Oh, yeah… It’s soooo good to be home!
Savannah was nice. Savannah is actually very nice. It is a beautiful old city with plenty to do and I thoroughly enjoyed myself every day of the seven I was there. My husband was there for some company business three weeks prior to my joining him, and continued working the entire time I was there. So I amused myself and found plenty to do. Even the one afternoon it rained I sat in the hotel bar met lots of nice people, including an employee named Elena from Russia who I have decided would make a wonderful wife for my son if it should happen to not work out with the young lady he is currently involved with [who he loved dearly until I told him that I actually liked her!]. I shopped; I explored the old tree and moss lined streets with the beautiful stately homes [mansions!]. I ate – way too much – but all the good things I’ve missed while here in The Sandbox – the very first night – baby back ribs! They were absolutely fabulous. And I drank. There are probably a few bottles of Sterling Cabernet left in Savannah in some of the more remote stores and restaurants, but when we left there was none left in the immediate “downtown” vicinity. Savannah’s weather was absolutely perfect [but for the one rainy afternoon – and it didn’t even start to rain until I put my bathing suit on to head to the pool – but of course…], in the upper-80’s, low-90’s every day, some humidity, but not unbearable.
After my husband was done with company business we headed to Buffalo where my parents are. They are actually outside of Buffalo, in the very western part of the state in a teeny, tiny little town which is only on the map during the summer, right on Lake Chautauqua. It is a summer “resort” area and come Labor Day, the sidewalks are all rolled up and put away until the following Memorial Day. How my parents have lived there year-round for so many years amazes me. Upstate New York in the winter – which lasts for a full seven months – is utterly dreadful. Cold, gray, dreary. Depressing. It snows every single day. It is called “lake effect” snow. Call it whatever you want; it still needs shoveled – plowed – and it’s still cold. Very cold! So, we had a perfect five days there and took advantage of the beautiful summer weather. I laid on the dock and worked on my tan and my husband worked on the golf course chasing a little white ball around [no, I don’t play – I tried – it takes “hand-eye” coordination and I have zero]. We visited with other family members; played catch-up with an aunt and a cousin I’ve not seen in almost twenty years. We spent a glorious day at Niagra Falls on the Canadian side, and really, this should be included in one of the Seven Wonders of the World and it isn’t.
From Buffalo we headed to Maryland where one of my sister’s and her family live. It was here that for the first time in sixteen years – yes, sixteen years – that my ENTIRE family – all nineteen of us – got together for a family picture. There have been many, many family gatherings in the past sixteen years, but someone has always been missing for some reason or another. I hope my parents aren’t too disappointed with us all – there are four of us – children – and along with our respective spouses we only produced nine grandchildren for them – and if my brother’s wife wouldn’t have had twins then there would be only eight. My Dad’s sister has twice that many, and his brother has twice that many plus some more. We aren’t a very big family…
After a few days in Maryland we finally headed to what we call “home,” even though we don’t have a home there anymore – Wake Forest, North Carolina. The almost two weeks we spent there flew by. Zoom. Whoosh. Vacation was over and it was time to pack up and head back to The Sandbox. However, while “home,” did attend to some of the straggling “loose ends” that never seem to end – dealing with the bank – we’ve been in Saudi for almost four years now, and even though we have filled out the appropriate documentation, sent letters and e-mails and made repeated, lengthy and costly telephone calls some of our “bank” mail goes to Sudan! – and it was during our last week in Savannah when we found out that one of our credit cards was cancelled because apparently some “bank data” was jeopardized so the bank sent new credit cards to everyone involved and our credit card was sent to Sudan and then returned – but we were actually paying for dinner one evening when we discovered the original card that we had in our possession had been cancelled – that makes for an interesting situation – and thankfully we have more than one credit card. We had to take care of our mail forwarding [mail goes to a “agent” who then forwards everything to us on a monthly basis], get the boat registered, and of course, as always while we are in the States get a shipment ready to send here. Hopefully sometime next week this shipment will be here – and this particular shipment consists of 484 pounds and will cost almost a Thousand Dollars. Four hundred pounds of this shipment is dry dog food. It’s just part of the cost of living in the Middle East. You pay what you have to pay.
It is a long trip home. A very long trip. On the day we left Raleigh, North Carolina, we checked into the airport at about one o’clock for a three o’clock flight to Detroit. We sat in Detroit for almost two hours. From Detroit we went to Amsterdam where we only had about an hour and a half before getting on the plane to Bahrain – but not before going to Abu Dhabi – which added some two and a half hours to our flying time – not because Abu Dhabi is so far – it’s only a fifty minute flight from Bahrain – but once in Abu Dhabi they had to service the plane and pick-up additional passengers. It was almost eleven o’clock when we finally, finally dragged our sorry selves through the front door – after a total travel time of twenty-seven hours.
