The dolmus that I was in yesterday wasn't even particularily packed. I think I was the only one standing. Thus when the dolmus lurched and I went flying towards the open door, no one was there to break my fall. At the last moment I was able to grab the bar and pull myself in.
I could tell by the sudden gasps and shocked faces that people fully expected me to go flying out the door onto the highway. I was thinking that myself, actually, but during The Incident, I remained calm and focused. Must stop falling, I recall thinking to myself. Must cling to something solid, must stop screaming like Richard Simmons.
Time slowed, as it is wont to do during life and death moments, or when Catharine is telling a story. My life began flashing before me but I got bored and started thinking about Friends reruns. The whole lurching-towards-a-grisley-death situation was probably less than three seconds. I didn't panic until it was completely over. I shruddered, got over it, and went on with my day. So I taunted death? Big deal. I taunt death every time I get into a dolmus anyway. Most dolmus drivers seem to be sharing the same sensory depth-perception problem. Much like that Indian in the previous chapter.
So I went to Bakirkoy, blew an hour on the internet and ate overpriced Iskender where the service was, how shall I call it, strange?
I should have known the moment I walked through the door that this was one of Those Places. You know, the ones where excess employees desparately needing something to do, practically attach themselves to your spinal column the minute you walk in the door.
It reminds me of that time Catharine and I took Ann out for lunch on her birthday. We were the only customers in a gigantic three-floor restaurant. Every time I took a sip of Coke, a busboy would fly out of a nearby floral arrangement to top up my glass.
Anyhow, they all stumbled over themselves to ensure that I had a pleasurable dinign experience but it was getting on my nerves. After placing my order, I took out my book. I figured I'd have a few moments before the food arrived to plan my lessons for later on that day.
The manager, eager to practice his English, stops by my table.
"You are always working!" he beams.
"How do you know?" I scream, jump across the table, and bang his head repeated against the wall.
Okay, all I did was raise an eyebrow and shrug my shoulders.
I'm getting ready for a day of baking and a night of drinking. I didn't used to drink before I came to Turkey. I also never had hair under my arms. Turkey - you continue to amaze and astound me!
(Editor's note: I was never rude to the waitstaff. That's not me. But sometimes I'd be frustrated because they wouldn't leave me alone in their zest to provide the best customer service. I have never banged anybody's head against anything except my brother Adam's, and that was at Thanksgiving and he deserved it because he was cheating at Scrabble. He retaliated by whacking a loaf of bread over my head)