Morjes!

Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.

Awkward falafel

Today I had the singular experience of having the woman who helped us spend tens of thousands of dollars on our house ask me if I wanted lettuce, tomato, or cucumber on my pita sandwich.

We were out doing errands as a family activity (ah, Home Depot garden section, how I love you and the tens of minutes of entertainment you give to Miriam) and decided to stop at a local pita shop for dinner. It had been months since we've eaten falafel, and it sounded like a fun Friday afternoon activity.

When we walked in the restaurant, both of us recognized the pita assembly line worker lady. It took a while, but I finally realized that she was our realtor from 2.5 years ago when we bought our house. And here she was taking our order at a pita shop! She was wearing the visor hat and plastic gloves and everything.

I don't know that I've ever experienced anything more awkward, at least in recent memory. As soon as I realized who she was, I was suddenly completely unsure how to act. Should I mention our previous connection? It's not like we've kept in touch over the years. Should I pretend that I don't remember her? Should I also pretend I don't notice the fact that she is now working at a pita shop?

I settled for greeting her over-warmly. I figured it was a non-committal way out of the awkward situation.

As we ate our dinner, we decided that she and her husband probably actually own the pita shop, which improves the situation. Kind of. Is owning a pita shop a step up or down from real estate?? Jeremy and I have no idea.

Regardless, the falafel was good. Still, I don't know that we'll go back anytime soon, at least not until we figure out how to handle such an awkward social situation.

Sense & Sensibility

Wild conspiracy theories laid to rest...or are they?