The Israeli Postal Disservice

I have been ordering things online for many years now, and a good 95% has made it to me intact and on time. But either I offended the postal gods, or the post office is currently being operated by 5 year olds, because I have had a spate of mail related “incidents” recently.

I ordered two books from the Book Depository in October. 50% of them made it successfully all the way from the British post office to the Israeli post office 3 weeks later. By 3 months later, I had given up that poor second book for dead and wrote a message to the Book Depository’s customer service in which I stated that although two books had allegedly been shipped on October 23, only one had made it. It’s already a bit strange that they would package and ship two books separately on the same day (why not just stick two books in one box?), but I have given up on asking these questions because rarely do I get a satisfactory answer. The nice lady who replied to me within 24 hours (less than 24 hours later, can you imagine???) alleged that there had been issues lately with the Israeli postal system due to structural reorganizations of the system. Not being Israeli, she didn’t understand that “reorganizations” means that someone’s cousin Moishe has been hired to head the post office branch, but don’t worry, he’s totally qualified, he used to be a tank driver in the army, so he can totally handle sorting a few packages. She said it was possible that it might still come. I replied that it seemed quite unlikely if it hadn’t arrived after 3 months, but that in the unlikely event that I did receive the book after they had refunded me my money or resent the book, I would just send it back. She acquiesced to my not unreasonable demands, and two weeks later I went to pick up the book.

You’ll never guess what showed up at the post office two weeks later. Now keep in mind, this was already 4 months later. The book had clearly been though some traumatic events, judging by the package (or what was left of it). After letting it rest a bit for a few days to regain its bearings, I dutifully gave it to my parents to ship back (who generously footed the shipping bill since the Book Depository was unwilling to lose more money over the Israeli postal service’s incompetence).

A few weeks after my original book order, I had ordered a sweater from AliExpress. After 2 months, the seller inquired whether I had received it or not. I was able to confirm that it had made it to Israel via its international tracking number, but was unable to learn its subsequent fate (which is apparently impossible to do without an Israeli tracking number). I let them know that I had not received the package despite the fact that it had arrived in the country a month before. The seller told me he’d try to track it down and update me on his progress. Which he did the next day. Apparently my package got “destroyed” in transit. How you can possibly “destroy” a sweater in a package is beyond me. You can literally drop it repeatedly on the floor and nothing will happen. IT’S A SWEATER. So unless it got attacked by a pack of wild animals (possibly the same ones that got to my book?), I am quite flummoxed. At this point it seems likely that the main postal sorting center does in fact keeps a pack of German shepherds on the premises to ravage all packages sent to Natania Casden.

At some point after reordering the sweater (and an additional sweater for back up), I noticed a bunch of papers on the floor next to our mail box. A few days later, I was annoyed enough about the litter on the floor to pick them up. Lo and behold, it was two second notices from the post office about two packages I had not picked up yet and that were still waiting for me. This was confusing since if these were the second notices, where were the first notices? I found them. In my neighbors’ mailbox. They had been sitting there for about a week and I had been wondering why the neighbors weren’t collecting their mail. It’s because it WASN’T their mail. The reason it didn’t reach the correct mailbox is because the post office had neglected to jot down the small detail of the apartment number when they wrote my address on the notices. So the mailman stuck them in 'a' mailbox, any mailbox, hoping it would eventually get to the correct person. The post office then sent out second notices, and again did not write an actual address. Considering the main job of the post office is to make sure people get their mail, they don’t seem to be taking this job very seriously. I guess Moishe’s getting paid whether or not Natania Casden gets her packages.

The real kicker is the phone call I got last week from a number I didn’t recognize. The voice on the other end sounded like a teenage boy.

"Hi, this is your neighbor. I have your package.”

"…...What?”

"Yeah, the mailman delivered your package to me by mistake. I opened it. It’s underwear.”

"……….. Why did you open my package?!”

“I dunno. I got a package so I opened it.” At this point I could hear some kid in the background yelling, “it’s underwear! It’s underwear!”

"Where do you live?” Said I, slightly apoplectic but trying to controlling my rising anger.

"At number 7.”

