We should have known the day was going south when a pedestrian collided with the side of our rental car first thing this morning, before the heater vents even stopped blowing cold air.
Warning: I Lose My Cool In This Post.
(Not A Fun Read For Those With Delicate Sensibilities.)
No, he wasn’t injured (unlike my last car vs. pedestrian in which a fellow walked into the side of my car in Georgia and perished as a result of it) and the car suffered no damage. But I mean, really. He came from the right side of the road, meandered into traffic without looking, flopped and flapped and swamp-donkey-drunk-staggered for a bit directly in front of my car as I slammed on brakes and almost threw everybody through the windshield, Then he staggered off to the left, only to turn around and flap his arms at me again, which resulted in the entanglement of his oversized wool sleeve around my mirror. Nearly ripped it clean off. My mirror, I mean. Not his arm. Then he had the nerve to howl at me like I was the one doing all the damage.
From there, 
So we did. There, we were informed that they would not help us because we were from Azemmour. The clerk did, however, give me the name of the “right” person to speak with in Azemmour about my visa overstay, which was next on our list of major errands to run.
At that point I contacted the U.S. embassy about the Azemmour officials who refused to “allow” us to travel on the business of physically leaving the country. You can bet the embassy had something to say about that. The American official I spoke with assured me that I could most definitely travel to the airport for the Sunday cargo shipment and flight, and that the local Azemmour officials are not in a position to tell me I can’t. And, that it is highly doubtful that the actual police would dream of not granting a person holding airline tickets the right to access the airport. In any case, I have the embassy’s direct number now and I will use it again if anyone else tries to block me from leaving Morocco on schedule.
Frauds and Fucktards
While in El Jadida, we went to the veterinary supplier where we’ve been able to purchase vaccines and medicine for the rescue animals since the Morocco confinement ended. Well, guess what? It seems a local veterinarian has complained about them selling vaccines to “non-professionals” and they will no longer provide them for us. Why this complaint? Because the local veterinarian would prefer to fleece everyone blind charging two and three times the cost of a vaccine rather than actually allow any good to be done for the animals. Par for the course, Morocco. Typical short-sighted, backward thinking.
In almost every progressive nation in the world, professional rescues and sheltering personnel are allowed to receive training and vaccinate animals on intake. This is because such practices are proven to greatly curb outbreaks of parvovirus and panleukopenia and many other diseases that can ravage a local population of animals, including certain wildlife species. But I guess in a nation where veterinarians don't have enough training to know that parvoviruses are unenveloped viruses that cannot be killed by hand sanitizer or that disease can be spread from animal to animal through medical supplies handled with ungloved, unsanitized hands after touching parvo puppies, or where veterinary professionals are taught to avoide the use of subcutaneous fluid for severely dehydrated kittens, and where rescuers who solicit donations from the public adhere to the belief that “vaccines don’t work,” it should not be a surprise. I understand that the whole system is broken in Morocco and that veterinarians are behind the eight ball just by nature of where they practice, but good grief. Will the best interest of the animals EVER take priority over personal agenda and greed in a nation where modern healthcare and emergency services aren't even available for most humans?
Mushi Mushki
We left El Jadida empty handed and tackled the next errand on our list: addressing my visa overstay that resulted from the lockdowns in March of last year. I went into this fully expecting to pay a fine and have a tribunal hearing about it, and was not overly concerned by this. If I felt there were any real reason to complain, I’d put that complaint here: ________________________. But given the circumstances in April and September when the local immigration police were telling me “mushi mushki,” which means “no problem, no problem,” and then the circumstances in October and November when Michel went to France and tested positive for coronavirus and I was stranded here in Morocco with no resources (as if my disabled ass can navigate an airport without help,) I very deliberately chose a fine over the near certainty that I’d catch coronavirus if I went back to the States at the peak of the deadliest and most uncontrolled surge in the entire world. Still happy with that decision, I let the “right” person at the police station (the one the clerk in El Jadida told me about) schedule me for an appointment two hours later to take care of the problem.
This is when things really got hairy. Or should I say, when I started becoming patently homicidal.
Invisible Interdit
Michel and I went to our apartment and did a few chores while waiting for our appointment, and that was a nice bit of downtime. But when we left the medina to go back to the police station, our rental car was gone! Just an empty space in the spot where I had parked it. A nearby vendor told Michel it had been towed by police.
