Only, bad days are funnier when you bring your own calamaties upon yourself, which is the case we have today. Clumsiness can be charming in moderation, and social blunders forgiven, but when they happen in such rapid fire order that in 24 hours you find yourself scorning a would-be Egyptian lover, arranging for a tetnus shot, bleeding on your roommates towel, and keeling over with food poisoning--all unrelated--well, you just have to pat yourself on the back for outdoing yourself once again!
Episode One: The Spurned Would-Be Egyptian Lover.
I was approached the other day by a former student of mine who wanted some lessons for him and his buddies. Sure, why not? I gave him my number so we could arrange a time for all of us to meet.
He calls, and we arrange to meet at a metro station north of me at 3:30 pm on Saturday.
The next day, he called back the next to ask if we could meet a little bit earlier. Sure, I say--that's actually better for my schedule. I suggest 2:30 instead.
"Fine," he says, and then adds, "Do you know where the bowling center is?"
"Uh...no, let's just meet at the metro station as planned." (in my mind..."bowling center, that's odd. hmm... oh well.")
He calls again on Saturday morning to confirm. Still, everything was professional. No warning sirens in my head yet.
I packed up some lesson plan materials to show to his friends so that we can figure out what kind of lessons they need. I get on the metro. I was running a bit late, though, so I was still 3 stops away when 2:30 rolls around.
He called again. "Yes, yes, I'm coming."
I get off at the station. He's there waiting.
"Hi, Walid, are we going to meet your friends?"
"Yes, they're coming, and they know where to meet us, too."
"Great." We start walking.
"Do you like bowling?"
"That's a strange question" I think, and freeze.
"No, actually, I don't like bowling very much."
(True fact, unless it involves cosmic bowling, a pitcher, cigars, and my old high school crew)
I go to test my suspicions. "What time are your friends meeting us?"
"4:00"
"Walid, why are they meeting us at 4? You said that we were meeting at 2:30."
I cop a big tone in my voice, and he starts to look panicky.
"No, no, miss, I am sorry, I am not good on communication on the phone, maybe you misunderstand me."
"Maybe, but I have to be in Maadi (12 stops away) at 4pm (another true fact). So if you want me to meet your friends, they need to come now."
"ok, ok." He calls them. I eavesdrop the best I can, and it seems like it's legit. In my mind, I give them one hour to show up before I bolt.
He apologizes profusely for what is now quite obviously a "bad start" to the meeting. We kept walking.
Finding myself with an unwelcome social hour with this student, I became a snow queen. No smiling, no laughing, no asking questions or soliciting information. I came to have a meeting about English classes, not to go to a bowling alley.
After 10 minutes or so, sure enough, we end up at a Military-only posh bowling club.
We walked in--it was surreal. Marble floors, 6 pristine bowling lanes, not another soul in sight. He asked me if I wanted to play.
"Nope," I reply curtly, and take a seat at a cafe table. As soon as we sit down, he tells me that he has a gift he wants to give me in order to compensate my time. He pulls out 3 CDs of "Teach yourself Russian." What? He pulls out a pen and dedicates it to me: To Alissa, from Walid. I stonily put it in my purse. After some more strained conversation, it was finally 3:45. I told him I needed to go, and basically got up and left the table.
He caught us a cab back to the metro station, since it had been a 15 minute walk or so. I stared out the window, lost in thought, and actually almost forgot that he was there.
Finally, he broke the silence and apologized for the umpteenth time for the "misunderstanding."
I turned to him and said very slowly and clearly so he could understand exactly how angry I was, "Walid, I am a professional. I have a boyfriend. I don't think meetings like this are appropriate. I can't meet with you again."
"So you are canceling the idea?"
"Yes, I am canceling the idea."
"Miss, this is very difficult. Remember, I have to tell my friends that the idea will not work. This is very hard."
I had very little sympathy. Yes, Walid, you can tell your friends that they won't have lessons because you tried to date the teacher.
We got to the metro station, and I bought my own ticket. He followed me into the station, continuing on with his speech about how he isn't good at communicating on the phone--nevermind the fact that the problem was not the phone, but that he thought it would be a good idea to take me bowling in the first place when we were supposed to be having a meeting about English classes.
He then follows up with this gem (boys, remember this next time you're turned down):
"Well, I guess this simply wasn't pre-destined by God. It's not God's will that we have you as our teacher."
Buddy, God didn't call this off--you botched it.
