Asmaa El Saleh
$25/hr
Translation from English into Arabic and from Arabic into English
- Reply rate:
- -
- Availability:
- Full-time (40 hrs/wk)
- Location:
- Dallas, Texas, United States
- Experience:
- 10 years
Yesterday’s
sweetmeats
There
were
two
distinct
brands
of
candy
in
my
day:
the
candy
you
bought
in
the
drug
store
on
Sunday,
when
the
candy
shops
were
closed,
and
the
weekday,
or
Colored
Corrosion,
brand,
which,
according
to
all
present-‐
day
standards
of
pure
food,
should
have
set
up
a
bright
green
fermentation,
with
electric
lights,
in
the
epiglottises
of
nine-‐tenths
of
the
youth
of
that
time.
We
can
dismiss
the
Sunday
drug-‐store
candy
with
a
word,
for
it
was
bought
only
once
a
week
and
then
only
for
lack
of
something
better.
Its
flavor
was
not
enhanced
by
the
fact
that
it
was
kept
in
tall
glass
jars,
like
appendixes,
down
at
the
end
of
the
store
where
the
prescriptions
were
filled,
and
consequently
always
had
a
faint
suspicion
of
spirits
of
niter
and
sod.
bicarb.
about
it.
It
was
on
week
days
that
the
real
orgy
of
poisoned
and
delicious
candy
took
place,
a
dissipation
which
was
to
make
a
nation
of
dyspeptics
of
the
present
generation
of
business
men
and
political
leaders.
The
one
which
haunts
my
memory
most
insistently
is
a
confection
called
the
“wine
cup”,
a
cone-‐shaped
bit
of
colored
sugar
filled
with
some
villainous
fluid
which,
when
bitten,
ran
down
over
the
chin
and
on
the
necktie.
It
was
capped
by
a
dingy
piece
of
marshmallow
which
was
supposed
to
be
removed
with
the
teeth
before
drinking
the
ambrosia
within,
but
usually
at
the
first
nibble
the
whole
structure
collapsed,
with
the
result
that
inveterate
“wine-‐cup”
consumers
had
a
telltale
coating
of
sugared
water
down
the
front
of
the
coat,
and,
on
a
cold
day,
a
slight
glaze
of
ice
on
the
chin.
What
went
on
in
the
stomach
no
one
knows,
but
it
does
not
make
a
very
pretty
picture
for
the
imagination.
Another
novelty
was
an
imitation
fried
egg
in
a
small
frying
pan,
the
whole
sticky
mess
to
be
dug
out
with
a
little
tin
spoon
which
always
bent
double
at
the
first
application
and
had
to
be
thrown
away.
The
procedure
from
then
on
was
to
extract
the
so-‐called
“egg”
with
the
teeth,
with
the
chin
jammed
firmly
into
the
lower
part
of
the
“frying
pan”
as
a
fulcrum.
This,
too,
left
its
mark
on
the
habitué,
the
smear
sometimes
extending
as
high
up
as
the
forehead
if
the
nose
was
very
small,
as
it
usually
was.
The
little
mottoes,
in
the
shape
of
tiny
hearts,
which
carried
such
varied
sentiments
as
“I
Love
You,”
“Skiddoo,”
”Kick
Me,”
and
“Kiss
Me
Quick,”
were
probably
harmless
enough
in
their
make-‐up,
but
transporting
them
from
shop
to
school
and
around
the
town
loose
in
the
pocket
soon
rendered
them
grimy
and
covered
with
“gnirs”
(a
“gnir”
is
a
little
particle
of
wool
found
in
the
bottom
of
pockets,
especially
constructed
for
adhering
to
candies)
and
unfit
for
anything
involving
an
aesthetic
sense.
Worst
of
all
was
the
“prize
package,”
a
cone
of
old
newspaper
containing
the
odds
and
ends
of
the
day’s
refuse—hard
marshmallows
with
enough
thumbprints
on
them
to
convict
the
candy
dealer
ten
times
over,
quantities
of
tired
popcorn
which
had
originally
been
pink,
strange
little
oddments
of
green
and
red
sugar,
and,
as
the
prize,
either
a
little
piece
of
tin
in
the
approximate
shape
of
a
horse
or
a
button
reading
“Bust
the
Trusts.”
And
so,
regardless
of
the
present
generation’s
freedom
and
reputed
wildness,
I
will
take
a
chance
on
their
stomachs
being
in
better
shape
at
forty
than
mine
is,
for
bootleg
alcohol,
whatever
its
drawbacks,
takes
away
that
craving
for
sweets
which
was
the
ruin
of
my
generation.
Robert
Benchley
