Anyone who has read my posts on this and the old Iranian.com site knows that I’ve been called pretty much anything and everything by the esteemed…and the not-so-esteemed, members of the respective sites. I’ve been called an Israeli AND an Islamic Republic agent on the same thread….hell, I’ve even been called an alternate username for JJ! I generally don’t care, I laugh it off, and chalk it all up to the Iranian conspiracy theory mindset. But something happened not too long ago that changed the whole thing. You see, I posted a poetry blog as a joke—well, it was first meant as a joke, but then a lot a folks took it seriously, and I noticed that hey…it wasn’t really a bad thing for me to translate a nursery rhyme. So, perhaps it wasn’t a joke—or it shouldn’t have been meant as one. But that’s not the point. What I’m trying to get to is that somehow the blog descended into a discussion about my gender, ethnicity, race, religion (that’s odd) etc. Not unusual for me. I was amused (as usual) reading the comments over a glass of wine. What really caught my eye though was a comment left by my buddy Siavash.  He said that he thought that I was Jewish because of a comment that I had once left on the old Iranian.com where I had said that I went to the library and identified a librarian as Jewish because of the way she looked. I read that comment several times over. Did I really say that? What a fucked up, anti-Semitic thing to say! Who am I, Amon Goth?! And then I remembered. Siavash is correct! I did say that. But for me to explain the why, when, and how I must confess to a couple of bigger, darker secrets.

I am an alcoholic. But I’m not just any alcoholic, but an alcoholic who turns into a raging anti-Semite when I drink. It’s a terrible, dark affliction, but one that I have had to live with for a very long time. It is now time for me to come clean. Maybe this confession will be the first step to my road to recovery and rehabilitation.

As to the particular incident that Siavsh refers to, well, here’s the full story. It was the winter of 2011-2012. It was a cold, snowy day. I arrived in my office at around 8:30, and was immediately called into my boss, Ira Levine’s office. He asked me to sit down and then handed me a memo.

“I need you to go down to DC.”

“Why,” I asked.

“I need you to get me some data on the migratory patterns of okapi.”

“Okapi?”

“Yes, okapi.”

“I thought those were solitary animals. They don’t migrate. They’re pretty much in one location in the DRC. Plus, I don’t know anything about those things. All I know is what I’ve seen on TV.”

“No, we think they migrate. And what you may or may not know is besides the point. We need the research done.”

“Why do I have to go to DC? Can’t you call the Bronx Zoo? They’ve got to have something on it.”

  “I did. They have nothing. And before you tell me to Google it, I already did. Nothing much there either. You’ll need to go to the Library of Congress in DC. They have some material on it.”

“Aren’t those online?”

“No. Their okapi archives are not yet digitized. You’ll need to be there in person to look them up. You can catch the train this morning.”

“Today?!”

“Yes. Today. Our client has given us three days to put a memo together. We need this done. Aren’t you the large mammal migration expert?”

“Not every large mammal! What, you expect me to know the migratory patterns of the wildebeest too?”  

“You don’t?!!”

“….”

“Just go to DC and get this done.”

An hour later I was on the Acela heading down to DC. I hated it. I hated everything about this project…the whole thing. What a fuck is an okapi anyway? A freak of nature. A blind zebra mistakenly getting it on with a giraffe millions of years ago thinking it was his own kind. The result is this freak show. And here I am, having to waste a whole day in freezing weather going down to DC trying to figure out where it spends its summer vacation. And who the fuck is this client who has a deadline for knowing what this animal does? I needed a drink!

I walk over to the bar car, and grab myself a gin and tonic…and another one…and another one. That fucking Ira Levine…Jew! Another gin and tonic. What was this assignment anyway? It must be for Israel. Ira works for Israel. This whole environmental consulting thing is a cover for an Israeli operation against Iran. I gulp down the gin and tonic. They’re sending okapis to attack Iran!  Another drink. That must be it. Wait, do okapis wear Yakamas? Probably! They’re probably the Hasbara. They leave comments on Iranian sites so that Iran can be attacked! I have to warn them. Shit! I forgot to charge my laptop. A shot of straight, warm gin. Jews. Ira Must have done it. He probably unplugged my laptop in the office so that I can’t warn Iranians of the imminent okapi onslaught. Wait, wasn’t my laptop in my backpack the whole time? That doesn’t matter. The Jews probably drained the battery anyway. They have those Jew battery draining devices. Just one more gin and tonic before we get to DC…maybe a couple more….Jews…that’s all I can think of….

