The Psychology of The Egyptian Street
“Hate” is a very strong word.
I’m afraid the word is not strong enough to convey how I feel about the Egyptian street.
If you’re walking, you feel like you’re in a battle scene in Game of Thrones, and if you’re driving, you feel like you’re playing a very real version of Grand Theft Auto.
That being said, I have decided to immerse myself in some Egyptian street role play to (hopefully) analyze the psychology of Egyptians in the street. Let’s put our thinking caps on to try and understand what the fuck goes on there every day -from each category’s perspective.
Fuck all the cars -every last one of them. Those rich bastards are too worried about their cars to ever mess with me, so I’m going to cut off every single car I encounter and they can all go fuck themselves.
At night, it is especially entertaining for me to run around with no lights on. I then do this little trick where I sneak up behind other cars and turn on my lights suddenly so the other driver can get a heart attack.
Also, fighting is always the answer. Always.
I AM THE KING OF THE ROAD! MAKE WAY OR I SHALL CRUSH YOU! THE SIZE OF MY VEHICLE IS CLEARLY OVERCOMPENSATION!
I’m awesome. I’m the best driver ever. Not one of the 500 dents in my car is my fault. The more risks I take, the manlier I am. Here, feel my bicep.
Look at this ghorza! Look at how I can speed up! DOES MY FATHER APPROVE OF ME YET?
I can’t believe people say women can’t drive. Other women can sometimes suck, but not me. I drive just like a guy. I take risks too, and everyone allows me to because I am a princess. Occasionally while driving I multitask; I put on makeup, look for my phone that I dropped and fight with my best friend on the phone.
Not a single one of those accidents were my fault. I just happen to be near a lot of accidents. 3ady ya3ni, just coincidences.
I can fit here. Can I fit here? I’m sure I can fit here. I will stick myself in any available space and if I bump your car you have to forgive me. But if you so much as touch me or my motorcycle I’m going to give you hell…after all, I’m just a person on a loud bike. You could have gotten me killed! How dare you not notice me and my many many honks
The street seems to be empty, so I’m not going to pass. I find it particularly pleasurable to wait until traffic improves and cars just cannot wait to drive off. It is then when I make my signature move: I jump in front of the car and walk EXTREMELY SLOWLY because I am entitled. I am important, I am significant, and the driver is in no way considering running me over a thousand times.
“Mohamed, how are the roads?”
“They seem to be quite clear, officer.”
“Well..that just won’t do. Gather up your most annoying men and have them form a lagna.”
“Which part of the street, sir?”
“Well, pick the narrowest part of the road. We want to create a real bottle neck here. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m sure you are more than qualified for this mission.”
“And who are we targeting, sir?”
“Your usuals; young females, college kids, families…you know the drill.”
“What about weddings slowing down traffic, annoying microbus drivers, sexual predators and purse thieves, sir?”
“I’m just kidding, sir!”
“Oh, Mohamed, I needed a good laugh. Thank you. Now, run along, those streets won’t block themselves!”
I now declare this chunk of the street as my official office. From now on, I will approach any cars parking here and tell them “mashi ya basha” and demand money. Sounds like a legit way to make a living.