Robot Child Slave Labor

I had a robot named Andar when I was rich and lived in Morocco. He used to bring me food and rub my back. It wasn't until I was twelve that I realized he wasn't a robot at all, but a real live human being with feelings, emotions, and desires. My father had been exploiting him as a child slave and telling me he was a robot so I wouldn't feel bad for him or get attached. The one thing my father didn't count on was that I DID get attached and was planning to free the enslaved robot, but once I found out he was just a boring old human I put him to work double time, especially with the back rubs.

The Rockin' Moroccan

I used to live with a guy named Ahmed al-Shandoudi from Oman (it’s by Saudi Arabia) and his mom would call at three o’clock in the morning to talk to him. He nor I had cell phones, and the phone jack was in my room so I’d answer and she would say whatever it was she would say, and I would know that it was his mom calling for him. On a piece of paper I kept by the phone, he wrote down how to say “I will go get Ahmed for you.” in Arabic. He did it phonetically and helped me practice the pronunciation so that when the time came I could nail it. It was awesome.

He used to hang out with this girl from Morocco that my man-friends and I would see around campus and refer to as the Rockin’ Moroccan because she was so freaking hot. I asked him to set me up with her and he informed me that:

A) She already had a boyfriend, and

B) She only dates Arabic dudes, and

C) Him and his friends could waste any of me and my friends in soccer any day. He was right, those guys whaled.

I miss Ahmed. We became pretty good friends that year and even though he never hooked me up with the Rockin’ Moroccan, he wore awesome white robey pajamas that brought a great vibe to the apartment.