We arrived to a very, very quite house. The “Kids” were at the kennel. This was the first time we’ve ever come home to such quiet, as in the past The Boy has been here with the House Assistant – the addition of The Baby only happened this past spring while I was in the States for most of February and all of March – so she has never stayed with him. I have no more House Assistant. I fired him on July 1st, six days before I left. He just wasn’t doing his job. Oh, sure, I could have “talked” to him again; we’ve had many conversations in the past where I’ve said “these are your responsibilities and this is what I expect.” And, for several weeks, things will go along just fine, and then we have to have “the talk” again. I’m done. No more talking. It’s detailed… On Wednesday, June 28th, I said “today is floor day,” and he actually gave ME a hard time about it. Wait a minute, here… This is my house. This is what I want done. You are my employee. And, you’re going to argue with me about washing the kitchen den hallway bathroom floor? Umm, no. It was an on-going issue – what needed to be done and what actually got done. My House Assistant’s schedule was that he worked for us seventeen hours a week – in the mornings – and this house should have been immaculate – and it just isn’t – wasn’t. I spent that Thursday and Friday just seething about the whole situation and decided that I just wasn’t going to have “it.” I started making a list of all the times we’ve “talked” and all things we “talked” about. It is three pages long. When the “cons” outweigh the “pros” by two and a half pages, it’s time to make a change. Well, firing the House Assistant, right before I left, probably wasn’t the most optimal way to handle this, and I had to put the Kids in Canine Camp for almost an entire month, but I knew that with the in the kennel – here on our compound – that I wouldn’t have to worry about how much time the House Assistant was spending with them, whether they were getting fed on time, and whether or not they were safe.
Maybe I’ll go into detail on the House Assistant issue at a later time. I am still very, very angry over this whole issue. The bottom line is, however, that I hired someone – he’s been with us almost three years – treated him much better than a lot of household help here gets treated, paid him more than I should have, and I was taken advantage of, over and over and over. I will not have household help again for a while. I just don’t want to go through this again.
So, after just a few hours of sleep, I woke up before the sun, anxious to get to the kennel – which doesn’t open until seven o’clock – to collect my Kids. As I am about to leave the house – it’s 6:45 in the morning – I see this puddle of what looks like “yellow” water on the den floor, along the wall. I am questioning what it is I spilled – it’s not coffee and it’s not from one of the Kids [they aren’t here!] – and was it there last night? Hmmph. Okay, wipe it up with a couple of paper towels, run upstairs to grab my wallet and “put my lips on,” and when I get back downstairs, there is more yellow water. What is going on? Oh, my, the neighbors must be having some plumbing problems. I head out the door and ring the neighbor’s doorbell. No answer. Ring again. Oh well, no answer. Whatever. I jump in the truck [it’s a Land Rover – I call it a truck] to go to the kennel to get the Kids. They are THRILLED to see me – and I am THRILLED to see them! It was a very touching reunion. We get in the truck and come home. We walk in the door and the den and kitchen floors are soaked! Water is just running into my house from next door. I start throwing some old towels down to cover the floor. Uh-oh. The carpet in the dining room is wet, too! It is “squishing” when you walk over it. Great. Just great. I don’t have that many old towels and I really don’t want to use nice towels to clean up something I’m not even quite sure what it is. As I head out the door to go back to the neighbor’s – the Kids are racing through the house – racing through the water – and someone is going to get hurt! – the House Assistant from next door is running toward me – his arms waving wildly and telling me a pipe broke and he doesn’t know who to call. [There is no less than four inches of water on the floor of the townhouse next to ours – the Oriental carpets have got to be ruined – as well as some of the furniture! They have two little “yip-yip” dogs next door and the poor little things are swimming in the water. I make the call to “202” and tell them it is an emergency and they have to come right away. They do. They send plumbers, a truck that sucks water out of your house, a team of men to “squeegee” the house next door and rip up the little carpet they have there – it is mostly tile. Several hours later the same team heads to our house to do the same thing. It is just one big mess.
