Working in Morocco

Back in September of 2010, I posted a blog entry in which I reflected on how the concept of work-that's-worth-paying-someone-for is culturally bound. One of my examples was the guy at the bank whose job it is to unlock the door and hand people tickets (and, I forgot to mention, shout out the number – in Arabic and French – of the person whose turn it is to go up to the teller).

I have to revise my attitude toward that man's job because, since posting that blog entry, I have been to the bank when he has stepped out to get himself a snack.

It was total chaos. No one knew what to do. Each time someone would come in, that person would stare with a puzzled look at the machine that ejects tickets. Other people waiting for their turn gave advice, but it inevitably seemed to be the wrong advice. People were coming and going all willy-nilly. It was a mess, and as soon as the man returned, he instilled order within a matter of minutes.

What's my point? That I've had too much wine this evening? No, it's that I'm learning to give the apparently nonsensical things some time. I'm learning about Morocco and Moroccan logic. And I'm learning that it's best not to go to the bank when the ticket guy is on his break. :-)