“What?! How did the mailman get confused between number 22 and number 7?!”

"Wait, is this a man or a woman?”

"It’s a woman! Would you please just return my package to me?! Just stick it in the mailbox for apartment 6.”

"Ok.”

Honestly, it’s probably unnecessary to state at this point that I did not get my package back. I did try calling back a few days later but the guy insisted that he had put the package in front of my door that same night, said “I have to go,” and hung up. I don’t know what this kid is doing with women’s underwear, but at this point I don’t think I want them back.

To summarize, this circus of a postal service is doing a pretty atrocious job at getting people (or at least me) their packages. Which is quite problematic, as soon many online international suppliers are going to get tired of refunding people’s money and resending packages to Israel and are just going to refuse to sell things to Israelis. This will then be seen as a political statement both by Israelis and internationally, potentially sparking a commercial war where countries will refuse to engage in trade with each other, leading to a financial crisis, and a downsizing of the Israeli postal service, and who knows what’s going to happen to Moishe then?! Actually he’ll probably be the last one standing at the post office after all the other workers have been fired, and then there’s absolutely NO chance whatsoever that anyone’s going to get their mail.

So the message for the day is to stop ordering things online in order to prevent WWIII.

Cats in Conferences

I suppose work conferences can be hit or miss affairs, depending on where they are, how packed the schedule is, and how much you like your coworkers. I have successfully managed to avoid every departmental “retreat” on the grounds that I need to take care of my cat, but actually because I can’t imagine anything more horrible than spending 3 days doing team building exercises (which is what I assume is happening at these retreats) with all the professors in my department and listening to lectures about self fulfillment and fungi.

However, 3 days in the Queen of Sheba hotel (5 stars) in Eilat (can anyone say VAT free shopping???), all expenses paid, with a gym, pool, spa, and gourmet food on offer 18 hours of the day? Well, I’m not a complete idiot. The other option was actually going to work and working. The only catch? Lectures for almost as many hours as food was available. There was also a poster viewing session, in which I took part. I would not normally sign up for extra work, especially since I’m not convinced that anyone particularly cares about what I’m working on besides me and my boss, but he talked me into it. So I designed a poster and got stuck answering questions about it to the few professors my boss guilt tripped into coming over and pretending to look interested while clearly scoping out the snack table behind me.

The first day started with a 5 hour drive down to Eilat, signing in, and dinner (a bona fide feast). Then a lecture session after dinner. Which was interrupted by some cats in the ceiling. I imagine this happens often at 5 star hotels. The last lecture was interrupted by a power outage (or someone who got fed up with the incessant talking and wanted to go to sleep). We then had a “dance party” (euphemism for a bunch of old people flailing their limbs to the beat. Well, almost to the beat). This also happened to be the day of my 30^th birthday, and the day that I learned that I’m older than some of the PhD students. So I drank some wine, laughed at the people trying to dance, and went to bed.

The next day started at 9:00 am, with lectures and poster sessions all day until 8 pm. Obviously, most people snuck out for at least a few hours. The cats stuck in the ceiling were possibly the only ones who didn’t. I definitely saw the people from the lab next door to mine slinking out of the hotel in bathing suits with a surf board.

That was the evening I made the fateful mistake of buying an Asus laptop from Machsanei Chashmal. I had ordered a laptop from Bug, to be picked up in their branch in Eilat (again, tax free), and was told that there was a 95% chance that the laptop would make it there on time. I’m sure we can all guess what happened, seeing as my life has a very definite pattern. So I walked into the first electronics store I passed, and they happened to have one laptop left of the model that I wanted. It had been in the display case but hadn’t been used, and the very pregnant store clerk checked it out and made sure it worked before selling it to me.

Well I’m sure we can all guess what happened to the laptop, based once again on the pattern of my life. It was sent back twice, the first time only a month after purchase. Dealing with the Asus Israel costumer service, the delivery company (who repeatedly called me at 1pm to ask if I was home so they could pick/return the laptop), and the repair company Asus uses is a story in an of itself, but bottom line- buy an Asus only if you enjoy conflict and frustration. And throwing expensive electronics out the window.