In the meantime, as I am trying to unpack and get semi-situated back at home, with the Kids, I notice some black pellet looking “droppings.” I think I must have a rat. Great. I’ve seen one rat here – thankfully it was not alive at the time – and it was not pretty. And, now I’ve got one? Oh no, this is NOT good. I call “202” again and they send “pest control.” They little man gets here and says, “Oh, Madam, you have a rat.” Yeah, like I said on the phone when I called. And, gee, thanks for confirming this for me. “We must send someone with a trap.” Yeah, like I said on the phone when I called. So, a little while later another man gets here and he takes one look at the little black pellet looking things and says, “it is a gecko.” Are you sure? Because the man that was just here said I have a rat. “Oh, no, Madam, it is a gecko.” And, to prove this he starts squishing the little black pellet looking things with his finger – on the floor! Eeeuww! “See, Madam, they are soft and contain bugs. It is a gecko. Rat droppings are very hard and you cannot squish them.” Yeah, well, okay then. Now what? “He will leave, Madam, he will not like the cold air [huh?] and wants to be outside.” Sure he does… Not to worry, The Boy will find him if he’s here, because he is after all, the World’s Best Lizard Chaser! The Boy won’t catch the lizard, but I’ll know when he finds the lizard because of the ruckus it will cause. The little black pellet looking things have been cleaned up and there have been no more, so if there was a gecko in this house he’s either hiding somewhere and making a mess elsewhere or he has decided he doesn’t like it here and he has left or I guess, he could be under the stove or one of the refrigerators and dead at this point. There’s no awful smell coming from under any of my appliances so I’m hoping that he has left, gone back outside to the almost unbearable heat and humidity we’re experiencing.
It’s soooo good to be home!
Showing posts with label Maintenance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Maintenance. Show all posts
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
DSL Hook-Up
We now have DSL. Got it today – the nice man came at 8:45 this morning – and refused to come in until, of course, the “Kids” were “put away.” The Boy – I’ve said before – goes to his crate, happily, when he is told to. The Baby – HA! Runs for her dear, sweet little life if she thinks she is about to be put into her “torture chamber.” No matter. I put The Baby on her leash – got her all excited – she, is, of course, thinking “Walk Time!” This, naturally, makes The Boy go NUTS seeing that The Baby has a leash on and even though he is in his Happy Place that he is NOT going is not going over well with him, at all… Hopefully he was relieved to find out that all I did was walk The Baby upstairs to show the nice computer man where our computer is and where our telephone jack is. The nice computer man, apparently, was unable to concentrate with The Baby [who weighs all of forty pounds – she’s a six month old puppy for goodness sake!] in the same general vicinity. I had to lock The Baby in the kitchen – so now both Kids are barking, crying…
I know I’ve posted already about what a wonderful thing is it that we can dial “202” and have maintenance come and fix about anything, almost immediately. Well – they come – but don’t necessarily fix it whatever it is – and often this requires several visits from lots of different little laborers imported from a variety of countries.
We have a similar number to “IT” and we dial it and they “fix” whatever it is. A couple of months ago, when we got the new computer that I didn’t know we needed, with the big flat screen, the wireless keyboard and wireless mouse, and NO diskette drive, we called to get a DSL hook-up – we’ve been using dial-up. Yesterday I get a call that they have made it down the list of 450-something installations – and it’s our turn, finally – and that the DSL would be installed this morning at nine o’clock. I’ll give the workers in The Sandbox this – they are almost always early – unlike in the States where when they say your cable will be hooked up on whatever date – and they can’t give you a time…
The nice computer man is here for a little less than an hour. He says, “You are finished.” [I had no idea how much he meant this, at the time!] He clicked on the little “Explorer” icon and said, “You put this on – that is all you do.” Okay, maybe the English lacks some – but they are almost always early! And, the nice computer man leaves and I release the Kids from their misery.
About an hour later, I come upstairs, sit down at the computer and “put this on,” or “click” the “Explorer” icon. I get an error message. I can’t even recall exactly what it said, but I couldn’t get on-line, at all. I am not happy. I am no longer calling the computer man the “nice” computer man. I call the IT people. I tell them that my DSL was just hooked up, that the man left an hour ago, and now, I can’t get on my computer. I go through this exact same conversation with about a half dozen people over the course of an hour and a half. It is now almost one o’clock and I feel as though I have done nothing constructive with my day so far but try to explain what my computer is doing – and try – I tried so hard, I really, really did – to do whatever it was the IT people were telling me to do. I ended up, with the last guy, just losing it. It couldn’t be helped. He was telling me to do things much too fast – go here, do this, click on this – no right click – “tools,” no “properties.” What? “Which one was I supposed to click first?” It was useless. His parting words to me were to shut everything down and turn it back on in ten minutes and call back. WTF?!?