What? Towed? Why? I’d made damn sure I parked on a blue curb! Why is parking “interdit” on a blue curb?
In Morocco, red curbs mean “no parking.” Blue curbs are fair game. See the photos below and tell me if you think I am color blind. One of the photos has been enhanced to make the colors more vibrant.
Check out the cover photo, shown again here, to see what Moroccan “no parking” signs look like.
Now, please refer to the following photos to see if you can spot a “no parking” sign anywhere along that stretch of curb. I have placed an “X” on the spot where I parked.
Can you see any "no parking" signs along that stretch of street? No? Well, we couldn't either. That's because they don't exist.
See the blue car below? That’s a few feet forward from where I had been parked. And the black car, situated in front of the red car, was closer to the spot still. So why was our rental car towed, yet these and half the cars in Azemmour allowed to park willy nilly there any time their drivers want?
It’s A Good Ole' Boy Scam, That’s Why.
Michel and I aren't the only ones who see no evidence of "parking interdit" signage or "parking prohibited" red paint in this location. Clearly many people see that blue paint and lack of "interdit" placards and think this section of curb is fair game. City officials pick and choose times to trap unsuspecting drivers in this “illegal” parking zone that bears the markings of a legal parking zone and force them to pay the tow truck driver the equivalent of 20 U.S. dollars and the town hall the equivalent of 15 U.S. dollars to get their cars back. It doesn’t sound like much money, but when you think of this being run as a fast cash moneymaking operation even more blatantly corrupt than any American “speed trap,” well, I’d say those dollars add up. If Michel and I weren’t so hell bent to leave Morocco in two weeks, I would hire a lawyer just because and drag Azemmour through the wringer but good over this. Now, I just want to leave. Consider it the year’s rent for allowing citizens to use our doorstep as their personal pissing stations. I’ve heard the rest of Morocco isn’t quite as off the rails as this town. Must just be an Azemmour thing. I mean, consider their river….
The "Right" Person
We hailed a taxi to take us back to the police station for our appointment. On the way, some idiot stopped without warning in the middle of the street and our taxi almost rear-ended him. If I'd had an ounce of compassion for our taxi driver, I would have told him to kick us out us right there on the spot, because clearly our shit luck of the day was rubbing off on anyone around us.
Fortunately, our business at the police station went well. The “right” person to talk to, according to the El Jadida clerk, was indeed the right person to talk to. She fixed us up with the appropriate paperwork and made us an appointment for Monday to tell the court why I’m still here, and why I’m happy to pay the overstay fine before leaving the country. I swear I do believe that the entirety of Morocco stays shiny side up because of its women. She happily chatted with us, through a translator, about the couscous and rfissa dishes she cooks, and then without even being asked, pulled strings for us to retrieve our car from impound after our friend 
Short Lived Respite
Then came the cherry on top of this whole big sundae of shit—I began this sordid tale with a story about a pedestrian flopping and flapping himself into the side of our rental car. I will end it with the story of how some imbecile on a motorized bicycle plowed me down in the medina tonight, because clearly he had more right to be on the walkway than I did. He slammed into me from behind, not hard enough to knock me off my feet, but hard enough to leave dirt from his front wheel on my pants leg. He did brake at the last minute, so quickly it killed his engine. He started the bike again and barged his way directly between me and the two women walking only a meter or so ahead of me. I yelled quite loudly in his ear that he was a jackass, but what I should have done is kicked his back tire out from beneath him the second his scrawny ass gunned it. I will forever regret not thinking quickly enough to do that.
I’m safe in my apartment now surrounded by furries and in the company of my best friend in the world. Michel “gets” me. And he knows just how to calm me down, make me smile, and put me at peace with the world again while still being one of the most pessimistic conspiracy theorists I know. Whatever. He keeps me safe from the world and from myself. I will stop writing for tonight and just sit here in the privacy of our home, talking with him about Mazzini letters and Albert Pike, Bill Gates blasting dust particles into the sky (that came from a Forbes article, by the way,) and how the banning of “sun flights” by Canada ties into the whole Illuminati thing. After today, I think he really might be on to something.
Peace out. I hope everyone's tomorrow is better than my today.