The sewing guru came over this morning. Phew. It wasn't me. The machine was broken. Go figure...
Immediately boxed the serger back up, called for a car and driver and went to the store I got it from. I bought the machine at a watch store. From the outside you would never know they sell sewing machines and thread. They sell watches, knives [hunting knives? or murder weapons] expensive sun glasses and sewing machines. Interesting combination. Someone was smart enough to realize that there are a lot of quilter's here [lots of 'em on our compound - I am not one of them] and the store has a selection of 110 and 220 volt machines. Good to know if I ever need a new sewing machine that I have options. Not, willing, however to part with my 20-something year old Singer and thankfully I don't have to. The shop also does sewing machine repairs.
Had a brand new driver this morning. He has been here six months. How scary for him - to come to a strange country and be thrust into driving, here. I'll give him this: he is a fast learner. We chatted - his English was fairly good - and he said, "The driving is very bad, here, Madam. The Saudi's do not follow the rules." Wonder how long it took him to come to that realization.
Anyway, into the watch/knife/sunglasses/sewing machine store with my serger all boxed up and my receipt from two days ago when I bought it. I explained to the Filipino clerk/worker that I had just bought the machine and that it doesn't work. He opened the box and started inspecting my "threading" job. It is threaded perfectly. It is the motor. It runs - makes noise - but the needles don't move. Plug it in - and you'll see. The worker didn't want to listen to anything I had to say. Finally another clerk plugged it in and then the Filipino clerk said, "it is not working, Madam." Duh! Didn't I just tell you that? Why, yes, I did.
So he says, "We will fix it and you can come back in one hour." Umm. No. You will give me a new machine or you will give me my money back. "Yes, Madam. It will be repaired in one hour." No! I am not going to come back in one hour. Do you understand that I can't just jump in my car and drive down here on my own? And I don't want a "repaired" brand-new machine. I want a brand new machine that works. Now. He told me I must speak to the manager. Okay. Get the manager then. The manager, a Saudi, was very nice and said, "Go get a new one for her." Thank you. I insisted on opening it and trying it to make sure it worked before leaving. Perfect working order. So glad that the other one was broken - well, not really - but at least it wasn't just me being totally "blonde" or inept.
Now, to once again thread this one and get going on a couple of projects that have been lingering for far too long...
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I thought that you were exaggerating about the driving, but the two weeks I spent being driven around the sandbox were like perpetually being in a car chase movie. I thought that we had reckless drivers where I live, but I am used to only one hair-raising moment on the road every six months or so. In Saudi, almost every car trip was punctuated by some other driver abruptly sliding across lanes, stopping short, trying to pass when inappropriate, racing past you had extremely high speed or other behavior. I rarely saw turn signals being used.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, I didn't hear as many car horns as I remember. What's with that?
What I say is that you have to see it to believe it - the driving, that is. DH does not consider it a successful trip downtown unless we almost get into an accident. I don't watch any more. It is too scary. You must have hit all the lights green to not hear horns - or you were in a sound-proof car. Lights are red - everyone is waiting - the countdown is at 2 seconds to go before turning green - horns start blaring.
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