He took off, and I got on the train to head to church. Once he was gone, I started laughing in exasperation. The first time ever in my life, I thought, "I wish I were a man!" That's all I could think yesterday as this was happening. If I was a guy, and an English meeting turned into a 5 hour affair with bowling in between, I would just shrug and say that this is how business is conducted in Egypt. But as a woman? I wasn't going to give this guy an inch.
Still, I scolded myself for not realizing what I would be walking into. Lesson learned: next time someone casually mentions a bowling center in their phone calls, find out why...
Episode Number Two: An Unintentional New Piercing
After leaving Walid heartbroken at the metro station, I went to church to watch the Christmas Pageant--yes, that adorable if odd Christmas tradition in which we dress children up like sheep and stars to recount the story of Jesus' birth. My mood brightened considerably. Afterwards, I went home with my host sister to Maasara.
As we were walking, taking in the beautiful, crisp Cairo night scenes under a bright moon...I suddenly felt a crunch and a sharp pain in my foot. I started yelping and hopping on one foot until Gigi could see what was the matter--a nail had gone through my shoe and all the way in the ball of my foot. She yanked on it twice before she could get it out.
In true Egyptian fashion, though--after politely offering to get a taxi to take us home, they then proceeded to mock me for my yawps and howls. Why feel bad about something when you could laugh at yourself instead?
Unfortunately, the bottom of my foot is still puffy and tender, making it a little hard to walk. Tonight's project: learn how to say "Tetnus shot" in Arabic.
Episodes Three and Four: An Epic Display of Clumsiness
This morning I sort of hobbled home from Maasara, trying not to put too much weight on my sore foot. I love early mornings in Egypt, though, especially in Maasara, where you have the feeling of a whole community coming to life. With the dusty alleyways, the small pens of goats and cows, the school kids emerging behind hidden doorways in their myriad colored school uniforms, the morning light streaming between the brick buildings, the refreshing bite of the cool air... it's lovely.
I should mention that in my purse I was carrying both a gallon of maple syrup and all of my English class materials.
The gallon of maple syrup was in the form of two large bottles brought to Egypt from Ethiopia courtesy of Nod. If you were ever wondering, Egypt and Ethiopia are like the ying and yang of north African countries--perhaps a Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde inverse, if you're feeling a little more bitter about it on any particular day.
Egypt has decent internet, skype, but no international text messaging; sugary deserts, but no maple syrup, and generally pretty poor meat selections. Ethiopia has terrible internet, skype is illegal, but allows for international text messaging; no desserts, but cheap maple syrup, and good meat everywhere. If the two countries could just get together...
Anyway. So the maple syrup was a long-awaited, much-anticipated gift that had finally made the several hundred mile journey to Cairo. And it weighed approximately 80 pounds in my purse.
I finally arrive home at my apartment at 8am. As I was getting ready for work, I went to take the maple syrup out and stash it away on my personal shelf.
As I reached into my purse, I felt another crunch and a sharp pang. I pulled my hand out--I had stabbed myself with a pencil. To be more specific, a long, sharp bit of lead had jammed underneath my fingernail like a knife into an oyster. Blood began to get on my hands. Sigh. I hobbled into the bathroom, now with a sore foot and bloody finger.
Wiping my hands dry, I went back to actually retrieve the large bottles of syrup from my purse. As I was reaching to put it up on my shelf...bang! I dropped it on my foot. The other foot--the one that wasn't previously in pain.
My roommate looked at me. "Maybe you shouldn't leave the house today."
Episode Five: The Revenge of the Scary Beans
Those of you who have followed my travels know that I have yet another arch-nemesis here in Egypt: the scary beans. At my old host family's house in Imbaba, I used to get food poisoning every time I ate there--which one time was so bad it had me using a plastic bag to clean up the walls. Awesome. After such frequent digestive problems, I was able to conduct a fairly systematic study. The culprit? A pan of baked falava beans that they ate at nearly every meal. In between meals? They just left the pan of leftovers out on the table to fester, even though the fridge was just two feet away. The whole thing was covered in this yellow layer of grease. Scary beans, I curse you.
My most recent host mother is an excellent and sanitary cook--we adore her food and eat there often, usually without any problems. This morning she made me breakfast before I left (that would be post-nail, but pre-maple syrup and pencil stabbing): baked beans with scrambled eggs, to be eaten with pita bread. No problem, I've eaten her beans before.
O, sneaky scary beans, taking on the form of goodness! Around noon today, I started to feel some strange rumblings. Then the bad taste in my mouth. Sigh. Time to go home.
