Two Worlds Collide

i couldn't do it. i hung up the phone.

"why did you hang up? i told you to leave her a message if she didn't answer," my boss shouted, "we need to make sure she knows we delivered her order."

"this is going to sound bad-- i already know," i said, "but i hung up because she said her last name in the outgoing voice-message."

"so?"

"do you know what her last name is?" i asked.

my boss has cyborg's brain, and i know he knows every single client by name, and company-- some by phone number, even. there is no way he didn't know this client's full name. but there is also no way i was the only one who found it unbearable.

"yeah," i said, "well, i panicked when i heard it. i was pretty sure i'd laugh in the message and that's worse than just calling back and leaving a message now that i'm calm."

"why is her last name funny?"

really? i know i tend to see things more immaturely than others, but this one was a freebie. i couldn't be alone.

"because it' hamdouche," i asked.

he mostly stared blankly.

"you know, like a tool for cleaning pig vaginas? or a really theatrical asshole?"

he continued to stare, but started to tilt his head the same way a puppy does when it's unsure of a noise.

i think i was watching his mind get blown.

"oh my god," he said, "i never noticed that."

"how can you not notice that? hamdouche? really?" i laughed, "oh man, and it's even spelled "hamdouche". i would change my name."

"wow," he said again, "it's farsi. it means "shoulder to shoulder" like two people who bear the same responsibilities. you know, they walk side by side and carry the same weight. sort of like business partners or trustworthy brothers."

i think i was probably making the mind-blown face after hearing that sentence.

"huh," i muttered, "that sounds a lot better than what it means in english."

before i clocked out, he stopped me to laugh about "hamdouche." and we both agreed that it was a brilliant moment of discovery in two directions. how, by speaking farsi, my boss had seen the last name as nothing but a farsi word. and how my lack of cultural linguistics, combined with my high level of immaturity, lead me to see it differently.

and then we traded knowledge.

and it was magical.