War and Cookies

Sometimes, as I am sure all of my readers know, an event will come along so simple in nature and yet so profound in impact and irony that it forces you to tilt your head to the side and laugh at what the world throws at you.  I had one such experience today.
Wednesdays mean one thing at the College of Europe (the same thing Mondays and Fridays mean) ham and cheese night at the canteen.  Not wanting to subject myself to a questionable meal yet again, I decided to indulge my American cravings and head to Subway for a 6 inch Spicy Italian sub.  I walked into the tiny establishment directly on the Markt and asked for my sandwich on the only bread they were out of (figures).  So I switched to wheat and proceeded to ask for cheese, but please, don't toast the sub.  At this point, the young man behind the counter asked me where I was from.  As this is a normal question for me by now, I answered "St. Louis, MO, in the U.S."  And, as I normally do, I said it with a smile.
Normally this is a conversation-starter, but my sandwich maker just looked slightly amused and went back to attempting to put tomatoes on my sandwich (please, anything but tomatoes!).  His English was very good and not at all infiltrated by Flemish, so I asked him where he was from.
He smiled at this and said "Actually, I am from Iraq."  After we both let this sink in for a few seconds, he stopped and said "This is where it gets awkward, right?"
Had I any less self-control I am sure I would have found myself on the floor laughing at the utter absurdity of what was happening; instead, I responded "Not necessarily.  There is no reason for awkward.  We're just two people, making a sandwich."  But admittedly, if ever there was a time to whip out the awkward turtle, it was then.  In an effort to move the conversation on, I requested mustard on my sandwich.  Alas, they stopped selling mustard because "Americans were the only ones who ever asked for it."  This time I was laughing.
Sooooo . . . "How long have you lived in Belgium?" I asked.
"About 16 years" he responded.
"Nice; so are you here with the rest of your family?  Or are they still in Iraq?"
"I live here with my brother" he said.  "My father is back in Iraq because he was just elected to the parliament this past election cycle.  So, obviously he has to be there."
"Wow, that's awesome" I replied; thoroughly impressed. (In my mind I was trying to figure out the odds of an American meeting an Iraqi parliamentarian's son in the middle of Belgium.  Not high.)
"So what is an American doing in Bruges?" he asked.
This time, I really did laugh out loud while attempting to say  "Studying international relations and diplomacy.  Pile on the irony," I laughed.    
He saw the irony too and laughed right along with me.  (The amount of irony you can cram into one room is astounding.  We could have killed a small elephant, I am sure.)
As I was paying for my sandwich, he smiled and said "I'll give you a free cookie today."
I smiled back and said "Now that's diplomacy."
So he placed my double chocolate chunk cookie in a bag and said "you should come back."
I said "it was a pleasure talking with you, I promise I'll be back for more diplomacy."

So in a Subway, in the center of Bruges, an Iraqi and an American solved our countries' differences with better diplomacy than I have seen exercised in the past 9 years.  Sometimes, all it takes is a free cookie.

Peace, Love, and Waffles.