Speechless. He left me just speechless. No – I had plenty to say – but I was off in high-gear headed to the point of no return in my rage! Just fuming. Can’t describe it in words. Knew that I had to take a break – couldn’t work on the problem any more at that point. I knew I’d end up saying – or worse – doing something that I would later regret. So, went without a computer for the entire afternoon. Later – around four or so – I called the IT desk back. Explained the problem, explained that I’d spent an hour and a half on the phone earlier and no one seemed to be able to help me, blah, blah, blah. Finally, got “Agent #21’s” supervisor on the phone – he had a name – not a number [they use “Agent #16, #11, #34 when you talk to them – I don’t blame them though – because if people like me could identify them by name and find out where they live…]. So I talk to the supervisor. He promises to call me right back, “In Shallah.”
I know what “In Shallah” means! It means, “God Willing” and the moons all line up, and the day doesn’t end in “Y” and it starts snowing, you will get a call back. That was all it took. I went over the edge. I could barely talk. I ended up muttering through semi-hysterical sobs that this place doesn’t know how to do anything, that it takes eleven people to fix a dryer and a freezer, that it takes five refrigerator deliveries to get a freezer that is not broken or that fits, that the computer guy screwed up my computer and I don’t want to click and do stuff anymore I want someone to come fix it – at my house – right now – that it’s hardly my fault that I have no communication with the outside world and now the only communication I have they have taken away from me. WAAAWWAA!!! The guy tells me I need to calm down – that he will call me back – he promises. Yeah, calm down. Right…
He does call back. He tells me that he has spoken with his supervisor – there are always more supervisors here than workers – it’s the way it is – and that there is nothing they can do until the next business day. WHAT?!? Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!!! This is a long weekend! I don’t know what Saturday is, here, but it’s a holiday, so you’re telling me that no one is going to be able to help me until Sunday? No. I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s thinking in the ten minutes we’ve been off the phone that I’ve had time to calm down and return to being a “normal, sane” person. He is wrong. He is really, really, really wrong! I almost feel sorry for him – nah, I don’t either – it was his fault for saying it would be Sunday until I could get my problem fixed… Yes, I might have said a few things I regret…
“You are going to leave me with this problem until Sunday, I have no way to go anywhere, I can’t just jump in my car and drive to the nearest ‘internet café’ to use a computer, and I wouldn’t be able to use one even if I could drive – or take a cab – because they are for men only! What kind of Country is this, why does everything everyone touches here just make things worse, and how can things possibly get any worse than they are?” I went on… It wasn’t pretty. “Okay. Fine. If Sunday is the best you can do, then I guess I don’t have much of a choice, pretty much like everything else here – my feet are tied together tighter than you ever tied a camel’s feet – women have no choices here – and for God’s sake if there was Vodka available then we’d all be alcoholics because that’s just the way things are here – YOU make us want to drink – and if everything wasn’t such a problem which you create for yourselves then this Country would be a lot further along than it is – and don’t even bother getting someone to fix my DSL on Sunday – just hook my computer back up the way it is and save me the aggravation that is just going to get worse because no one has a fucking clue in this place!” Slam! Conversation over. [That’s pretty much a general description of how the conversation went – I don’t have a recording of it to transcribe, but I know it was probably recorded – and I should care, but don’t at this point. They say on the recording when you call, “This conversation could be recorded for training purposes…” Train this, why don’t you!]
I did get a call back a few minutes later. It was the “nice” computer man that was here this morning. He wanted to know what the problem was… I explained, as rationally, as possible, at the time, and said that I needed it fixed, that someone has to come here and fix it. He asked me when? What? When?!? NOW!!! He was here in about thirty minutes, and for the time being, I think the problem is fixed. It’s a temporary fix. I don’t expect it to last long… That’s the way things are here. It took over a week to get a new refrigerator delivered – when all I had was a broken freezer door – they delivered several – it was an unbelievable parade of refrigerators coming in – and going out – and more work than it was worth. It took ten different men to fix my dryer hose. Do you honestly think that I think that my computer is fixed? Yeah, right! In Shallah…
I know I’ve posted already about what a wonderful thing is it that we can dial “202” and have maintenance come and fix about anything, almost immediately. Well – they come – but don’t necessarily fix it whatever it is – and often this requires several visits from lots of different little laborers imported from a variety of countries.
We have a similar number to “IT” and we dial it and they “fix” whatever it is. A couple of months ago, when we got the new computer that I didn’t know we needed, with the big flat screen, the wireless keyboard and wireless mouse, and NO diskette drive, we called to get a DSL hook-up – we’ve been using dial-up. Yesterday I get a call that they have made it down the list of 450-something installations – and it’s our turn, finally – and that the DSL would be installed this morning at nine o’clock. I’ll give the workers in The Sandbox this – they are almost always early – unlike in the States where when they say your cable will be hooked up on whatever date – and they can’t give you a time…
The nice computer man is here for a little less than an hour. He says, “You are finished.” [I had no idea how much he meant this, at the time!] He clicked on the little “Explorer” icon and said, “You put this on – that is all you do.” Okay, maybe the English lacks some – but they are almost always early! And, the nice computer man leaves and I release the Kids from their misery.