We reach DC, and I’m completely hammered. I stumble into the Library of Congress. How did I get here from the station? It doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’m directed to the third floor, the okapi collection vault. I take the stairs. On my way up, I down two of the ten little bottles of Johnny Walker reds that I bought on the train and that I have in my backpack—the kind that you find in little fridges in hotel rooms. I got to keep the buzz going. They told me to ask for the librarian when I get up there. So, when I get there, I walk right up to the circulation desk. And there…there….that’s where she was: the Jewish librarian! I could immediately tell. She had the big, round, dark Jewey eyes, and that unmistakable Cephalic Index score that I could tell (even without looking at my wallet sized index guide) belonged to a Jew. And that Jew-fro. My goodness, woman, can’t you straighten the fro like the rest of your kind?! Oh, and her name was Hadassah Goldstein—it said it n her name plate on her desk. Anyway, the Jewey Jew Jew took me to the shelves and pointed out all the volumes on okapi migration. She asked me if I needed any more “help.” Right! As if I haven’t seen that trick played by Jews before. Next she would want my name---so that she can report me to Israel and stop me from posting a comment on Iranian.com and warn Iran and Iranians of the mass okapi attack. Good luck Jew woman! I say no, and watch her as she walks away. I down two more bottles.  Then grab the volumes and copy them.

After having lunch at a Jamaican restaurant in DuPont Circle and polishing off half a glass of wine, I’m back on the train heading back to Manhattan. I go to the bar car again and grab another gin tonic. Then another, and then another. I then pop open my laptop that’s now fully charged. There’s Wi-Fi on the Acela, and I’m connected.

I wake up. The laptop is on and on my lap. I’m back in the another car. I’m not in the bar car anymore. There’s s man sitting next to me. I don’t know him. I’m sobering up. The nap must have done its job. I look at the time. I’ve been asleep for at least three hours. We’ll be in Manhattan soon. Then my stomach drops. I see Iranian.com on my laptop. I look at the history, and my worst fears come true. Here’s where my other confession comes in: I have several other usernames on Iranian.com. I only use them when I’m inebriated, and only to post anti-Semitic comments. On that day, I had used three of them, P_J, Bavafa, and Dohelzan. Here’s what I had posted:

As P_J: These Zionists have put their filthy, disgusting agents in libraries to prevent us from warning Iranians about attacks on Iran. Why is that dog barking across the street? I will KILL that dog, and I will then kill its owner for walking on my lawn!

As Bavafa: Some say that not all Jews are Zionists! Fuck those people! All Jews are dirty murderers. If the bar code says 456, put it down. BDS all the way. Mehrdad

As Dohlezan, I just posted a YouTube video about gay Jews, and wrote something that didn’t make sense even to myself.

But here’s the worst part: I apparently wanted to tell the story about encountering the Jewish Librarian as one of my other usernames, Jaleho. But I messed up. I logged in as Anonymous Observer, ad posted the whole encounter under that username. So now I understand how Siavash got that story!

Back on the train, I was petrified, embarrassed, and quite frankly, a little hungover. Why do I have to be such a drunk? Why do I have to be such an anti-Semite? Why do I have to be such a mess, such a wreck….? I closed the laptop, rested my head back on the seat, and stared out the window as the train roared on. I noticed the guy sitting next to me staring at trembling legs. He smiled at me, and introduced himself. He asked if anything is bothering me, and if I’m OK. I nodded. I was looking for an answer. The only thing that I could say was “I hate my job,” which is not entirely true.  I hated what happened that day, but I kind of like my job…if it wasn’t that whole Jew thing. Wait, am I still drunk? Anyway, he was very understanding. Turned out that he worked for the environmental department of a big oil company. He said they could use someone like me for their oil exploration operations in Alaska. He gave me his card and asked me to meet him for lunch to talk about it. I never did. His name was Jacob Steinberg!   

 

***Portions of this piece were inspired by The Girl on the Train.  It’s an awesome book. You should read it before the movie comes out in October.

***Okapis are gentle, lovely animals, and are endangered due to poaching and habitat loss.