And then I have a positive short circuit about why my program is malfunctioning, or instead why it functions at first and then stops: because it is processing articles written the previous night and published in the morning. But by the afternoon it is obsolete news, which is why Kapitoil performs poorly then. The Internet is a constant source of data, like a spacious bin the entire world is depositing trash inside, and my program is calibrated so precisely that it must process the most recent data: the trash on top. The trash underneath is less valuable.
The solitary way to profit with it, I hypothesize, is to make transactions and run Kapitoil every hour, although this poses great risk for major losses.
“Karim, check us out on TV Tuesday night,” Jefferson says.
I am frustrated that he is interrupting me when I am in the middle of an important thought, so I say, “I will, if you are not obstructed by the people sitting in front of you.” He does not understand this is a reference to his height, and resumes working.
I shoot Mr. Ray my idea. He agrees it is high risk, but green-lights me to try this new hourly strategy tomorrow.
I receive an email from Rebecca at 5:45 p.m.:
Interested in seeing the movie “Three Kings” tonight? (Short notice, I know, but I figure you’re busy next week trying to spot Jefferson on TV in vain-the camera only adds ten pounds, not ten inches.)
I know it is customary in the U.S. for a female to invite a man to socialize, but it still makes me uncomfortable. Although of course I would not have the confidence to invite her to socialize, so in some ways I am relieved. But then I have another source of confusion: I am uncertain if this is a romantic date or if it is just two friends partnering for a movie.
I reply that I would like to see the movie, which I have seen advertisements for although I do not know what it is about. She responds immediately that a theater nearby is playing it directly after work. I was hoping her writing would suggest whether she believes it is a date or friends partnering, but nothing in her email is a strong indicator, or possibly my skill at reading English is not advanced enough to analyze her words.
A few minutes after Jefferson and Dan leave, Rebecca asks if I want to go now. We get in the elevator, and it is similar to the time we went to coffee together and did not speak. She touches the material of her white shirt sleeve and gray pants as we descend.
“I’ve read really good things about this movie,” she says finally.
“I have not.”
“You heard it was bad?”
“No,” I say. “I have not read anything about it.”
She laughs, although when she laughs after I make a conversational error (she explains the error to me) it does not make me feel humiliated as it does when Dan laughs, and it becomes slightly easier to converse as we walk to the movie theater.
She tells the vendor we want two tickets, and I take out my credit card. She pushes it away.
“How about I’ll get the tickets and you can get the popcorn and soda?” she says, and she pays before I have the opportunity to reject the idea.
The popcorn and soda is less than 50 % of the ticket price, and I offer to pay Rebecca some money to compensate. “You can get me back another time,” she says.
The movie is entertaining and intriguing. At four points during it I rotate my eyes to observe Rebecca. The monitor is mirrored on her glasses and behind them her eyes are very wide. Although I am a more experienced programmer, I am certain her ideas on the movie are more complex than mine.
But halfway through I worry that Rebecca invited me because it is about the Gulf War in Iraq and she thinks of me as merely a Middle Easterner, and so I do not try to discuss it with her when we exit the theater. The only person I see movies with is Zahira, and typically she launches her analysis of the movie immediately, so it is strange to be with someone else and for us both to be silent as we transition from the world of the movie to the real world outside.
“You feel like grabbing a bite?” she says as we exit into the cold air, and I say yes. We stop in a street near an Afghani restaurant, and I am afraid Rebecca again thinks I exclusively enjoy Middle Eastern things. “This place okay?” she asks.
Then I relax because she is pointing at a bar named Flannigan’s.
It is the first American bar I have entered, and it is more casual than the hotel bars I have been to in Doha. We sit in a cushioned area, and a waitress with her brown hair tied up but some parts descending gives us menus. “Something to drink?” she asks.
“You want to split a — just two waters for now, please,” Rebecca says.
The waitress leaves. “I have had alcohol, if that is why you did not want to order it. I do not want any now, but if you want to drink some, you should,” I say.
“I don’t really want to. It’s sort of a reflex.”
“Why?”
“You go out socially, you usually end up drinking,” she says. “It makes things flow easier.”
“If things do not flow easily without alcohol, why do you go out socially at all?”
“I don’t know.” She examines the reverse side of the menu. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”
We’re mute for a few moments while we decide what to order. I crave the stir-fried vegetable dish, but it costs $12.95, and I already spent nearly that amount on the popcorn and soda.
The waitress asks Rebecca what she would like. “You go first, Karim,” she says.
I order a veggie burger, which is still nutritious and halal and costs $7.95, and a Coke. “Anything else?” the waitress asks.
“No,” I say. “You may book it.”
Rebecca looks at me. “I’ll have the same,” she says. I ask if she’s a vegetarian. “No, but I should eat healthier,” she says, and I hypothesize she was prepared to order a meat dish but converted her order when I asked for the veggie burger, because she again was afraid to offend my religious beliefs.
“What kind of stuff have you been doing in New York?” Rebecca asks when our food arrives.
“I have gone to the Museum of Modern Art. I have explored Central Park and many neighborhoods.”
“Do you know other people here?”
“My family’s friends in Qatar provided me with the contact data of several people here,” I say. Then I add ASAP, “I apologize for not asking you before. How was your trip to see your brother David?”
“Good. Except he’s a little homesick,” she says. “And sort of lonely.”
I look down at my veggie burger for a few moments. “My sister Zahira is fortunate to live at home while attending university.”
“Though it doesn’t leave much room for growth,” she says. “But I guess it’s different over there. Do you talk to her much?”
“No. The time difference is difficult. But when I am there, we talk constantly.”
“She must miss you, then.”
“Yes,” I say. Suddenly the bar feels very dark and cold even though we are next to a heated pipe, and I wish the rock music was muted. “I think so.” Then I ask Rebecca about her neighborhood called Fort Greene in Brooklyn, and we discuss that for a while and other parts of New York. But we have frequent interims of non-conversation, and although it is mute, I can feel the slight vibration of my voice recorder powering on and off in my pocket for only a few seconds, e.g.:
REBECCA: [voice recorder powers on] “Do you go to the movies a lot back home?”
KARIM: “Sometimes. But most of the movies that come to Qatar involve car accidents and explosions, which I do not like to observe. So I do not go frequently.” [voice recorder powers off]
Then it remains off for another 30 seconds while we eat until I ask Rebecca a question. It would be enjoyable if the voice recorder remained on the entire duration, but that’s difficult with someone you still do not know well. Or if it remained off the entire duration but neither person experienced discomfort.