About an hour later, I come upstairs, sit down at the computer and “put this on,” or “click” the “Explorer” icon. I get an error message. I can’t even recall exactly what it said, but I couldn’t get on-line, at all. I am not happy. I am no longer calling the computer man the “nice” computer man. I call the IT people. I tell them that my DSL was just hooked up, that the man left an hour ago, and now, I can’t get on my computer. I go through this exact same conversation with about a half dozen people over the course of an hour and a half. It is now almost one o’clock and I feel as though I have done nothing constructive with my day so far but try to explain what my computer is doing – and try – I tried so hard, I really, really did – to do whatever it was the IT people were telling me to do. I ended up, with the last guy, just losing it. It couldn’t be helped. He was telling me to do things much too fast – go here, do this, click on this – no right click – “tools,” no “properties.” What? “Which one was I supposed to click first?” It was useless. His parting words to me were to shut everything down and turn it back on in ten minutes and call back. WTF?!?
Speechless. He left me just speechless. No – I had plenty to say – but I was off in high-gear headed to the point of no return in my rage! Just fuming. Can’t describe it in words. Knew that I had to take a break – couldn’t work on the problem any more at that point. I knew I’d end up saying – or worse – doing something that I would later regret. So, went without a computer for the entire afternoon. Later – around four or so – I called the IT desk back. Explained the problem, explained that I’d spent an hour and a half on the phone earlier and no one seemed to be able to help me, blah, blah, blah. Finally, got “Agent #21’s” supervisor on the phone – he had a name – not a number [they use “Agent #16, #11, #34 when you talk to them – I don’t blame them though – because if people like me could identify them by name and find out where they live…]. So I talk to the supervisor. He promises to call me right back, “In Shallah.”
I know what “In Shallah” means! It means, “God Willing” and the moons all line up, and the day doesn’t end in “Y” and it starts snowing, you will get a call back. That was all it took. I went over the edge. I could barely talk. I ended up muttering through semi-hysterical sobs that this place doesn’t know how to do anything, that it takes eleven people to fix a dryer and a freezer, that it takes five refrigerator deliveries to get a freezer that is not broken or that fits, that the computer guy screwed up my computer and I don’t want to click and do stuff anymore I want someone to come fix it – at my house – right now – that it’s hardly my fault that I have no communication with the outside world and now the only communication I have they have taken away from me. WAAAWWAA!!! The guy tells me I need to calm down – that he will call me back – he promises. Yeah, calm down. Right…
He does call back. He tells me that he has spoken with his supervisor – there are always more supervisors here than workers – it’s the way it is – and that there is nothing they can do until the next business day. WHAT?!? Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!!! This is a long weekend! I don’t know what Saturday is, here, but it’s a holiday, so you’re telling me that no one is going to be able to help me until Sunday? No. I don’t think so. I’m sure he’s thinking in the ten minutes we’ve been off the phone that I’ve had time to calm down and return to being a “normal, sane” person. He is wrong. He is really, really, really wrong! I almost feel sorry for him – nah, I don’t either – it was his fault for saying it would be Sunday until I could get my problem fixed… Yes, I might have said a few things I regret…
“You are going to leave me with this problem until Sunday, I have no way to go anywhere, I can’t just jump in my car and drive to the nearest ‘internet café’ to use a computer, and I wouldn’t be able to use one even if I could drive – or take a cab – because they are for men only! What kind of Country is this, why does everything everyone touches here just make things worse, and how can things possibly get any worse than they are?” I went on… It wasn’t pretty. “Okay. Fine. If Sunday is the best you can do, then I guess I don’t have much of a choice, pretty much like everything else here – my feet are tied together tighter than you ever tied a camel’s feet – women have no choices here – and for God’s sake if there was Vodka available then we’d all be alcoholics because that’s just the way things are here – YOU make us want to drink – and if everything wasn’t such a problem which you create for yourselves then this Country would be a lot further along than it is – and don’t even bother getting someone to fix my DSL on Sunday – just hook my computer back up the way it is and save me the aggravation that is just going to get worse because no one has a fucking clue in this place!” Slam! Conversation over. [That’s pretty much a general description of how the conversation went – I don’t have a recording of it to transcribe, but I know it was probably recorded – and I should care, but don’t at this point. They say on the recording when you call, “This conversation could be recorded for training purposes…” Train this, why don’t you!]
