Kelly’s Dubai Life: My Humble Brag

Kelly’s Dubai Life: My Humble Brag

The DIFC Diaries, Part I: Mold, Mayhem, and Mystery Cats

By Kelly Robinson (obviously)

Everyone thinks living in Dubai means sipping saffron lattes in a spaceship while your robot butler irons your silk pajamas. You know, all skyline views, flying cars, gold-dusted everything, and casual brunches with billionaires at Zuma.

So let’s clear that up.

Yes, I live in DIFC; the “cool” neighborhood; in a building connected to a five-star luxury hotel. Behind us? Actual royal palaces. Very hush-hush. Also back there? The Dubai Falcon Hospital. Because falcons here apparently have more reliable healthcare than most freelancers in New York.

And yet… here’s what it’s really like:

Customer Service? Let’s Not.

Everyone is extremely polite, while absolutely accomplishing nothing.

“Yes madam, of course madam, Inshallah madam” directly translates to:

“You will never hear from us again.”

The Not-So-Luxury Apartment

My “luxury” apartment still has work being done to prepare it… a month after I moved in. 

My dishwasher flooded the kitchen, which would be catastrophic anywhere else, but this is Dubai, where kitchen floor drains are standard… and apparently that’s good since no one inspects a home before you move in. 

My washer and dryer? Both broken. The old, mold-infested ones? Just left on my terrace, silently judging me. I’m now living in a high-rise episode of Hoarders.

And plot twist! My brand new washer/dryer? On a gentle 800 RPM spin, turned into a possessed jackhammer, twisted 180 degrees, and tried to escape the laundry closet.

I didn’t know whether to unplug it or call an exorcist.

Curtain Chaos

I booked four appointments with curtain companies in one day.

Three showed up; none less than an hour late.

The fourth? I assumed ghosted me, until he rang the doorbell four hours later, when I was already in pajamas.

Because picking blackout shades and sheers, in the dark makes sense, right?

I stood there, in my jammies, arms crossed the entire time (for obvious reasons).

Internet Ghosting

The WiFi guy from du was supposed to come at 6 PM. Never showed.

When I followed up, he blamed me for not “formally confirming.”

So I screenshot our WhatsApp convo, where I said “6 PM Monday?”

And he replied: 

“Yes, ma’am, sure thing.”

His response?

“That’s not formal confirmation.”

Sir… I have gotten job offers, contracts, and 5-figure wires via WhatsApp. If I ever waited for a formal confirmation in Dubai, I’d still be in customs.

Welcome to Outlet-Less Opulence

And while we’re on the subject of tech… why are there never enough outlets in Dubai apartments?

Are the designers Amish?

Just like the UK, building code doesn’t allow anything more than a shaving outlet in the bathroom.

So now I pack a rollerboard every morning with my hair tools and makeup to commute to the bedroom like a traveling clown. And yes, I had to buy a vanity like I’m a 1950s movie star getting ready for a close-up… in my one-bedroom pied-a-terre.

The Cat Situation

Thanks to an irresponsible neighbor, a feline trespasser scales the divider on the 38th floor to stalk me from the terrace, as I go from room to room, like a fur-covered poltergeist.

She meows outside every window, like she’s either underfed, was overfed by my predecessor, or is plotting something sinister.

Either way, I really need my curtains to arrive.

DEWA, I Love You But…

For electricity, AC, and hot water, you need to activate DEWA (Dubai’s utilities agency). I was on the phone with them for two full days, being transferred through a maze of call center operators.

Eventually, I just went in person, marched up to the miserable “Happiness Ambassador” like I was claiming a lost child, and said, “Turn it on or I’ll expose an armpit.” It was 110 Fahrenheit.

Still took another 36 hours..

But at least now I can wash my face with warm water. That’s luxury, right? 

I’ve aged… in dog years.

Habibis, this is my “humble brag”…

Khalaas! خَلَاص