The story of the string

I have written an integrated assessment unit for Grade 12 for our company, incorporating ICT and technology for this trimester. The theme is bridge building and it's based around the technology of building bridges. Grade 12 English have the theme of technology this trimester so I'm trying to encompass prior learning and constructivist learning.
Like previous activities I have done with NZ students and the BP challenge, we are going to have group work where the students build bridges out of 15 sheets of newspaper, 1 x roll of cellotape and 4 m of string, that will allow a 300gm weight to be towed over the bridge. This week I have been collecting the necessary items for the first of the hands on bridge building sessions, and I found myself at school without any string.
I drove the 2 kms down into the Al Hayer community to purchase string. The Co-operative supermarket is going through a rebuild and is currently cutting back on the grocery lines it carries. Translated this means that the wee shop attendant probably had no idea what I was asking for and couldn't be bothered trying to work through the language for me. He wasn't that desperate for a sale.
I drove a little further to the very small shops, many side by side all selling the same items, all populated by Indian Parkistani people, who stare a lot congregate in groups, sit on plastic chairs and drink tea. . To be honest when I go there with the guys from the guys school I stay in the car. It's not frightening at all, it just takes away that slightly unpleasant feeling of being different
I selected the first hardware type shop "Love Land Trading" (Don't you just love the name) because they had coils of nylon rope on display outside the shop. I selected the smallest guage rope, it was thicker than string and asked how much. In his best broken English the little shop attendant reaches for his calculator and taps out the price in AED, 20 AED. More than I thought string should cost, but hey I'm on a mission, time is precious and what's 40 AED. I select 2 colours, and my wee friend then hurries to squirm under the table and pull out other coils in other colours. I pull out my 40 AED from my wallet and ask if he will give me a receipt, so I can claim this back from expenses. A blank look crosses his face, we're lost in translation again. I ask for a bill, bill is a universal word around here. More blank looks. At this point I decide that as there are about 50 little shops around all selling hardware someone else must have string and can issue me with a receipt. I go to move out of the shop. As quick as a flash my shop keeping friend understands that his sale is about to move off and he taps out 30 AED on his calculator. Equally as quick I realise I've been spotted as a tourist and his meal ticket. La la, Arabic for No No, I say and move towards the door. Suddenly he understands and he’s right beside me. "How much then" he asks shoving the calculator in my face. Talk about invasion of personal space, this guy is right there in it. Cupping your left hand together, fingers in a bunch and in a way making a gesture means wait. So I do it and utter wait. He can tell his meal ticket is moving away, he needs to secure this sale, so his English is really good, "how much then madam". Wait I say as I climb into the car and he's right there beside me. I'm not frightened, but he is close. My personal space is a lot greater than the people from the Asian sub-continent, they get real close. I drive 400 m to the next set of shops and select another hardware shop with coils of rope out the front. This chap also has some sacking on the ground, so I pick up one of the threads of sacking and ask for string. We're lost in translation again but this chap is at least working on it, he gestures for me to come outside and around the side of his shop, where he proudly shows me sacking around hosing. La la, I say as I move inside the shop, show him the thread and point to the coils of rope. His friends who were all sitting on plastic chairs outside drinking tea, come inside and there is a flurry of spoken Arabic? Indian? Whodu? Who knows! Whatever this chap is onto it, and he moves to the back of his small shop and returns with this nylon string/ rope. How much I ask. 2 AED. I'll have 2 please. I don't ask for a receipt, it's not worth it and I have what I really wanted. I'm in the car driving back towards school passed Love land Trading. He's out sitting on his plastic chair, drinking tea waiting for the next mug to come by.
I know in this society with a class system, I'm Western earning a good salary, and a far greater one than these people will earn , so I am a potential meal ticket and I know I frequently get taken advantage of. However there is a distant difference between being helpful, taking a sale, making money and being a vulture.