I did get a call back a few minutes later. It was the “nice” computer man that was here this morning. He wanted to know what the problem was… I explained, as rationally, as possible, at the time, and said that I needed it fixed, that someone has to come here and fix it. He asked me when? What? When?!? NOW!!! He was here in about thirty minutes, and for the time being, I think the problem is fixed. It’s a temporary fix. I don’t expect it to last long… That’s the way things are here. It took over a week to get a new refrigerator delivered – when all I had was a broken freezer door – they delivered several – it was an unbelievable parade of refrigerators coming in – and going out – and more work than it was worth. It took ten different men to fix my dryer hose. Do you honestly think that I think that my computer is fixed? Yeah, right! In Shallah…
Saturday, June 17, 2006
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
The good: A simple phone call to “202” fixes any and all maintenance problems.
The bad: Today I had two minor maintenance situations and no less than eleven [11], yes, ELEVEN men have been here to fix them – two, simple, minor little maintenance problems.
The ugly: Me, at this point. Ugly beyond belief.
I have much to do in the next twenty days before leaving, again, for a short visit to the States – my third trip in six months. My list has six million three thousand and eleven “things to do” on it… So much to do, so little time… Deciding to eliminate two of those “things to do” off my list I called “202” first thing this morning to see about having the freezer door repaired and the dryer vent fixed.
Our refrigerator, supplied by housing, here, is probably going on thirty years old – it is at least twenty years old. It is one of those ‘fridge on the bottom, freezer on the top. Standard, basic model. No ice maker, no water dispenser. Nothing fancy. For three years now, I have lived with opening the freezer door and having whatever is on the bottom “shelf” of the actual door falling out onto the floor. The cheesy little metal bar that holds the items on the shelf was broken at some point before we moved in. Typically, I just pick up the frozen peas, the “kid” ice creams, and the box of Eggo’s that only has one waffle left in it, put the little metal bar back in, and then put the “stuff” back on this shelf. At this point, the metal bar is swimming in the holes where it is supported as the plastic molding has been chipped away little by little each time the bar falls out and is then replaced. When a can of frozen limeade fell out this past weekend and got me on the top of the foot, having this fixed made its way from being lost in the middle to the top of the “list.”
The dryer is another story. The vent hose – connected from the back of the dryer to the “hole” in the floor to blow the “hot air” outside has not stayed in place from the very beginning – from the day it was hooked up. My husband or my “house assistant” has to fix this for me almost every time I use the dryer [daily] as the hose “releases” itself and blows hot air into the kitchen. When it is 110 degrees outside, and your air conditioner is already working overtime, the very last thing you want blowing on you is hot air, especially if you have to be in the kitchen because you are cooking food for the “kids” to stock the freezer in preparation of departing for a short while, which I started working on yesterday and planned to continue working on today. So, having the dryer vent “fixed” became number two on the “list.”
The simple dialing of “202” is really something that can spoil a person. It is a good thing. If your hot water tank breaks at ten o’clock at night – someone from maintenance comes right away – and by eleven o’clock you will have a new hot water tank [if that’s the problem]. If your air conditioning goes, no matter what time it is, someone is dispatched to your abode, pronto! An air conditioning “break” constitutes an “emergency” here in The Sandbox. Pretty much whatever the problem – but for having the phone / computer outlet changed in the bedroom [see earlier column…] is taken care of in short order.
Certainly, but for maybe some sort of assisted living retirement home, or hotel, there is no place you could live in the States that I know of where you can simply dial three numbers and have a problem resolved, in a relatively short amount of time, even if it does require twenty different men to show up. Did I mention that this service is “free?” Well, free in the sense that we don’t pay for it; it is part of “housing” and the “company” takes care of it. Even when The Boy went through the sliding screen door, folded it in half, and completely tore the screen out of the frame, it cost us nothing to repair. Sure it cost something – the help that comes to fix the problem has to [hopefully] be paid, the cost of a new frame for the slider and screening, but we were not personally charged a penny. It is all good.
