So this week the university had off for one of its many holidays. I spent that week in my apartment, doing a little review work and slowly going mad. I’ve been reading journal articles that I had stockpiled just for this cause, I tried to do a little diffractogram identification using the freaking rosetta stone of XRD analysis software (by which I mean functiuonal but OLD) and I reviewed some stuff on Design Of Experiment to try and come up with a good plan. But this has little comedy value.
So therefore, it occured to me that I should write the transcript of every cab ride I have ever taken in Morocco:
Me (all in arabic): Blvd. Emile Zola, please
Me: How’s it going?
Driver: You speak Arabic?!
Me: A little. I try to speak as much as I can but I fear I do not know a lot.
Driver: Your Arabic is great! It’s great that you want to learn! Are you a Moslem?
Driver: (long pause) Are you married?
Me: No. American women have many problems.
Driver: (gives me a long, confused look in the mirror and then conspicuously turns up the radio.)
I’m not saying that this convesation has happened once. It happens every single time I get into a cab, without exception. I think as an unmarried non-christian they assume I am a crusader or a missionary or something. Anyway, it’s good practice in Arabic.