Righteous Indignation

Last week I was finally pulled over by the police. From what I’ve been told, it was inevitable. In anticipation, I had been advised on several courses of action in order to avoid a pricey ticket: 1) Speak fast 2) Speak English 3) Keep saying Petra, over and over 4) Act confused. I however choose to ignore these pieces of advice and follow my on path by responding with righteous indignation.

Let’s back up so that I may launch into the ubiquitous self-justification and therefore end this entry with a shred of self-respect. The night had begun with an attempt to drive unaccompanied to a friend’s house. I have visited this friend repeatedly. So the pressure not to get lost emanated not just from an all consuming fear of ending up on a dark and deserted road outside Amman in fictitious (although quite tangible when my imagination runs) hijacker and rapist territory but also from a need to prove myself as a navigator. After making several correct turns and feeling elated by my success, I found myself on a road that I could not exit. For miles and miles and miles. This happens ALL THE TIME here and it is the bane of my existence. I repeatedly attempted to turn around but just wound myself deeper into pedestrian packed streets and Ramadan hell. After a frantic phone call to my friend, in which I pendulumned between slamming my fist repeatedly into the steering wheel and biting back tears, I managed to right myself and she agreed to meet me in the closest circle so that I could follow her.

I was now pissed that I had failed and that it was getting later and later and I would be unable to work on my fellowship application at her Internet equipped apartment. I arrived in the circle after 10 minutes of grinding my teeth and trying to talk myself down only to make a wrong turn that was taking me away from my desired destination. So I threw an "illegal" u-turn. Because in Amman I thought nothing was technically illegal except going slow. I assumed this to be written into the law books but quickly realized I was mistaken as I was flagged over first by one policeman on foot, which I attempted to avoid following my roommates lucky example, and then by another policeman behind the wheel.

As they approached the car, all I felt was seething rage. I was so close to meeting my friend and was now once again being thwarted by the ridiculous driving circumstances of a city where logic goes to die. Perhaps I have been pulled over one too many times by police officers anyway and no longer feel much fear of anything significant or detrimental actually materializing and there for mainly feel inconvenienced. This time was different though because while I was angry, I now had a shield with which I desperately hid behind. I was an American. There was no way these Jordanians were going to give me a ticket.

After rolling down the window, the police, notorious for knowing very little English, attempted to ask me if I knew what I had done wrong. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about and said I felt uncomfortable with the situation and threatened to call for back up. They looked confused and asked for my license and registration while continuing to try to explain to me my crime. I thrust them both documents and again denied any wrong doing, clutching my phone and preparing to dial. As they examined my car registration, they pointed to the top of the paper and read out loud the bold word, Diplomat. This is the name of the car rental agency.

“Are you a Diplomat?” They said.

“Yes,” I responded quickly. “Do you want me to call my supervisor?”

They looked at each other, shook their heads and handed me back my things. Then one of the officers asked if I was lost and did I need any help. I snorted a no, rolled up my window and peeled out.

This is probably the first time I have waved my American flag in a foreigners face to get what I wanted. Those are the kinds of actions that disgust me about expats. And for the most part, I’m embarrassed to be an American when abroad. Funny how quickly one adjusts their morals when faced with a significant (or in my case, a sadly insignificant) amount of discomfort.

* Yep, those are sheep in that there parking lot, right across from my office.