Your Pie Is On Vacation

I met a friend at McDonald’s yesterday for some girl time and maybe a McFlurry. (I did walk a long way to get to McDonald’s. I’m sure it would even out.)

At the counter, I placed my order and the girl shook her head and said, “No ice cream today.”

I stared for a moment and sighed. “Okay, what else ya got?”

“Would you like an abble bie?” she asked in her best English.

“Yes, that would be nice. One for me. One for my friend and one for me to take home to John.”

She rang it up and said something in Arabic about a vacation and work.

I asked her to repeat herself. Same phrases…vacation and work.

Finally, I looked at my friend and asked, “Do you know what she’s saying?”

My friend laughed and said, “She said that one pie is on vacation, but the other two are at work.”

“Oooooooh! Wait….what?”

My friend then explained that meant that one pie was already cooked, but the other two were still in the fryer. (Yes, you read that right...FRYER. No stinking baked pies over here.) 

I wouldn’t have understood that idiom without help that’s for sure.

I enjoyed my time with my friend and made my way back toward the village.

As I neared my home I noticed Zena* sitting outside her house. In her wrinkled, arthritic hands she held prayer beads that she constantly rotated while murmuring the 99 names of Allah. 

I greeted her with a kiss on each cheek and asked her how she was doing.

In Arabic she replied, “Well, look at me! My knees hurt and I have to use a cane now!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Zena. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Do you have medicine?”

“No, Zena. I’m a teacher, not a nurse.” (No, this is not a repeat story, but rather a repeat subject which happens all the time.)

Her granddaughter was sitting quietly on the side observing our conversation. She piped up and said, “Her sister is the nurse!”

Zena shook her head in agreement. “Ah, yes! Where is your sister?”

By “sister” they mean my dear friend who is a nurse, but is currently out of town.

Zena continued, “There is a doctor who could work on my knees at the hospital. Do you know when he’ll be in?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I don’t work there.”

Not satisfied with my answer, she repeated the question with more gestures and said “doc-TOR” with much force. Her granddaughter muttered to her, “She doesn’t understand you, Grandma.” To which I replied, “I do understand, but I don’t know when the doctor will be at the hospital.”

I got a look of shock with a hint of admiration from the granddaughter. Zena then said, “Ask your sister! She’ll know!”

Giving up, I nodded and said I would check with her. 

She patted my hand and smiled at me while saying an oft-repeated phrase about the fate of Allah. I covered her hand in mine and breathed a prayer for this dear woman as I kissed her goodbye. 

Bits and pieces of life lived, heard and understood only in the way of time and proximity. What a privilege to be in the Land of Sand and Employed Apple Pies.

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*Not her real name.