In quite the commentary on where I live, I had driven 45 minutes to get Thai take-out and decided to fill up at the gas station next-door. And I don't mean "the next building." I mean "they share a wall."
Having filled the tank, I was faced with a decision. Should I move the car ten feet and park it, or should I just leave it at the pump and dash inside to grab my grub? Deciding that it was no more an imposition than my using the gas station's restroom, I left my car at the pump. I hadn't even made it into the restaurant when the gas station's owner was screaming at me in Arabic.
I do not speak Arabic, so I shall substitute the only Arabic words I know.
"Allahu akbar! Falafel! Falafel!" he yelled, pointing at my car.
Sure, I could have patiently explained my restroom logic to the man. Sure, I could have ignored him. Or I could have insulted some country he's not actually from. But I didn't. I came up with the perfect solution. I'm so excited to share it with you, I can't type fast enough. I have no explanation for my inspiration, other than I felt the hand of God touch me in that moment.
"¿Que?" I said. "No hablo ingles. ¿Habla español?"
"Marg bar Amrika?" he replied, clearly baffled by a white guy using the upside-down question mark thing.
"¿Que tienes in tu boca, Juan?" I said, channeling my high school Spanish teacher. "¿Este chicle in tu boca?"
"Marg bar Israel?" he replied, getting flustered. That's when I went in for the death blow.
"Entonces, neustra aspiradora esta in la biblioteca universidad."
He threw up his hands in frustration and stormed back into the gas station. I got my food and left, still basking in god's divine touch.
And so, dear reader, this is my gift to you. Use it only for good.