But back to the conference. All in all, I’m not really sure why the conference was held in Eilat considering they seem to have forgotten to schedule any significant amount of time IN Eilat, or at least the part of the city that exists outside the hotel. Frankly I’d have been just as happy to drive 5 minutes to a hotel instead of 5 hours as long as there was food and no scorpions in my bed (army story). But perhaps this was a strategic move to prevent us all from escaping. It certainly worked on the cats.

The Big 3-0

Turning 30 is a huge milestone. When I was a kid, most of my friends’ parents were all in their 30’s, leading me to believe that 30+ is old. My own parents were in their 40’s and 50’s when I was younger, so they were obviously ancient. Not to mention my grandmothers, one of whom was in her 80’s and the other in her 90’s. They were one step away from being living mummies.

Obviously as I’ve gotten older I’ve had to readjust my thinking a bit, especially as I have many single friends in their 30’s who still go out and have fun. In fact, there are some advantages to being 30. For one, I’m old enough to not have to take anyone’s crap anymore. If you’re talking nonsense, I now feel that it is acceptable for me to let you know that you’re talking nonsense. Also people tend to take you more seriously when you tell them you’re 30, as opposed to being in your 20’s. But basically, those are the only advantages.

I guess having some actual life experience is nice too. My sister asked me on my birthday what I had learned in my 30 years on this planet. My response was to not walk down the stairs while holding something in the dark. In hindsight, there were probably many other answers I could have given her. So after some serious pontificating, I have come up with a list of things that I have learned over the years.

1) Never make anyone tell you a secret if they don’t want to tell you, and if they want to tell you the secret, don’t let them. There’s a good reason why it was a secret in the first place. No one wants to get whacked because Tony couldn’t keep his big mouth shut in Sal’s Deli and blabbed to everyone where the money was hidden.

2) People are resistant to being dissuaded from their own opinion, even by a thoughtful, well stated, logical argument. This is why I mostly don’t argue with people about stuff like politics, religion, and social issues. And when I do, I generally regret it because neither of us has changed our opinions and we both now think the other is a complete idiot.

3) Your mother is always right. Even when she’s wrong, she’s still right. Case in point is this story:

I was walking with my mother... We argued about which direction to take. She took the long way and I took the short way. She got there a few seconds after me, but I got pooped on by a bird on the way. So she won that round.

4) Most modern art was probably made by accident. Like when someone dropped something into or onto something else and instead of chucking it, they made contemporary art out of lemons. For example, this sculpture was actually a lab accident. Apparently many types of plastic melt when you run them through an autoclave.

5) Never wear flip flops outside. They will invariably rip at the most inopportune time. Like, 2 hours away from home by foot in the middle of nowhere. Flip flops are the shitty roommates of shoes- totally unreliable.

6) There’s no manual on being an adult and no one really knows what they’re doing. However, paying your bills and having clean underwear are a good sign that you’re doing a passable job at the whole “adult” thing.

7) Life is too short not to be weird. Surround yourself with people that entertain you. Otherwise you’ll have to take up drinking out of boredom, like me.

8) Fashion is a social construct promoted by a bunch of old French guys who I’m pretty sure are just sipping champagne on the Riviera and laughing at the rest of us that we actually fell for it. Like seriously, what the hell even is this?! 

9) If you are unhappy about something in your life, you have 3 options- a) do nothing and continue suffering b) change your attitude about it and learn to accept it c) change whatever it is that you’re unhappy about. Either way, don’t keep complaining to me about it. Unless you want to pay me 200 shekels per hour.

10) Animals are way better than humans. With animals, you pretty much know what you’re going to get. Unconditional love (on the condition that you feed them of course) and companionship. I’ve never had a cat ditch me to hang out with his other friends or break up with me because “it just isn’t working.”

So these are the things I’ve learned. Thank you all for letting me share my wisdom with you. If you have anything to add, I’d love to hear it.

Adulting?

 Well I’ve been officially accepted to a masters program at HU. After 6.25 years of higher education. I’d like to thank everyone who made this possible, mainly G-d, because I’m pretty sure there was some divine intervention involved here. Also my parents for being so supportive, and keeping me fed and laundered for way more years than any adult should expect. Also for allowing me to loot, pillage, and plunder the kitchen every time I come home, even now that I’m out of the house and pretending to be a real adult.

