Fakhri il-Din

The friend that I am staying with for the first week is leaving Jordan tomorrow. To celebrate, and see her off we ate at an upscale Jordanian restaurant. It is expensive by Jordanian standards, but cheap by American standards. The meal we ate would run for twice the cost stateside, but I will probably be the last time that I eat at Fakhri il-Din for mercy on my bank account.
The restaurant is luxurious by all standards and attracts the rich and powerful. We ate outside, on a balcony. Shrubbery and flowers overflowed onto our table. I ordered Shish Tawook, to compare to my professor's version.
After the meal, I had to use the restroom. I excused myself and asked the waiter "weyn alHamam?" He led me through the restaurant and pointed out the restrooms. As I approached, there was a woman sitting down who stood up. I walked into the restroom, I don't know why she is there, but I am sure there is some reason why the restaurant pays her to be there. It took me about a minute and a half to figure out how to flush the toilet. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps the woman outside somehow flushes the toilet, but I didn't find this plausible, so I kept looking and eventually figured out that to flush the toilet, one pushes on the giant metal plate on the wall. It looked sort of like a dispenser of toilet seat covers, far to big for me to consider it to be any sort of button, or switch.
I washed my hands. The sinks were a giant rock slate under the faucet. The water ran down into a drain hidden under another rock slate. It was very alternative, and therefore a rarity. I put my jacket back on - I was wearing a tuxedo jacket with a white tee and jeans - and took a step back from the sink. Under the sink was a giant bug, sort of like a potato bug, stuck on its back. It was unceasingly writing, trying to right itself. I considered both squishing it beneath my shoe, and righting it, but I did neither.
I returned to the table, we talked a bit before asking to take the rest of our food for lunch the next day. The waiter asked if we wanted anything else. Erica said that she thought we were good. The waiter said, "yeah.... you are good, but we will make you better." He then softly shouted down the way to someone asking for "Batikh"
The party at the table on the steps below us left, leaving some chicken. Stray cats hopped over the wall scavenging on their table. I pointed it out to Erica and we laughed. Another waiter brought us "batikh" (melon). As we feasted on our watermelon and Jordanian melon (a delicious melon that tastes something between a honeydew and an ambrosia melon) I reflected that no amount of luxury and hospitality can keep the cats out of the terrace and no amount of cleanliness and restaurant staff will keep the bug, writing on its back, out of the bathroom.