After several, ahem, difficult experiences at the post office, I try to avoid going as much as possible these days. I wait until I have several things stacked up, and knock them all out in one shot. However, I'd heard a rumor recently that I can now pay my bills at the post office. Joy and sorrow hit me all at once. Joy that I don't have to taxi to some far off place and wait in line with unpleasant people for hours, sorrow that I have to face the mean post office men for yet another reason.
I said a "Lord help me!" prayer as I walked in the post office today, hoping today's trip would not reduce me to tears or cursing. I walked up to the counter, and Weird Post Office Man begins speaking Arabic softly. (Mean Post Office Man was not there, thankfully). I assume he is either speaking to himself or to the other (non-descript) post office man.
I hand him my bill, he keeps talking.
I hand him my money. He keeps talking.
By this point, I figure, if he's weird enough to talk to himself, then I can play that game too. I say softly to myself, "I don't know what you're saying. Are you talking to me or to him? If you're talking to me, you know I don't speak Arabic. If you're talking to him, you should look at him, and not me, when speaking. It's all rather confusing. You're still talking..."
As we continue our business, Non-Descript Post Office Man says in English,
"You don't speak Arabic?"
"No."
"So you didn't understand him?"
"No..."
"He basically said he is going to marry you, make you a good Muslim, cover those curls of yours, and have children with your beautiful blue eyes. Don't you want to learn Arabic now?"
"No."
At what point will it be okay for me to bust out with some kung-fu fighting on these guys?
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