Being an adult is hard. Do you ever feel like you’ve hit your limit on being responsible for the day? Like, you’ve gone to work, cleaned the apartment, done the laundry, and then... you get the electric bill in the mail, and it just sends you over the edge. It’s the metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back. This happens to me sometimes. I get really dramatic about it too. I’m like, no, I refuse!!! F*** you electric company, I’ve adulted enough today! I’m going to eat a bowl of ice cream for dinner and watch cat videos all evening in my pajamas.

So now, being a real adult and all, I will be in school full time and working 3 jobs. Just like all successful adults. In case you’re wondering about all those jobs, I shall elaborate. 1) still working at the lab. This is my main job and part of my degree, which is a research based degree. 2) Still working with the older woman, helping her with “technological” things- like answering emails, buying books online, and printing documents from her printer. 3) The newest of my jobs is with an organization that hosts shabbat meals, mostly Friday nights, for groups from out of the country. Jews, non-Jews- anyone who wants to experience an authentic shabbat meal. I basically do the waitressing part of the meals, the setting up beforehand, the serving of the food (catered by the industrial area outside of Ma’ale Adumim), and the clearing up afterwards. As surprising as this might sound, I’m enjoying this job quite a lot more than I thought I would. It certainly has a few perks- flexibility (I sign up on the weeks I want to work), leftovers (cooking for one is quite a pain. It’s either an omelet for dinner, or an actual meal which will end up being eaten every day for the next week), and not having to find Friday night meal plans (which were usually just me posting my pleas for food and company on Facebook Thursday night in the hopes that someone would take pity on me). The most surprising thing about the job (considering I’m not exactly what one would call a “people person”) is the sociological aspect of the job. I get to observe from the background all these groups of people from all over the world, and the families hosting them. I have so far worked with a group of respected authors and artists from the US (non-Jewish), a group of women from the Jewish Federation (incidentally they were from the NJ chapter) with a few lone soldiers in attendance (the women LOVED that), a group of international students from the Moody Bible Institute (they had LOTS of questions for the hosts- about everything from shabbat observance, to Jews’ view on the Holy Trinity, to Judaism’s take on women and feminism), an extended Jewish family from Atlanta in Israel for a bar mitzvah (they gave me their card after the meal saying that they run an organization that gives grants and funding to groups researching brain cancer), and groups of mixed families from the US, Italy, China, France, and Belgium who got matched up for a shabbat meal (Jewish and non-Jewish, with different levels of religious observance in all religions). I have no idea where they find these groups of people, or where these groups of people find us, but there are many of these meals going on all over Jerusalem on any given Friday night.

I actually have my former roommate to thank for the job. He called me up one day and asked if I was interested in making some extra money. The offer sounded a bit suspicious, so I asked him if it involved the global drug trade or organ trafficking. He responded, “no, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous. It’s actually prostitution.”

In other news, I’m taking 2 years worth of vacation intermittently over the course of 3 weeks. In fact it may be more like 5 years worth of vacation. My parents and I just got back from a two and a half day stint in Akko. Next week I’ll be in Eilat for 3 days for a work conference (ok, so that’s not EXACTLY a vacation considering our schedule is lectures and poster sessions from 9am to 8pm every day), and perhaps a few days in Tel Aviv with my sister and her family who will be arriving in Israel when I’m in Eilat. Tina and David decided that flying with a 3 year old and a 2 month old would be a bucket of laughs, but I guess you take what you can get. In any case, it saves me from having to take an actual vacation and flying to the States.

The bottom line is that Johnny’s going to be sad and probably destroy the furniture while I’m gone. But that’s life with Johnny.

Movin’ On Up

 I lasted about half a year in my apartment in Mekor Chaim before I would admit to myself that I had to move. It took another 2 months before I could find another place (that was clean and would be ok with a large, temperamental feline, preferably not too far from where I was living, though that was more flexible). I was trying to be a bit more discerning this time around, since I had the luxury of not needing to move immediately.