There was a situation with “big bugs,” really, really “big bugs,” that required several phone calls – somewhere close to twenty different repairmen, engineers, supervisors, metal workers, exterminators, glass fitters, photographers and whoever else, shortly after we first moved in, and took about a week to resolve. So, but for this one exception, calling the simple three digit number for maintenance has been great, and even this was taken care of, it just took longer than the usual customary “right away” timeframe…
I walked downstairs one morning into the kitchen and saw this “shadow” on the wall. I turned to see what it was and it was and screamed! It was a roach the size of a mouse – maybe even bigger! I am not kidding. [I’ve lived in Florida, I’ve seen what they call “palmetto bugs” which are actually roaches on steroids, but this roach was mutant!] I didn’t even want to kill it because of the noise I knew it would make – the little creature screaming in pain and agony, and then the “crunching” of its bones and body – but did end up grabbing one of my husband’s sneakers and attacking it. Yes, of course I felt bad – it was akin to killing a small animal – I probably could have named it and wouldn’t have had the get The Boy a sister this past February – but for the fact that there is not enough room in this townhouse for THAT bug and me.
When my husband finally got up later that morning, he asked what his sneaker was doing in the middle of the floor – he was sure I was going to say, “Hey, you left your shoes out – The Boy didn’t know it wasn’t a chew toy – and that’s why your sneaker is there.” I am incredibly tolerant of this type of thing – and there are no bad “kids” in this regard. My philosophy, with regard to “kids” is that if you want to make absolutely sure something you want or need isn’t going to be chewed, you need to take care of it or you are at fault. Of course, The Boy has never, ever chewed a sneaker – or any shoe – but I wouldn’t have blamed him if the sneakers did end up getting chewed when they weren’t in the closet or on a pair of feet where they belong. I explained to my husband that I put it there – the sneaker – and that he would have to clean up the mess – and he says, after sipping his coffee, “What mess?” To which I respond, “The mess of mangled bug blood and guts underneath your sneaker.” He’s a good man, my husband, and dutifully cleaned it up. [A really, really good man would have gotten out of bed when his wife screamed at the sight of the “critter” on the kitchen floor and come running down to save the “damsel in distress,” properly eliminating the scary little monster!] End of story…
Wrong. A few days later the dead bug’s big brother was in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, just waiting for me… There was no way I was going to be able to kill this one. First of all, my husband’s sneakers were no where in sight – I wasn’t stepping on it with only my flip-flops on – no way! – and there was NOTHING else readily at hand with which to maim this giant mutant cock roach, so he was able to escape to freedom without losing his life. I did, however, immediately call “202” and tell them that I needed an exterminator. The “interior” exterminator appeared a short time later. I told him about the “bug.” He probably didn’t have a clue what I was telling him, but he was able to spray the house and tell me that I needed to call “202” again and tell them that I need “outdoor” pest control, as there was a hole in one of our sliding glass doors that someone must have drilled for some reason and that is where he [the “interior” exterminator] thought the bugs must be coming in from.
Okay, fine. I called “202” and told them that I needed “outdoor pest control.” The next morning the man for “outdoor” pest control appeared and he sprayed outside. Afterward he pointed out the “hole” [it was more like a double-wide garage door for mutant cock roaches!] and patiently explained to me that unless I got the hole in the door fixed that I was not going to solve my problem. So I called “202” again, and after explaining what I had been told by the “interior” exterminator and the “outdoor” pest control men, finally got to speak to a “supervisor” that could help me. The supervisor made an appointment to come and see the problem. It only took him about three seconds to determine that there was in fact a problem, and one he did not have a simple solution for. [I suggested a new sliding door, but that, apparently was a far too simple solution and NOT the way things are done here.] This is when the various departments of men started showing up on a daily basis. First there was the glass guy – he had no suggestions to take care of this – he wanted “construction” to come – they did – then they sent some sort of engineer to look at the door – who, again, readily agreed that I had a problem but offered no solution. Another engineer – or door planner – or glass architect – whoever – came a short while later and took pictures. That afternoon someone else – metal worker of some sort – showed up to take measurements – he had two workers in tow with him. This went on for a week. However, finally a piece was designed to fit over the hole that would block these “visitors” from coming in without an invitation. [It sounds much more simple than it actually was, and but for drawing a diagram of the door – and showing where the “piece” was missing, just go along with a “hole that someone drilled.”] Truly there were no less than about twenty different repairmen, representing the full gamut of building professions – but for plumbing – all coming to simply fix a “hole in the door.” Yes, my “simple” suggestion of taking a sliding glass door off an empty unit for here – putting the door with the hole in it on an empty unit – doesn’t actually “solve” the problem, but it would have easily “solved” my problem.
