Setting: A breezy Friday evening in Riyadh. Two longtime friends, Ahmed (the superstitious one) and Faisal (the rational one), are sitting on a rooftop sipping gahwa (Arabic coffee) and nibbling on dates.
Ahmed: (sniffles slightly) Bro, today at the park, I said “dastur” before pouring out my leftover tea near a tree, and the guy next to me gave me the weirdest look. Like I was summoning a Pokémon or something.
Faisal: (laughing) Maybe he thought you were casting a spell. “Dastur! I choose you, Jinnachu!”
Ahmed: Come on, I’m serious. You know it’s a tradition for a reason. We’re not supposed to pour hot liquids or pee outside without warning the jinn. Otherwise, they get angry—might even possess you.
Faisal: Possess you? Ahmed, you’ve watched too many late-night horror stories on MBC 2. There’s no scientific proof for jinn getting third-degree burns from your Karak chai.
Ahmed: Bro, forget science. My cousin Tariq once didn’t say dastur before peeing behind a palm tree in Al Qassim. That night, he couldn’t sleep. He kept hearing whispers. His toe even swelled up like a balloon.
Faisal: So a mosquito bite and some desert wind equals a jinn vendetta now?
Ahmed: You’re mocking, but that’s how people end up in trouble. You think all those old stories are just fiction?
Faisal: I think they’re stories that made sense in context. Before people understood hygiene, bacteria, or mental illness, anything strange was blamed on jinn. Think about it—why would an invisible being care about where you pour your Lipton?
Ahmed: Respect, man. Saying “dastur” isn’t just fear—it’s etiquette. It’s like knocking before entering a room. What if the jinn are chilling there?
Faisal: Then they should get a “No Hot Liquids” sign like everyone else. Look, I get it. You want to respect unseen things. But wouldn’t it be more helpful to, say, teach kids about not urinating near water sources because of pollution and disease?
Ahmed: Sure, but why can’t it be both? Science and respect for the unseen?
Faisal: Because one is based on evidence, the other on fear. I mean, if saying “dastur” works, why stop there? Maybe say it before microwaving your shawarma—maybe there’s a jinn in the microwave. Poor guy.
Ahmed: Don’t joke like that! Wallah, these things aren’t something to mess with. My grandma swears she saw a jinn once sitting in her pantry. She said he looked like a cat wearing a tiny ghutra.
Faisal: (laughing hard) A cat wearing a ghutra?! Was it also sipping gahwa and checking WhatsApp?
Ahmed: Bro. You laugh, but people who mocked jinn in the past had weird things happen. One guy in Tabuk mocked them and the next day he tripped into a cactus. Coincidence?
Faisal: Definitely coincidence. You know how many people trip in Tabuk? Dry ground, flip-flops, and bad luck.
Ahmed: So you’re saying you’ll never say “dastur”?
Faisal: Nope. Not unless I’m trying to prank someone. Or start a band named “Dastur and the Hot Liquids.”
Ahmed: Honestly, that sounds like a metal band from Bahrain.
Faisal: Exactly! But look, Ahmed, I don’t mind if you say it. If it gives you peace of mind, cool. But don’t let fear of jinn dictate how you live your life. Fear is the real possession.
Ahmed: Hmmm. That’s deep. Like, TED Talk deep.
Faisal: “Today I’m going to talk about peeing in the desert…”
Ahmed: (laughing) Okay okay, how about this? I’ll keep saying dastur, but I’ll also start carrying sanitizer and explaining to my nephews about bacteria. Deal?
Faisal: Deal. And I promise not to mock—unless the jinn shows up wearing a bisht.
Ahmed: That’s fair. But if he does, we’re charging entry.
[End Scene]
Science Vs Superstition 
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