Moroccan Spices in June

Morocco is one of the most beautiful places I’ve had the pleasure of exploring.

June rolled around and, a day after my Dad and Jules arrived to ‘doggy-sit’ Dexter for me I caught a zero-hour flight to Marrakech. I was going on a 10-day trip with a few guys from work to spend a little time in the famous Marrakech Medina and to embark on a five-day ‘trek’ to the peak of Toubkal.
For those of you who haven’t heard of Marrakech, it’s the third largest city in Morocco, a country on the North Atlantic coast of Africa. It’s a bustling place with a huge Medina (traditional, fortified portion of the city) and the largest traditional market (called a souk) in all of Morocco.
Days there are hot, and slightly sedentary with the exception of those in the endless maze of shops and stalls that make up the souk. Late at night, once it cools down, the large city square on the edge of the souk comes to life with everything from belly dancers and snake charmers to storytellers and musicians. Large outdoor areas are converted, with tables and chairs, into make-shift restaurants where you can enjoy snails or sheep’s-head, among other things. There are mountains of fresh spices, more olives than you can consume in a lifetime, and everything from jewellery to leather goods to t-shirts and knock-off Nikes. I really believe that if you’re looking for it, you can find it here... you can even buy geckos and turtles and the locals will give you tips for smuggling them home on the plane. This is a view of the square:

Compared to the other Islamic-influenced countries I’ve been to, the ‘Western’ influence in Marrakech is obvious. It is acceptable (practically encouraged) for a woman to walk down the street in a tank top or shorts and, to be honest; the locals can cat-call like professionals. Seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever been hit on more in my entire life.

The first few days we poked around and enjoyed the nightlife... then we got down to business.

The guide came and picked us up from our riad and took us into the Atlas Mountains to begin our 5-day trek up and around and finally to the peak of Toubkal; the highest point of Northern Africa. We had a guide who walked with us daily and a ‘mule team’ that was responsible for transporting our stuff on the mules, setting up the ‘dining tent’, and preparing the meals.
Our guide, Aziz, was a local Berber who was extremely well educated (two degrees and mountain guide certification and fluent in four languages, working on the fifth) and as nimble as a mountain goat. Come to think of it, all of the locals were impressively sure-footed and quick on the precarious and very dangerous mountain sides. We woke every morning at 7, packed up, ate breakfast, and took off for the day. We would ‘hike’ about 4 hours in the morning, stop for lunch, and then hike another 4 to 6 hours in the evening, depending on our morning progress.
I’m not going to lie... it was not easy. I was the youngest (by at least 15 years) and the only girl, but I still had a few moments of complete exhaustion.

We didn’t go straight for the peak. We took a round-about path to the top, stopping though Berber Villages, camping by a huge lake, and gaining an appreciation for the full scope of life in those mountains.
The kids in the villages often bombarded us with requests for ‘’Bon-bon?’’ (French for candy) and pens or paper or anything else we were willing to give them. I took a few packs of Starburst for just such encounters (on the advice of Julie) and ran out VERY quickly even though I was only giving them out one at a time.