Then again, this was quite the feat. In an epic 24 hour span, I managed to wound myself in 4 unique ways and tell off a man in a bowling alley. Unfortunately, I have only myself to blame for most of that! So here's to Alissa's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad day...I plan to spend the rest of it in bed and away from sharp objects.
He calls, and we arrange to meet at a metro station north of me at 3:30 pm on Saturday.
The next day, he called back the next to ask if we could meet a little bit earlier. Sure, I say--that's actually better for my schedule. I suggest 2:30 instead.
"Fine," he says, and then adds, "Do you know where the bowling center is?"
"Uh...no, let's just meet at the metro station as planned." (in my mind..."bowling center, that's odd. hmm... oh well.")
He calls again on Saturday morning to confirm. Still, everything was professional. No warning sirens in my head yet.
I packed up some lesson plan materials to show to his friends so that we can figure out what kind of lessons they need. I get on the metro. I was running a bit late, though, so I was still 3 stops away when 2:30 rolls around.
He called again. "Yes, yes, I'm coming."
I get off at the station. He's there waiting.
"Hi, Walid, are we going to meet your friends?"
"Yes, they're coming, and they know where to meet us, too."
"Great." We start walking.
"Do you like bowling?"
"That's a strange question" I think, and freeze.
"No, actually, I don't like bowling very much."
(True fact, unless it involves cosmic bowling, a pitcher, cigars, and my old high school crew)
I go to test my suspicions. "What time are your friends meeting us?"
"4:00"
"Walid, why are they meeting us at 4? You said that we were meeting at 2:30."
I cop a big tone in my voice, and he starts to look panicky.
"No, no, miss, I am sorry, I am not good on communication on the phone, maybe you misunderstand me."
"Maybe, but I have to be in Maadi (12 stops away) at 4pm (another true fact). So if you want me to meet your friends, they need to come now."
"ok, ok." He calls them. I eavesdrop the best I can, and it seems like it's legit. In my mind, I give them one hour to show up before I bolt.
He apologizes profusely for what is now quite obviously a "bad start" to the meeting. We kept walking.
Finding myself with an unwelcome social hour with this student, I became a snow queen. No smiling, no laughing, no asking questions or soliciting information. I came to have a meeting about English classes, not to go to a bowling alley.
After 10 minutes or so, sure enough, we end up at a Military-only posh bowling club.
We walked in--it was surreal. Marble floors, 6 pristine bowling lanes, not another soul in sight. He asked me if I wanted to play.
"Nope," I reply curtly, and take a seat at a cafe table. As soon as we sit down, he tells me that he has a gift he wants to give me in order to compensate my time. He pulls out 3 CDs of "Teach yourself Russian." What? He pulls out a pen and dedicates it to me: To Alissa, from Walid. I stonily put it in my purse. After some more strained conversation, it was finally 3:45. I told him I needed to go, and basically got up and left the table.
He caught us a cab back to the metro station, since it had been a 15 minute walk or so. I stared out the window, lost in thought, and actually almost forgot that he was there.
Finally, he broke the silence and apologized for the umpteenth time for the "misunderstanding."
I turned to him and said very slowly and clearly so he could understand exactly how angry I was, "Walid, I am a professional. I have a boyfriend. I don't think meetings like this are appropriate. I can't meet with you again."
"So you are canceling the idea?"
"Yes, I am canceling the idea."
"Miss, this is very difficult. Remember, I have to tell my friends that the idea will not work. This is very hard."
I had very little sympathy. Yes, Walid, you can tell your friends that they won't have lessons because you tried to date the teacher.
We got to the metro station, and I bought my own ticket. He followed me into the station, continuing on with his speech about how he isn't good at communicating on the phone--nevermind the fact that the problem was not the phone, but that he thought it would be a good idea to take me bowling in the first place when we were supposed to be having a meeting about English classes.
He then follows up with this gem (boys, remember this next time you're turned down):
"Well, I guess this simply wasn't pre-destined by God. It's not God's will that we have you as our teacher."
Buddy, God didn't call this off--you botched it.
He took off, and I got on the train to head to church. Once he was gone, I started laughing in exasperation. The first time ever in my life, I thought, "I wish I were a man!" That's all I could think yesterday as this was happening. If I was a guy, and an English meeting turned into a 5 hour affair with bowling in between, I would just shrug and say that this is how business is conducted in Egypt. But as a woman? I wasn't going to give this guy an inch.
