It's the straw that breaks... you know how it goes

My father lives and works at a government agency in The States. One of his colleagues is a Turkish immigrant who's lived there for years. She was very nice and helpful when she learned that I was going to Turkey.

"Let me know what city you end up in," she said on email, "So that I can put you in touch with people I know. They'll be happy to look out for you." Turkish hospitality is no joke.

I'd received a few emails from various people--dinner invitations that have taken months to organize. I've just been so busy. Too busy to visit Turks, too busy to learn Turkish.

Well, it finally got sorted out with one of the couples for tonight. So I went to buy them a gift--dessert of some type to take as a thank you. I'd seen a new pastry shop that I thought sold baklava, so this afternoon I walked through the rain to buy some. It turned out, when I pushed the shop door open, that I was wrong. It wasn't baklava, but some other syrupy desert-type thing: subye. Ok, well whatever. I'm here now and it looks tasty.

The woman was alone in the shop and it took some time before I understood how much the subye cost. She keeps gesturing to the mammoth tray of subye and saying lots of extraneous information. I'm listening for numbers but don't hear any. I say I don't understand and again ask how much it costs. Finally she says something I understand. Subye is twelve lira a kilo. Lots of things here are sold according to weight: silver, cookies, bread. I have no idea how much subye is an appropriate amount to give as a gift, but I don't want to look like a cheap American.

"Ok," I said, pointing to a box. "One kilo. " So began the laborious process of lining up the in the box just so, and then weighing them, and then adding some more, so the box was full. She's chattering away to me but it falls on deaf ears. What part of "I don't understand" don't you understand? It was starting to look like an awful lot of subye. I noticed behind the counter that there was a smaller box that would probably hold half a kilo. Oh well, I thought, they'll think I'm generous. Or overly-generous. I don't want to bring too much, either, because that's embarassing for different reasons.

The box was now past a kilo, but she didn't ask if I wanted more when she added an extra few, so I figured it was still twelve lira.

She got out the ground pistachio powder and dusted my subye with it. I was reminded of the scene between Rowan Atkinson and Alan Rickman in "Love Actually" when Atkinson just won't finish wrapping the fucking necklace.

She's finally finished and it turns out that it's fifteen lira instead of twelve. Three lira is a tiny difference, right?! But I crumple. I don't even know what to say, or how to argue, or how to ask for fewer. And the energy it would take to have her untape the box and remove some of the subye is--though possible--beyond my current capacity. I hand her my twenty lira note and get back five. She looks at me, trying to figure out what is wrong. I can't say anything, anyway, but my entire demeanor has deflated in less than a second.

"Iyi gunler (Have a good day)," I say hollowly as I leave the store. Back on the street, I'm grateful for the rain that lets me hold my umbrella and hide the fact that I'm trying my hardest not to cry. The sense of defeat is overwhelming. But the only thing to do is keep plodding along. I try to convince myself that that's not defeat, but I know I'm lying.

Moral of the story: If you encounter someone who doesn't speak English, be nice to them. They're probably having a shitty day.

:-P

*sigh*