On the third night we celebrated Paul’s birthday/retirement. He was turning 50 and officially out of the UK Air Force on the same night. The cook whipped up a ‘birthday cake’, we sang, and had a longer night than usual staying up and chatting and laughing. After all of the festivities died down I was left on the mats with our guide, Aziz, and my tent mate, Steve. Steve went back to the tent to change and ‘get ready for bed’ so I stayed on the mats with Aziz to give Steve some privacy...
Dim the lights... Aziz told me he had a confession.
“I’ve met many different types of people since I became a guide. Some I like, some I don’t. Your group has been especially fun for me. You are a small group and you all get along and you are all fun. But you are the most amazing person I have ever met. You are always laughing and smiling and you have such a beautiful smile. I already feel that I have very strong feelings for you.”
Wow... so this was a far cry from the “Hello pretty eyes,” and “3000 camels for your beauty,” that I was getting in the square.
I tried to be very diplomatic and gentle with him. I had explained to him earlier in the day that I had a boyfriend whom I loved very much, but apparently a man like Aziz is not used to being turned down.
He got a mischievous glimmer in his eye and pursued the subject. He asked me for my email address so we could ‘’continue to build our relationship’’ to which I politely refused on the basis that I was unwilling to be more that friends (the killer word, I know I know). He told me the story of a Berber guide friend of his that had met a European woman on her trek and they had fallen in love and were getting married that very summer. As sweet as the story was, I insisted I had a boyfriend already and I wasn’t interested in anything on the side.... He persisted.
He wanted to know if he could at least have a kiss “to remember me by” and insisted this would be a wonderful ‘souvenir’ for me to take home with me from my trip. (Apparently my photos and memories weren’t going to be enough.) Aziz is not a man that takes ‘No’ graciously...
Eventually I had to just get up and leave him there... poor guy.
Two of the guys I was on the trip with were in their tent right next to where all this happened...the heard everything. The rest of the trip (when Aziz was not around) they teased me mercilessly about being a ‘heartbreaker’ and each gave their vote that I should give Aziz a try.
Ah, men... always looking out for the each other’s interests.
The rest of the trip was no less fun (or interesting). We had a night where the guys on the mule team came in and taught us Berber and Morroccan card games and we had a night where we convinced Aziz and the mule team to sing traditional songs for us. They beat on empty water jugs and upside-down pots and sang quite a few songs... The two of us American’s in the group sang a few ‘American’ songs (not well, I confess) and the Brits sang some of theirs as well... we all sang some Christmas carols for them (as it was the only thing we were all certain we knew the words to).

We climbed all the way to the top of Toubkal and I saw a breathtaking view from the highest peak of North Africa.

We even had a snowball fight.

Aziz backed off a little but didn’t stop asking for my email or a kiss (apparently whichever I was willing to give him was fine by him) until the day we left.
Our last few nights in Morocco were spent back in the riad in Marrakech. I explored the souk and square some more, caught up on some well-deserved rest, and treated myself to a traditional Moroccan bath, called a Hammam... the details of which I cannot divulge. ;)

The whole experience was absolutely fantastic.

June was a good month.

The Flight and The Politician

I’m a pretty regular airline passenger. I started at a young age and have flown, by myself, more air miles than I care to count. I’ve been back and forth to Colorado and Arizona from Washington as many times as some people take trips to the grocery store from home. I’ve also flown internationally a few times... between Japan and the States and between the UK and the US. Of all the flights I’ve been on... all the whiney kids and crying babies... all the drunken, smelly, obese, shoulder-sleeping seat mates... all the turbulence and gag-inducing food... none of that compares to my first flight from London to San Diego.

I knew as soon as I found my seat that it was going to be an interesting ride. I was the window seat next to an older African man who, as soon as I sat down, began asking me if I could verify that his seat was actually his seat. The woman in front of us had already been having this discussion with him when I walked up, but he apparently did not trust her expertise and asked me. I showed him how to read the ticket, showed him where the seat number was, and just generally reassured him as we took our seats.

Then I showed him how to work the seatbelt.

Relaxeing before takeoff, I put in my headphones and closed my eyes... it was a red-eye flight and I had big plans upon my arrival that I wanted to be rested for.
About 45 seconds into the first song, I feel a ::tap tap:: on my shoulder. I pull out my headphones and, let’s call him The Politician, pointed at his ticket to ask more questions. He wanted to make sure he was on the right flight.
I showed him, again, how to read his ticket, and explained that he couldn’t possibly be on the wrong flight, because they wouldn’t have let him on the plane.
Then he asked where his bags were. He had seen me put my carry-on in the overhead compartment and wanted to know where his stuff was. I was a little confused... asking the obvious “Well, where did you put it?” but he didn’t seem to know.
As a side note... it’s been good practice for me, working at a NATO command, when it comes to understanding broken English. The Politician was obviously not a native English speaker... his accent was very heavy and he was lacking huge chunks of necessary vocabulary and grammatical finesse. I don’t say this as a judgement, because I can’t even ask for the bathroom in another language, I just say it as a fact. Every conversation I mention in regards to this encounter was far from a simple question/answer/statement format and took multiple ‘back-and-forth’s to figure out what exactly was being said.
Anyhow, I determined that he had checked his baggage and spent the better part of the next 20 minutes explaining that checked baggage was under the plane and that no, he couldn’t get it right now. I also had to reassure him that the bags would be waiting for him when we arrived in Denver (my layover) and everything would be okay.

