7. Beg Buttons
(2 minutes of titters waiting to cross)
Over the years, I filled many applications to enter, live, and work in the US.
I had to complete many "moral character" sections in order for the government to ensure that I "measure up to the standards of average citizens of the community."
Here is a sample of questions from the latest Application for Naturalization (emphasis theirs):
Have you EVER been a prostitute, or procured anyone for prostitution?
Have you EVER been married to more than one person at the same time?
Have you EVER been affiliated with The Communist Party or any other totalitarian party?
Have you EVER been a habitual drunkard?
I always wondered how my life would be if I were a polygamous Communist prostitute with a drinking problem. I wouldn't be able to enter the Land of the Free but I would have landed a hell of a deal for a Netflix show.
I moved to America 6 years ago and I experienced many firsts: drive-thru pharmacies, free refills, and people mocking The President on TV and living to see another day.
But all of those pale in the face of the greatest invention of all: the cross walk button, sometimes referred to as the "beg button."
I was in awe. In shock. In love.
That white, human-shaped light is a dear friend; a guardian that watches over me as I cross the road.
Back in Cairo, crossing streets is like playing real-life Frogger.
No one stops for anyone.
However, it is an excellent way to teach a person Newtonian physics; you are constantly measuring the velocity, acceleration, and trajectory of every object on the street.
Perhaps it is not taught but it is part of the population's DNA. Survival, literally, depends on it. You see seven-year olds, who can't spell their names, cross a five-lane street with the precision of a lioness on the hunt.
Crossing the street I'd be calculating, "will that cement truck —crossing the intersection at 60 mph— going to shower me with concrete?" Is it going to render me an artifact for archaeologists to excavate later like the poor souls at Pompeii?
The tag in the museum would read "Male nerd turned into mortar circa 2010. He dared to cross."
Sad epitaph to read.
But it is one way to get featured on a Netflix documentary. Better than selling your body in the Soviet Union and getting paid in rationed sausage.