I went to see an apartment that fitted my not very many requirements (in my opinion anyway) and after a half hour conversation and seeing out another, fairly irritating candidate who had come to see the apartment, the woman offered me the place. It was about 10 minutes away from where I was already living, but closer to work, my gym, and my preferred supermarket, while still being in walking distance of the Aroma at the Hadar mall. I had basically mapped out all potential locations based on their proximity to providers of that revered bean of mystical powers.

All I had to do was inform my roommates that I was moving in a month and find a subletter. Telling them was the easy part. I plied them with alcohol, and then made my announcement. They were both very surprised. Apparently they had been under the impression that I enjoy coming home to the loud thumping of techno music, of doing all the cleaning or giving up and living in filth, of being prevented from going to sleep at night by a) loud phone conversations b) noise coming from their computers c) the previously mentioned techno music, and being woken up in the morning by a) loud phone conversations b) loud music, though not necessarily techno c) alarms that don’t get turned off because I’m the only one who hears them. It would seem that these things only bothered me.

Finding a subletter for 3 months seemed like a mighty tall order. Finding someone who could put up with the mess, and didn’t mind that the living room shades were broken, or that there was no working oven or microwave and that the only way to heat anything up would be to put it in a frying pan or wait for a really hot day. Or that the roommates were 40 year old guys with peculiar sleeping habits and a penchant for spur of the moment parties. Other than that, the apartment was a steal. (And by that I mean I stole all the cleaning supplies when I left so they couldn’t clean even if they wanted to. I figured the chances that anyone would notice before next Pesach were about as slim as Johnny is fat. Considering they had to ask me where all the cleaning supplies in their apartment were during this year’s Pesach “cleaning”.)

Surprisingly, I actually did have a few responses. In fact, no one was more surprised than me, although I didn’t exactly elaborate too much on the particulars of the apartment. The first guy who was interested had just gotten back from India. Then half of Mike’s Place wanted to move in. I also got a response from a few younger girls in their early 20’s, a few people who wanted to sublet at different time periods than I had specified, and a nut job that I happen to know. We had 3 people come see the apartment and the recent divorcé that showed up with his daughter won out.

So I moved to the beautiful neighborhood of Katamonim. Just kidding, if Jerusalem had a “hood,” Katamonim would be it. It’s not exactly the wealthiest neighborhood, but on the plus side, property taxes are way lower. There has recently been an attempt at gentrifying the neighborhood, and a few luxury apartment buildings have gone up or are in the process of going up. I don’t live in one those buildings (that probably didn’t even need to be pointed out). I live in an apartment complex that got notices from the municipality that the amount of litter and garbage strewn about is in breach of city ordinances. To be fair we live right next to the Gonenim city park and much of the garbage is probably from park visitors. Probably. Either way, I have no plan to do anything about the situation.

When I moved in there was an old couch sitting outside the building. A few days later a wheelchair joined it. Then a shopping cart. Then a mattress and a plastic chair. I started giving people directions to my apartment by telling them it was just past the homeless guy’s pad. Then one day it was all gone, so I guess he moved on. This is also the kind of neighborhood where you hear all the neighbors’ arguments in the summer when the windows are open. And the neighbors are loud and prone to argument. Also, the neighborhood celebrations (comprising Mizrachi music blasting from speakers, children shrieking, the smell of burning meat, firecrackers, etc.) will let you know if you’ve forgotten that it’s a holiday. Or semi-holiday. Or almost a semi-holiday. Or just Tuesday.

The apartment itself is pretty nice and has obviously been renovated some time in the past 30 years. I was informed that a mouse had been spotted a few days before I moved in, but I figure Johnny’s got to work for his keep anyway. My options were an old apartment in a nicer neighborhood, or a nicer apartment in a less nice neighborhood. I guess it’s a bit of a toss up really- buckets in the living room when it rains or dead bodies in the yard (and yes, that happened. The poor kid that found it will probably be in therapy for the next few years).