Whew.... now that THAT’S taken care of...

Once off the ground, the flight attendants come around with customs cards for us to fill out before we land. We both get our cards and start filling them out. The Politician doesn’t understand what to do, so I show him his passport and the necessary info, then the fields he has to fill out. He seems a little confused, but appears to grasp the concept so I start filling out my own. As I’m finishing, I look up to check his progress and, sure enough, he has filled out his form EXACTLY... to match mine. He copied my customs form down to the Name, Address, and Passport Number. Apparently he’s me and he’s going to be staying with my friends in San Diego.
I ring the flight attendant (something I NEVER do) so she can bring him a new card and, God bless her, she stays and helps him fill out the whole thing.

I settle in for the flight... put my headphones back in... put on my dorky eye-cover... and recline.

Five minutes later, I feel the familiar ::tap tap:: on my shoulder. Mustering years of customer-service ingrained politeness, I take off my eye cover and take out my headphones to see what he needs.
He would like reassurance he is on the correct flight... again... which I give him. I then show him his own free headphones, and how to put them in, then familiarize him with the touch-screen in front of him and get a movie started for him.
Feeling proud of myself for not getting annoyed, I once more settle in.


::tap tap::


Seriously, it’s like this guy is on a “just when she’s about the fall asleep” timer.

This time he wants to know if we’re almost there. We’re a little over an hour into a good 12 hour flight... we have a short conversation about the distance left to travel and I show him the flight tracking thing with a picture of an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean.
Food comes while we’re having this conversation and we both tuck into our meals...

After food and clean-up I figure I’ll try again. Eye cover on, earphones in, and relax.


::tap tap::


Now it starts to get ugly.

He wants to know if we’re there yet. I give him some more explanation, and he communicates to me that he has an appointment in Denver with his daughter, and he can’t be late, and he needs to be there soon. After 20 minutes of attempted placation, he decides he’s had enough of this airplane business. He wants off.
He asks me where the exit is and if we can stop so he can get off... Yes, I’m serious.
I get a little worried here and try to explain that we are on a plane at 30,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean so No, getting off is not really an option. He starts to get more aggravated and I’m using my most patient and clear means of communication, but he’s fed up. I page the flight attendant again and we both try to calm him down and explain. We’ve teamed up on him, so with two against one he gives us another 45 minutes or so.
We determine this is his first time EVER flying and he’s already flown from Ethiopia to London and is on the second leg of his journey. The nice woman from before comes back and clarifies a little... saying she was on his Ethiopia flight and had already helped him make this connection because, it seems, nobody really explained to this man what flying entailed before putting him on a plane. His daughter in Colorado had bought him the tickets and, apparently, he had no idea how long this trip was actually going to take.

Alas, it seems there is nothing we can do to placate him despite what has now turned into a few HOURS of calm explanations.

He gets so fed up he gets to his feet, hell bent on getting off this plane.
The situation quickly deteriorates.

A large male flight attendant comes back to assist and try to get him back into his seat but he’s not having it. He starts yelling and pleading.

“Make me to suffer NO MORE!”

“I want OFF!”

“I am not a politician. You see me and judge me a pure man! If you judge me pure, then make me to suffer NO MORE!”

“I am a wise man. I am not wise in the ways of this but I am wise in my ways. Many children I have many!! Do not punish me. I am of pure and MAKE ME TO SUFFER NO MORE!”