Still, I scolded myself for not realizing what I would be walking into. Lesson learned: next time someone casually mentions a bowling center in their phone calls, find out why...
Episode Number Two: An Unintentional New Piercing
After leaving Walid heartbroken at the metro station, I went to church to watch the Christmas Pageant--yes, that adorable if odd Christmas tradition in which we dress children up like sheep and stars to recount the story of Jesus' birth. My mood brightened considerably. Afterwards, I went home with my host sister to Maasara.
As we were walking, taking in the beautiful, crisp Cairo night scenes under a bright moon...I suddenly felt a crunch and a sharp pain in my foot. I started yelping and hopping on one foot until Gigi could see what was the matter--a nail had gone through my shoe and all the way in the ball of my foot. She yanked on it twice before she could get it out.
In true Egyptian fashion, though--after politely offering to get a taxi to take us home, they then proceeded to mock me for my yawps and howls. Why feel bad about something when you could laugh at yourself instead?
Unfortunately, the bottom of my foot is still puffy and tender, making it a little hard to walk. Tonight's project: learn how to say "Tetnus shot" in Arabic.
Episodes Three and Four: An Epic Display of Clumsiness
This morning I sort of hobbled home from Maasara, trying not to put too much weight on my sore foot. I love early mornings in Egypt, though, especially in Maasara, where you have the feeling of a whole community coming to life. With the dusty alleyways, the small pens of goats and cows, the school kids emerging behind hidden doorways in their myriad colored school uniforms, the morning light streaming between the brick buildings, the refreshing bite of the cool air... it's lovely.
I should mention that in my purse I was carrying both a gallon of maple syrup and all of my English class materials.
The gallon of maple syrup was in the form of two large bottles brought to Egypt from Ethiopia courtesy of Nod. If you were ever wondering, Egypt and Ethiopia are like the ying and yang of north African countries--perhaps a Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde inverse, if you're feeling a little more bitter about it on any particular day.
Egypt has decent internet, skype, but no international text messaging; sugary deserts, but no maple syrup, and generally pretty poor meat selections. Ethiopia has terrible internet, skype is illegal, but allows for international text messaging; no desserts, but cheap maple syrup, and good meat everywhere. If the two countries could just get together...
Anyway. So the maple syrup was a long-awaited, much-anticipated gift that had finally made the several hundred mile journey to Cairo. And it weighed approximately 80 pounds in my purse.
I finally arrive home at my apartment at 8am. As I was getting ready for work, I went to take the maple syrup out and stash it away on my personal shelf.
As I reached into my purse, I felt another crunch and a sharp pang. I pulled my hand out--I had stabbed myself with a pencil. To be more specific, a long, sharp bit of lead had jammed underneath my fingernail like a knife into an oyster. Blood began to get on my hands. Sigh. I hobbled into the bathroom, now with a sore foot and bloody finger.
Wiping my hands dry, I went back to actually retrieve the large bottles of syrup from my purse. As I was reaching to put it up on my shelf...bang! I dropped it on my foot. The other foot--the one that wasn't previously in pain.
My roommate looked at me. "Maybe you shouldn't leave the house today."
Episode Five: The Revenge of the Scary Beans
Those of you who have followed my travels know that I have yet another arch-nemesis here in Egypt: the scary beans. At my old host family's house in Imbaba, I used to get food poisoning every time I ate there--which one time was so bad it had me using a plastic bag to clean up the walls. Awesome. After such frequent digestive problems, I was able to conduct a fairly systematic study. The culprit? A pan of baked falava beans that they ate at nearly every meal. In between meals? They just left the pan of leftovers out on the table to fester, even though the fridge was just two feet away. The whole thing was covered in this yellow layer of grease. Scary beans, I curse you.
My most recent host mother is an excellent and sanitary cook--we adore her food and eat there often, usually without any problems. This morning she made me breakfast before I left (that would be post-nail, but pre-maple syrup and pencil stabbing): baked beans with scrambled eggs, to be eaten with pita bread. No problem, I've eaten her beans before.
O, sneaky scary beans, taking on the form of goodness! Around noon today, I started to feel some strange rumblings. Then the bad taste in my mouth. Sigh. Time to go home.
Then again, this was quite the feat. In an epic 24 hour span, I managed to wound myself in 4 unique ways and tell off a man in a bowling alley. Unfortunately, I have only myself to blame for most of that! So here's to Alissa's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad day...I plan to spend the rest of it in bed and away from sharp objects.
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