Johnny seems to like it here too. He’s mellowed out quite a bit and almost never hisses or scratches anyone anymore. In fact it took him an entire 3 days to trash the place. This is how he shows his approval. It wasn’t really his fault though. It all started when he found a vase full of very tasty flowers on the living room table. He ate them all. Every single one. And then went back for more the next day, knocking everything off the table, breaking a wooden coaster in the process. I went though all of my stuff, most of which was still packed, looking for some kind of glue before my roommate got home. I finally found some superglue, but not being a frequent user of super glue (this will probably change living with Johnny), I didn’t realize how runny it is. I ended up supergluing myself to the bottle of glue, the coaster, and some newspaper. The only thing left to do was to text a friend with the one finger not attached to anything but my hand (incidentally I now have superglue on my phone as well) for help. The answer is no, acetone does not get superglue off of skin. Nor does vaseline. We tried both. In any case, my roommate doesn’t need to know about any of this. Hopefully she won’t notice the newspaper stuck to the bottom of her coaster.

I am also including a picture which explains why my parents have forbidden anyone from bringing them flowers. They had a similar incident with their two cats leading to a broken clock and a shattered vase. As they say, you can have plants or you can have cats. You can’t have both.

The Holiday of Clowns and Cocktails

 Considering I’m afraid of clowns, mimes, dolls, and anyone in costume, Purim is a rough holiday for me. Only with alcoholic fortification am I brazen enough to venture forth among the monsters, villains, animal people, adult sized Disney characters, etc. I’m not afraid of children in costumes. Even a pint sized clown is not quite enough to scare me. It’s the full-grown ones that terrify me. I got a text message Purim day from a friend warning me not to go outside since the streets were swamped with clowns.

Purim is a fun holiday. It’s like Halloween except that it’s fun for adults too (those that drink anyway). The kids dress up (and many of the adults as well), everyone partakes of the Purim feast, the adults drink, the younger adults drink even more and spend 2 days (Purim and Shushan Purim) partying. Plus people knock on your door all day and hand you food. What’s not to like? Aside from the clowns.

This being my first year living in Jerusalem, I HAD to spend 2 days celebrating. The traditional Purim seudah at my parents is epic. I couldn’t miss it. Mostly because I was planning on making off with most of the leftovers. Which I did. My dad always comes up with a theme (this year was Chinese food with a Thailandi soup) and we end up with absurd amounts of food that everyone has contributed. So instead of feeding a small nation for a few days, the leftovers feed me for a few weeks. I don’t feel guilty about this. Not even a little. The other reason I never miss it, is because it’s one of the few times during the year I get to see my parents tipsy, if not 3 sheets to the wind. My mother always whispers to me at some point, “I think I’m drunk,” as if it she hadn’t been giggling for the past 20 minutes. And if I play my cards right, I can get my dad to do his world famous “hand trick.” This basically involves him balancing his hand in the air for 30 seconds. Yes, it’s as impressive as it sounds. The only other time he performs this trick is after the third cup at the Pesach seder.

After the seudah, I went back to Jerusalem to get ready for the next part- more parties. As many as you can fit into one night and part of the next morning. I’m honestly not much of a partier but I figured that partying once a year wouldn’t kill me. Probably. Also, there would probably be free alcohol and I never say no to free alcohol. Unless it’s arak. I borrowed a mask from a friend, and after scaring myself half to death when I looked in the mirror, I borrowed a much less frightening one from a different friend. I ended up at 2 house parties and then the shuk, which was definitely a mistake as it was packed with teenagers dancing to bad techno music. Which is frankly a public health risk as you’re liable to get a limb in the eye, stomach, or other sensitive areas of the body. Techno in and of itself should be labeled a public health risk.

I started the next day with the megillah reading (ok, it was a 15:00 megillah reading. Don’t judge me) in front of the Gerard Behar Center. The construction a few buildings away started a few minutes later, and add that to the buses whizzing by, the car horns, and the drunk Israelis who decided to crash the reading, and I can’t say I actually heard much of the megillah. I was then invited by a random passerby to a vegan Purim meal. I told the guy I was right behind him and quickly ran off. Then there were more parties and I finally got home at around 1:00 or so in the morning.

The next day at work was a difficult one. I was only partially functional, and at one point got right and left confused with each other. This confusion lasted an entire 3 minutes. I am not proud of myself, but on the other hand I once subtracted 2 from 4 and got 1. On the SATs. These things happen.