He was pacing up and down the aisles, pulling out his hair (literally) and getting on his knees to bang his fists on the floor. I felt absolutely horrible for him because he clearly had no idea what was going on.

A few other flight attendants came back to help. At one point one of the pilots even came back. We tried sitting him down and drawing him a diagram of a plane because he didn’t seem to understand we were in the air and, of course, looking out the window didn’t help. I assume he thought we were on a bus or something that could just pull over and he really didn’t understand the time change thing because he was convinced he was late for something. Also, apparently he had some medication he needed to take, but it was in his checked baggage.
One of the flight attendants got out handcuffs and duct tape, but we were all trying very hard to calm him down and communicate with him. Of course, there were a few ‘tough guy’ passengers who were standing up and ready to ‘take him down’ if he went for the door. Absolutely ridiculous if you ask me... some people just want to be seen as a ‘hard ass’.

Finally the Captain said something that got him calmed down a little. We started asking him questions to distract him... Where are you from? How many children do you have? What do you do? Etc etc...

It worked and we got him into a seat about 45 minutes before we landed. Of course there was security waiting for him at the gate, but I’m hoping the just escorted him to his family and he didn’t get in any real trouble.


You can’t make this stuff up...

May

May would have probably passed by uneventfully, but it was Justin’s birthday and I’m nothing if not an ambitious gift giver.
It was a last minute decision, but a great one. While brainstorming a good birthday gift for Justin with Mark, I decided to give him what I knew he really wanted. Last year, that was tickets to a UFC fight in Vegas... this year, it was me.
I found some really cheap last-minute tickets online and Mark and Ryan pitched in on the surprise... and we played Justin like a fiddle.
I had been talking to him regularly about his upcoming “Ocho de Mayo” birthday party. He was excited about dressing up, grilling, and beer. I was giving him a headache about the necessity of a birthday cake, which he seemed painfully indifferent toward. I was also driving him crazy with a tease of “I got you THE BEST birthday present EVER.” After last year, he was pretty convinced I couldn’t pull anything better out of my hat (what beats a trip to Vegas, a fancy hotel room, and tickets to your favorite sporting event to see one of your favorite fighters?), but I was adamant and even made a bet (which I don’t recall the terms of). I made him promise he wouldn’t ‘open’ his present without letting me see the look on his face, and from that look I would be able to judge whether I had won the bet or he had.
We were talking nightly on Skype, so the day before his birthday I threw him off the trail by telling him I would be going out that night with some friends so I wouldn’t be calling him... I was also playing ‘disappointed’ that his present hadn’t ‘arrived’ yet and he was on strict orders to let me know when it got there.
Next came ‘The Flight From Hell’... a topic I’ll have to address later.
When I got to San Diego, Ryan picked me up from the airport. He was technically on duty, but he snuck off to play his role. Meanwhile, Mark was at home using every ounce of his creativity to keep Justin there. Justin had asked Mark earlier if he wanted to go to a movie... thinking on his toes, Mark ‘looked up’ the movie that Justin wanted to go to and told him “We just missed a showing and the next one isn’t for a few hours.” Peculiar, yes, but Justin bought it. :)
Justin started to get more restless, and looked up another movie himself. He invited Mark along, but Mark was being as uncooperative as possible. Finally, Mark went and got in the car with Justin to go to the movie and, as they’re about to pull out of the driveway, told Justin they just couldn’t go. He weaved a web about Ryan taking off from duty to come home and that Ryan was bringing Justin’s birthday present with him so they absolutely couldn’t leave.
From Mark’s report, Justin was NOT happy about this.
Meanwhile, Ryan and I are on our way back to the house. We stop by the store for some birthday cake candles and when we arrive I stay out in the garage... ear pressed to the door. Ryan goes in and they pull an ice-cream cake out of the freezer, put in and light the candles, and start singing “Happy Birthday”.
I walk in and join them.

