Americans are slaves to the clock.

Syke!

Today I had to go to my province capital to turn in some scholarship forms for the kids I am incha’allah bringing to summer camp. The Dar Chabab director had business in the capital, too, so we agreed to meet at 8 am at the taxi stand and travel together.

I got to the taxi stand a few minutes before 8 and told the driver where I was going, but that I was going to wait for someone. No big deal. In Morocco, traveling by taxi is a little different in that you cram six passengers into the car, and the driver won’t leave until all seats are either filled or paid for (ie, if I was obese and needed two seats I could buy two places in the car).

At 7:57 am (I know the exact time because it was later rubbed in my face…teaser!) The driver had collected four other passengers going to the same town. This meant the whole cab was waiting on the Dar Chabab director. I was totally fine, sitting on the curb reading my book, when all of a sudden the driver tells me to get in. He wants to pick up the director on the way (the Dar Chabab is on the road we would be taking. I barely have time to consent because the passengers are rushing into the cab and the driver is ushering me in along with them.

As we pull out, I see my boss and the driver flags him down. It takes him a full minute to realize why the hell some taxi driver is pulling up alongside him, telling him to get in. He gets in the cab all confused, then sees me and starts laughing about how it’s only 7:57! He still had three minutes! He wasn’t late! You Americans are so crazy about keeping on schedule!

He was talking so fast I couldn’t get in a word to explain that the driver, not me, was being the time nazi in this situation. Wamp wamp. The teasing didn’t stop when we arrived in town, either. We got to the ministry office around 9:15 and noone was there yet (because, honestly, who’s at work at 9:15 on a Monday morning?), which prompted my boss to say something like “it’s a good thing we left EXACTLY AT 7:57 this morning…”

By the way, the original plan to meet at 8 am was not even MY idea, but his. I’d have been just as happy to go at like 11. Or, hell, NOON. Ballsy, I know. But I’d do it. To prove a point.

Anyway I have to go it’s almost 6:00 and 6:00 is when I have my snack.