Even worse was the news that my roommate was celebrating his birthday with ANOTHER party that night. My roommates usually go to a shiur every week, hosted by a different person each time. That night, they were holding it at our place and then having a party afterwards. This was a bit too much for me so I took a friend to the quietest bar I know to escape the madness at home. All I wanted to do was sleep. I have never wanted to sleep so badly in my life. I kept looking at my watch wondering if it was safe to go home yet. At 11:15 I decided I was going home no matter what. After scrubbing the bathtub (which had gotten filthy when my roommate washed the floor and spilled the dirty water into the bathtub, clogging the drain so that all the dirt dried onto the bottom of the tub), I took a quick shower and then waited for the last few people to go home. At 12:20 this finally occurred and Johnny and I climbed into bed and slept like logs.

The American Election Disaster

 The most telling aspect of the recent elections was that I was more often asked if I’d voted, than whom I’d voted for. And almost exclusively by Israelis and other non-Americans (like my Russian co-worker who hasn’t stopped talking about the elections for the past 8 months, leading me to further develop my ability to look like I’m paying attention to the discussion, while actually taking a mental vacation). It was as if the subject was too painful for Americans to bring up. I know I certainly grimaced every time an Israeli asked me about the elections. Any time an American did bring up the elections, it was because they were one of the rare people who actually had a strong preference for one candidate over the other and wanted to bring you around to their point of view, as if it were possible for them to convince you that a) Trump is a respectable citizen with good judgment, or b) that Hillary Clinton wasn’t really responsible for all those little SNAFUs during her time as Secretary of State. Unfortunately those are just opinions, and you can’t convince people with your opinions (as opposed to actual facts) unless you’re a charismatic politician or a cult leader (often times the same thing). So the following argument would ensue:

Argument A:

“But Trump is strong, opinionated, and says what he thinks. Plus he really cares about Israel. Not like that liar Hilary Clinton.”

“It’s true that Trump says exactly what he thinks. Which is why most of the world is angry with him at the moment, myself included.”

“But he’s such a great guy! And his daughter is Jewish! Etc...”

Argument B:

“So a few emails got lost, big deal. At least she’s not Donald Trump.”

“So you’d vote for a candidate solely based on the fact that he’s not Donald Trump? Lot’s of people aren’t Donald Trump.”

“ANYONE would be better than Donald Trump.”

“Snoop Dogg’s not Donald Trump. Would Snoop Dogg be a better president than Donald Trump? What about that homeless guy that lives in Grand Central Station? Would HE be a better president? Etc...”

It was especially irritating when people got upset when I told them I wasn’t voting.

“But it’s your responsibility as an American citizen to vote!”

“Really? Because it seems more irresponsible than it does responsible to put one of these buffoons in charge of the most powerful country on Earth (until China catches up). Frankly, in my most uninformed, layperson opinion, being in the middle of a federal investigation and being a former reality t.v. star are automatic grounds for disqualification. In fact, I propose that we add those two questions to the presidential candidacy form. A yes to either of those questions bars you from continuing on to the next round.

The problem for the Republicans started when the entire coterie threw their hat in the ring, confusing the general public and splitting the vote between a few passable candidates, while not calculating the consequences that that would have on the tycoon and former reality t.v. star (who knows how to be the last contestant standing).

The problem with the Democrats began when they failed to find any decent candidates. All they could scare up was a commie (excuse me, a socialist, which is totally different), and Hillary Clinton (from wherever burrow she’d been hibernating in since her last unsuccessful bid for president).

I have no particular preference for any political party. I vote like I go to the hairdresser- don’t expect loyalty from me because I flip flop more than a former KGB agent currently selling his services to the highest bidder in Nigeria. I tend to vote for the person I feel is most likely to leave the country standing and the least likely to bring on Armageddon by the end of his term, and don’t quibble much over the other points. While the Israelis were having their “cottage cheese revolution,” I was focused more on progress with Iran on the nuclear front. Can you imagine how much more cottage cheese would cost for the remaining few humans after a nuclear fallout?