The look on Justin’s face was absolutely priceless... a literal Jaw-Drop. Keith, Mark, and Ryan are laughing and everyone is absolutely delighted... but Justin has crossed over into this gaping state of shock. I walk all the way across the room and hug him... kiss him... and the look on his face STILL hasn’t changed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so surprised in my life. It was perfect.

I was only in town for the extended birthday weekend... and I got to catch up with a lot of friends in the very short time I was there. Justin’s birthday party was tons of fun...

May was a good month.

rewind... April

It’s been so long!
I missed you so!

I have had the busiest April to October I could ever imagine... that’s my excuse for my prolonged absence, but also I’m really regretting not making time for blogging. I made so many memories this spring/summer/fall that I’m sure they’ve begun crowding each other out of my tiny little brain and I don’t want to lose a single one of them.
I’m going to attempt to update everyone (and remind myself) over the next few posts... so bear with me.

Hmmm... So the beginning of my absence was marked with my first set of international visitors. Mark and Justin came out in April for a few weeks and we had such a blast! Ryan was supposed to come with, but a mean old DMV lady told him he didn’t need to pay extra to have his passport processed ‘express’, so he didn’t, and he didn’t get his passport in time. Yet again we learn that the DMV is NEVER to be trusted... even if the lady behind the counter looks like she’s been working there since the invention of cars themselves.
While Mark and Justin were here we did quite a bit of the fun ‘London Tourist’ stuff... we rode the London Eye, went to Big Ben and the Parliament Building, took photos in Trafalgar Square, absorbed the awesomeness of Camden Town, and saw the West End Show ‘We Will Rock You’. And rock us, it did. There were a few workouts, a Jason Mraz concert, and the boys got acquainted with Dexter. I don’t remember many more specifics of their time here... the above plus a couple drunken evenings and some Mario Kart. I think I recall a long discussion about our collective genius and, at one point, we were planning on starting a group blog with the sole purpose of documenting the awesome things we say when we’re elbow deep in discussions about nothing. We jotted down notes on a scrap paper that has since been lost to time and forgetfulness. So it goes...



What I do specifically remember about their visit was the overwhelming renewal of hope. Last winter was long and much more difficult for me than I was willing to admit. Moving out here was a huge decision and I was harboring a lot of fear that I might allow geographical distance to put an emotional distance between me and the awesome friends I have made over the last few years. I suppose the platitude “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” was especially applicable in this situation and I found myself missing my ‘family’ in San Diego something fierce. I was determined not to let it get me down, but it was definitely a battle within myself. When the boys came out, and everything felt the same again, it was like taking a big breath of fresh air. Refreshing.
It was hard for me, again, when they left... but the ‘goodbyes’ held much less finality, and it started to feel like the familiar ‘goodbyes’ you say to your Grandma after a visit. Not the “Goodbye, and I hope to someday, maybe, see you again,” but the “I’ll definitely see you as soon as possible and I’ll miss you until that time.”
Thanks guys.




So April was a good month.

not even news-worthy

Tristan rides to tube to and from work everyday… a fairly typical activity for a Londoner (Londonite?). Yesterday he didn’t make to work on time though.
At Finchley Station a man decided to throw himself infront of the oncoming train. That’s right… he jumped off the platform and into the front of an oncoming train. Tristan was there for it and said it was grisly and awful. Women were screaming and crying (I’m betting some men were too, but they don’t get as much press)… there was blood everywhere… he even saw what remained of the body.
I came into work this morning and I couldn’t find anything about the event in the news. Anywhere.

I told a couple of the people that I worked with what happened and the responses where all somewhere between dismissive (“So What?”), flippant (“That’s not surprising.”) and mocking (“I wish I had seen that. I would have laughed my…”).
It all really got me thinking about the whole situation.

At first, I think I just felt the general compassionate horror that Tristan had to bear witness to this. Seeing a person die isn’t easy for anyone (I would think)… and especially not in such a gruesome manner. Maybe we’re all a bit desensitized by modern movies, TV shows, and video games… but I think most people can still separate the real from the fake, and to see what used to be a person now smeared all over the platform has to have some sort of impact, right? Plus, how would it feel to have to tell your boss, “Sorry I’m so late. I watched a guy jump infront of a train today and they shut down the station until they could pick up the pieces.”

