When you least expect it....

....your man-repellent runs out.

Today was supposed to be a study day. Nothing else. Go to the study center near the program office and work on some papers. I had been told yesterday that the center was open from 10am - 5pm.

It was not.

So, sitting in the dark space between the elevator and the metal rolling doors blocking the center, I tried to mooch their internet.....of course, their server was turned off.

Downstairs I went to the coffee shop and got 2 hours of internet access for a 2.50 cappuccino. When they turned off the access, I headed back up to check if the center was open. Nope, still closed.

Deciding I could do without internet, I went to the the top floor, looking for a place to sit in the hallway. I saw the stairs leading up one more floor - roof access! I thought. I ventured up the stairs, intending to enjoy the perfect weather as I worked. However, I discovered a small room off to one side: prayer rugs were all over the floor in front, and I could hear the television quietly chattering behind the drawn metal wall. Going back down to the top business floor, I settled myself on the ground and began to type.

A few moments passed before I realized that the building was not as dead as I had anticipated it to be on a Friday morning. The elevator went up and down a few times; I heard doors slam. A few minutes more into my work and the elevator came up to the top level. This I had not expected, since all of the businesses on the floor were closed. Out stepped a man with a bag in his hand and made his way to the living space above.

I worked a while longer; one or two times the elevator arrived and delivered men who went upstairs. I paid no heed until a young man standing in front of me. He was holding a cookie and a black glass mug. I looked up hesitantly. He put the mug beside me and placed the cookie on one of my books. He smiled, motioned toward them, said "Faddali," (Please, go ahead) and walked upstairs.

I was a little bit confused. Okay, no. I was a lot bit confused. What are the social rules for when a man appears out of no where and gives you a giant cookie and a mug of fresh-pureed strawberry juice? Why had he done it? What would it mean if I ate it? What would it mean if I grabbed my things and ran away screaming?

I decided it would be rude not to eat it. So, dutifully and slowly, I ate the delicious cookie, waiting to slip into drugged consciousness at any time. It was a very good cookie. Very good. I decided it probably wasn't poisoned, and started in on the amazingly delicious fresh strawberry juice. About halfway through the young man appeared again. He smiled at me. "Do you speak Arabic?" He didn't speak English.

"A little."

"Are you studying Arabic here?...." he continued. He motioned down the hall.

"Through CIEE. Yes."

"I'm Kareem. What's your name?"

I replied. He smiled. "Are you from America?"

"Yes."

"I'm from Egypt."

I grinned. "Really? My fiance is in Egypt." I pointed to my ring.

"Really? Where?"

"In Alexandria."

"Ah! I'm from," he mentioned the name of a small town that is apparently near Alexandria.

"Cool." I motioned to the mug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Welcome to Jordan."

"Nice to meet you."

He disappeared into a door further down the hallway. I stayed just long enough to finish the juice and look like I wasn't rudely escaping. I wrote a quick thank you note and stuck it under the mug, leaving it behind me, as I left, still vastly confused as to whether the encounter fell under the normal, friendly, or just plain creepy label.

My next adventure started with my cab ride to the mall. Now, I have never really had a chatty cab driver. Ever. But then, when one's supply of man-repellent pheromone runs out, it runs out good.

First he asked me if I spoke Arabic. The only proper answer to this is, of course, "Shway," a little. He laughed. "Same as me. I speak English - a little." I nodded and looked out the window.

He asked me if I was a student. Yes, I was. He informed me I was his first fare for the day, so he didn't have any change for me, so if I needed change, we would stop. I told him I had some small bills. He asked where I was from. I answered. He commented on the traffic and said we would be taking a different route. I agreed that the traffic was bad and then kept an eagle eye out to make sure that the different route was going where I wanted. He commented on the weather. I agreed that it was a lovely day. He asked me what "Rabeeyah," meant.

"This time, rabeeyah, in English?"

"Spring. Rabeeyah, the season, we call 'spring.'"

He either didn't hear me or didn't believe me. "Look, look, here," he swerved to the side of the road to point to a patch of grass. "That. What is it?"

"Grass?"

"There!" He pointed out.

"Hasheesh. Grass."

He started laughing. "You speak Arabic good! Hasheesh!"

I could've sworn my professor told us "hasheesh" meant regular grass and not just the kind you smoke.

"Look, the green stuff, hasheesh. We call it grass in English," I replied in Arabic. I did *not* want him thinking I was one of those Americans who actually smoked the stuff.

"No, no, no!" He replied in English. "These three months! Rabeyah!"

"Spring!" I said loudly, for the third time. "Rabeyah we call 'spring' in English."

"Sing?"

"Spring!"

"Ah, okay, very good. Spring! Very good weather in spring."

Fortunately, we arrived at the mall before starting in on what the other seasons might be. He asked me if I wanted him to wait for me. Oh, no, I assured him. I would be in there for a long time. A very long time.