Working at the gun show, or--this really is a different country

G's parents run the oldest gun show in town and in the last show I helped by staying at their place and babysitting the dogs. This time they had me at the actual show. I sat by the exit with a table, stamp, and some postcards. My job was to stamp the hands of the people who wanted to come back in later that day. All thrilling and exciting.

It turns out, one of the men who's had a table at the show for years and years isn't too fond of Jews, and was overheard making fun of a German guy by pointing out his [people's] weakness: "Hitler didn't finish the job." He isn't aware that G and his family are Jewish. This same man keeps calling G Mohammad, and said to his mother that her son is "fixin' to be an A-rab." Not only that, but G's "lady friend looks like an A-rab" as well. And it was confirmed--I am an Arab and a Muslim (technically), and G's mom told him that. And he said (direct quote): "You know her bible tells her to cut his head off right?"

So G and I take a break at the gun show and walk over to his table, holding hands and being obnoxious. First thing he says--Hi Mohammad. Then he looks at me: Are you from Pakistan? (I thought I was an A-rab?) I say no, so he asks if I'm from Tajikistan. Then he asks where my burqa is. And then he asks G when he's going to convert. You know she's supposed to cut off your head right? On and on. He says that we should both be Christian. No thanks.

G was stationed at the front door of the gun show and throughout, we were texting each other. Towards the end of the first day, he lets me know that a couple walked in with matching his-and-hers swastika tattoos on their calves, with the guy wearing a cap that had a HUGE black swastika on the back and the Nazi eagle on the front. So they weave through the tables and are approaching me in the back. At this point, G comes over and stands with me, along with a family friend. We're just looking at them, watching them approach, and the woman turns to her boyfriend and whispers something and they keep walking. This happens a couple times and when they finally get to us she turns and says, "Do ya'll want a picture of my tattoo? Cuz you can have one if you want." And she stomps off.

The second day wasn't nearly as eventful. At the end of the first day the old man approached me and asked if I was from Africa, so I told him that if he wanted to talk about A-rabs he should know what they ARE first. And the next day he called G by his proper name and called me Fatima. And that was the extent of the excitement for Sunday.

I am not in CA anymore. Sheesh.

In other news, I still do not have a permanent job. I am constantly applying. There was an admin position open at a medical center here, and when I called to inquire the HR woman told me that she's had over 100 applicants. It's not looking good.

My mom emailed me and wanted me to be in touch. She sounded very sad. So I responded to her email. And? NOTHING. Not a single response from her. Frankly, it really upsets me. Why call and email if when I finally respond, nothing? What's the deal there?