Then I got to thinking about who this guy was… and wondering what exactly his goal was (besides the obvious, of course). I suppose I have some understanding of depression… I was, afterall, a teenage girl at one point. Seriously though, I think a lot of people have had their own experiences with their “low points”… different though they are for everyone… and it makes me a bit sad that something drove this man to this point… or rather, that he allowed himself to be driven to this point.
What really gets me though is the manner in which he chose to end his life. Was it a split second decision? Did he just get off the phone with his boss who fired him or his wife who left him and saw the train coming and thought ‘Oh well’? Or did something happen yesterday or last week that led him to plan this? And if that’s the case… what pushes someone to suicide in such a spectacular and public manner? Was it a final “F*** you” to whoever he felt had done him injustice? Or maybe he just felt so anonymous in his life that he wanted to be noticed in his death…?
Times like this I wish I knew a little bit about psychology.

The other person I keep thinking about is the poor driver of the train. I believe all the trains that go through that particular station have drivers (I know some of the trains don’t)… I can’t imagine going to work… one day the same as the next… and having a person jump out infront of me. Does the driver feel responsible in some way? And what about the people that have to clean up the tracks? What about all the people stranded at the station… waiting to go home or get to work… kids riding the tube after school… parents with their children, having to explain…? Uck… what an awful situation.

I suppose the final sad note in this whole situation is that it didn’t even warrant a blurb in the news. Part of me thinks this is a sorry oversight, but another part of me applauds the local media for ignoring this instead of using the gruesome details to sell a few copies. The Brits I work with said things like this happen all the time and they simply stopped covering it in the news… whether that is to stop encouraging it or what, I don’t know… but the whole thing is just, well, sad.

double parking

The gym that I go to has a parking lot the size of a shoebox. As such, cars double and triple park, blocking each other in on the regular. The management has a sign-in sheet at the entrance that you fill out with your name, car make and model, color, and license plate and a note that says “Please allow up to 10 minutes for necessary car movements.” (or something along those lines).
I was just finishing up my set and heading over to do some ‘extra credit’ pull-ups, when my car was called over the announcement system. I had already finished my workout for the most part, all I had left was my ab stuff, but in the interest of kindness I figured I could do that at home, so I grabbed my jacket and keys and went to the door. I literally got there as she was hanging up the phone from announcing my name… that’s how fast I was. As I’m signing out, one of the trainers says yells over to me something about how short my workout was… basically just teasing. I yell back up at him that 30 minutes isn’t bad for lifting, considering I do my cardio before I come and as I’m saying this the woman that is apparently waiting for me claps… in my face… and says “Enough Enough. I’m going to be late.”

This bothers me for a few reasons:
1. She clapped in my face. Excuse me, but if I don’t know you (and shoot, maybe even if I DO know you) keep your hands out of my face… especially if you feel the need to bang them together and make an extremely unnecessary racket.

2. In the 5 minutes preceding them calling me down to move my car, they had called two other cars down. I was the first one there of the three (although I was the last one called) and I was so fast the lady announcing my information had not even hung up the phone. When the sheet says allow for up to 10 minutes and I’ve taken all of 10 SECONDS, don’t rush me… I’m ALREADY doing you a favor.

3. I was not taking any EXTRA time in what I was doing. As I’m talking to the trainer I’m signing out of the gym and putting on my jacket… the whole evolution, INCLUDING me talking to the trainer, was taking all of 10 additional seconds. Infact, her interruption was more of a distraction than the farewell’s.

After giving the lady the confused and annoyed look she deserved, I finished my goodbye and turned to leave. As we’re walking out of the building she’s on my heels saying “I really need you to hurry up. I can’t be late for work again or they’ll fire me. You have me completely blocked in and I can’t afford to lose my job.”

