. And I always have to remember all the special requests, and regardless, there are people who say, "I want my sandwiches first!" at peak times. They think I am a machine that can do everything at any time.

A machine? Who said that? That idea frightens me! I know there is no machine for making shawarma but at the same time I know that we are now in the 21st century and inventing a machine just like what gives Pepsi, Fanta, or Sprite for a coin is not impossible, so who knows? Maybe they will invent one for me to help me in my work or maybe they would fire me and replace me with this machine. Then I would stay home with my family every day for 16 hours instead of being in the shop making a living for me and five other people.

I would like to spend more time with my family and quit standing against the burning fire which kills me in the summer and makes me ill in the winter when the cold wind hits my back. What a great idea it will be to watch my little baby growing in front of me instead of watching the shawarma bar shrinking as I make sandwiches, but what can I do? I can't do anything else to make a living. I should accept my destiny as it is. - Maher S.