Morocco, Land of No Straight Answer (with update)

Setting: Hostel in the Medina of Casablanca. Dirty, moist and cheap. Breakfast counter.
Time: 8 am; Moroccan Time (same as London time; 5 hours ahead of EST.)
Characters: Me and the Hostel Employee (owner?)
Language: French

-I would like to pay for another night
-No.
-Huh?
-That is impossible
-Why?
-Do you have a hostel card?
-No...
-Then you cannot stay
-Why?
-Those are the rules
-Whose rules?
-(angry now) Please go to the reception desk. You will be attended there

The hostel employee, the man with the crippled hand, puts down the baguette and tea that he is holding and follows me to the reception counter. He proceeds to walk behind the counter and stare at me, a smile on his face, seemingly friendly now...

-Yes? May I help you?
-I'd like a bed for tonight:
-Impossible.
-Why?
-Do you have a youth hostel ID card?
-No, but I don't see what this matters
-And if someone with an ID card comes and there are no beds? What do you think I do then?
-But there are plenty of beds...
-Plenty of Beds!? (snort)
-Yes, my room was nearly empty last night...There were six empty beds...
-You think that you can come here with a guitar and play and stay here? No! Leave!
-Oh...the real reason comes out now.
-Yes, the real reason comes out now. Now you must leave.

(Note: The previous evening (last night), I had met the French guys with whom I shared a room. We played guitar for approximately 15 minutes. These actions were okayed by the same man, who informed me that there was no problem as long as we stopped at the time of curfew (11 pm), which we did.)

Back to the scene: I rush back to my room, pack my bags in less than a minute, leave the room and slam the door angrily. The man rushes over to me, livid.

-Why did you close the door like that?
-Why can't I stay here?
-Why did you close the door like that?
-This is ridiculous and I am very angry!
-Leave now before I call the police! Allez-vous! Allez!

Never before have I so easily pissed off a business owner or hostel employee...Never before have I so easily burned a bridge. This would all be perfectly understandable if I was a stupid, drunken American returning home past curfew to jam out to Freebird with my 'bros. On the contrary, the strongest drink I've had in Morocco has been a mint tea, and the French guy playing the guitar was quietly and skillfully playing gypsy tunes...

Apparently I am fertile soil for cultural misunderstandings...Let's hope this does not continue...

Luckily, I found a new place in 5 minutes with an Irish guy, also pissed off at the hostel employees (who are apparently famous for being assholes...I had read this in Lonely Planet but figured that it couldn't be all that bad)

Still, I am up to this point loving the place...Friendliness is the norm in the street, the sights and sounds and smells are exciting, the coffee is strong and delicious, everything is cheap, and the girl next to me in the cyber-cafe just offered me dates...A fine combination, and good omens for the voyage...

More soon...Hopefully photos, although I'm still in culturally shy mode...Au revoir.

UPDATE (in answer to questions)

dates, in the above passage, refers to the fruit, not to numerous amorous encounters. However, depending on how one interprets the offering of fruit, this could be code for something else.

the guitar that I have brought along is a Martin Backpacker guitar and is not in the least encumbering.

I have heard the words 'welcome' and 'hello' more times than I can count.