Again:
1. This lady looked old enough to be my mother if not my grandmother. What kind of job do you have that you go to work at 7pm and if you are 2 minutes late they will fire you?? I think even McDonalds gives you a little more leeway than that.

2. It is not my problem that you are chronically tardy and the 10 seconds it is taking me to put on my jacket will be the proverbial straw-that-broke-the-camels-back that gets you fired. Since when does 10 seconds make that much of a difference anyway? In my experience late is late… if 10 seconds is going to make that much of a difference maybe you should wrap up your workout a little earlier next time.

3. Everyone blocks everyone else in. It’s a known fact. The paper clearly says allow for up to 10 minutes, so what are you doing harassing me when you should have been prepared for a situation like this? What would you do if I was in the bathroom when they paged me? Or in the shower? Or in the pool?

4. What in the world gave you the notion that I give a crap about your personal problems? First, you invade my personal space and now you’re using precious oxygen to tell me you personal sob story?

I shoot a “I came down as quickly as I could. And I was much faster than anyone else so you should be grateful for that,” and vault over the side rail to my car. I was in a good mood after my workout… still riding the endorphins and good feelings from an earlier conversation with one of the trainers… and I wasn’t about to let this old nag ruin it.

I get to my car, and sure enough there’s her little POS… bumper-to-bumper with my car. That’s right… she’s hit me. Granted, there’s not really any damage that I can see… and my car is an old junker anyway… but there it is… her bumper and my bumper getting as cozy as lovers.
It’s obvious from looking at where she was parked and looking at where I’m parked that there was no way she was going to get out until I moved, but apparently she had attempted pushing my car out of the way. I point this out to her and say “It looks like you hit my car.” I’m not really expecting anything, but she’s made a nuisance of herself and I wanted to point it out.

She responds “No I didn’t.”

Bear in mind I’m standing all of 6 inches away from where our bumpers are kissing.

I say “Yes you did. I’m looking at our bumpers right now. Your bumper is rubbed up against my bumper. It’s rubber, so I don’t think there’s any damage, but you should be more careful.”
She looks at what I’m looking at and dismissively states “I’m not touching you. I’m in a hurry. Just move.”

1. Lady, your impatience is completely unwarranted. You shouldn’t park in the back end of a parking lot and expect NOT to be blocked in.

2. You car is CLEARLY touching mine. Yes yes, I know it’s a crappy 80-something junker… but it’s MY crappy 80-something junker and if I wanted to throw a fit about the fact that you decided to let our cars get intimate I damn well can. Especially considering the magnificent pain in the ass you have decided to be up to this point.

3. Don’t dismiss me like I don’t know what I’m looking at. I don’t care if you’re 40 or 400… I’m not stupid and I know what I see. Pulling a rude dismissive tone with me when I’ve already gone out of my way to be nice to you is not something likely to make me want to continue to cooperate kindly.

Sometimes I wish I was as much of an asshole as the people I constantly encounter. Seriously, who told these people that it’s okay to treat other people like this? I’m the young one here… I thought it’s the ‘punk kids’ that have no manners ‘these days’. What is UP with rude old people?!

Anyhow, I didn’t care to make a scene… people like this get their comeuppance eventually… so I just got in the car and started it up.

Sure enough, the wheels of fate and karma turned, and as I started up the car to move, the other two people who were trying to leave and the two people that had to move so those two people could leave decided to join us in the parking lot. Of course, these 4 cars were in between us and the exit, so we both had to sit there for about 5 minutes while two moved out of the way, the other two left, and the original two re-parked.

I wonder if she got fired.

Note to Random Guy in Shopping Center

I went to the local shopping center today. As I was walking outside in the sunshine with Katharina a group of guys walked past us in the opposite direction. One of the guys started checking me out, made eye contact, slowed down, took his cigarette out of his mouth, and, with a slight smile, said to me "You have really beautiful eyes."
That was it.
He kept walking and so did I.

Thank you random guy for making my day.