Back to today… I get a maintenance “appointment” for 2:30 this afternoon. At 1P, the “appliance” man calls and says he is outside, can he look at my freezer now. Sure, come on in… I have to crate the “kids.” He’s petrified of them. Okay. Everyone is, not a big deal. So I round up the “kids.” The Boy happily trots into his crate – he is soooo good about this – The Baby, on the other hand, is still small enough to be incredibly nimble and limber that crating her requires quite a struggle on her part and my part – to do this – and it all has to be done very quickly – get her in it, get the door closed and get it latched – she HATES her crate – just HATES it! Poor little Girl… The appliance guy opens the freezer, sees the problem and says, “not good – cannot be fixed.” Okay, fine. Not my problem. The refrigerator comes with the house, and obviously I need one – a refrigerator. He calls his supervisor and explains that the freezer door cannot be repaired and that the entire unit needs to be replaced. This is now on order and it will be delivered within the next day or two. Great. List is already looking shorter, with only six million three thousand and ten “things to do” left on it…
At about 2:15 a “construction” crew from the Maintenance Department shows up. Yes, four men and a supervisor – all to fix my dryer vent. I dutifully send The Boy off to his crate, and chase, catch and crate The Baby. The construction “crew” comes in and we all crowd into the laundry closet – which of course is hot, because the hose isn’t connected to the vent properly and is blowing hot air out into the kitchen – so that I can explain the problem and tell the supervisor that no matter what we do – twisty-tie-thingy’s, duct tape, wire, super glue – nothing is keeping the hose connected to the vent that goes outside because the hose is so much bigger than the pipe we’re connecting it to. So with the six of us crowded into this little closet area, the “supervisor” pulls the dryer out and says, “The hose is not tight.” [No shit, Sherlock! Are you sure that’s the problem? Guess this is HOW you became the supervisor!] And, right in front of me, he proceeds to take the giant twisty-tie-thingy off the hose that is connected to the back of the dryer and attaches the hose to the floor vent with it, which NOW means that the hose is going to fall off the dryer! He moves the dryer back into place. I am trying to remain calm and not hurt him – explaining that I could have done that – but that this isn’t fixing the problem that as soon as I turn the dryer on the hose is going to fall off the back of the dryer and won’t be fixed. “Yes, madam. All fixed.” No [YOU IDIOT] it is not fixed! Now you’ve made it worse! “Oh, no, Madam. It is tight. All fixed.” As the supervisor and his entourage trot out, I am still rambling on that this has not taken care of the problem, that I need a new hose – one that FITS – and that I am just going to be calling them back, and what about the back of the dryer… and they have left and the door has shut.
I uncrate the “kids,” The Baby is going nuts, she’s been “locked in her prison cell” for all of five minutes, for the second time today! She is crying, barking, as if to say, “What have I done? Is there ANYTHING I have EVER done that could possibly justify my deserving such cruel and unusual punishment!?! I didn’t mean to chew the fig tree!!!” The Boy is just so mellow he could care less one way or another. I turn the dryer on. Two seconds later it is blowing hot air directly on me. I go to grab my duct tape to fix the back of the dryer myself. Incredibly, the gang that has just left has walked off with MY duct tape! I am starting to feel myself lose it… My temper. It isn’t going to take much… I call “202.” Now, not only do I have to report that the “construction” [yes, I am not kidding – CONSTRUCTION] crew that has just left after supposedly fixing my dryer not only did not fix my dryer, but made it worse, and they took my duct tape. I have a conversation with a man that goes something like this:
Me: Yes, I called to have my dryer fixed. They have come and gone, but now my dryer is worse than it was before they came, and I can’t fix it myself because they took my duct tape.
Man: Yes, you called on freezer. It will be replaced.
Me: Yes, yes, I did call on the freezer. This man has come and gone, I have a “ticket” for another refrigerator to be delivered in the next day or so. But my dryer is not fixed.
Man: Your refrigerator is broken?
Me: NOOOOO! My refrigerator is fine. This is all set. My dryer is broken.
Man: Oh, yes, we will send somebody.
Me: No. You are NOT understanding me. Somebody JUST left – five minutes ago – they fixed my dryer but made it worse and took my duct tape.
Man: Company dryer, Ma’am?
Me: No, my dryer.
Man: Oh, not our problem, Ma’am.
Me: Yes, yes, this IS YOUR PROBLEM! My dryer works fine. The vent is the problem. And I want my duct tape back.
Man: Something is missing, Madam?
Me: Yes, my duct tape is missing.
Man: I will call security.
Me: No! I don’t need you to call security over a missing half-roll of duct tape. I just want my dryer fixed. And if I had my duct tape I could fix it myself.
Man: Oh, yes, Ma’am. You need to call “residential,” this is appliances.
Me: Well, what number do I call for residential?
Man: Call 202, Madam.
Me: I did DIAL 202 – that’s how I got you!
Man: Yes, call 202.
This turned into a “shouting” match. Well one of us was shouting – and it wasn’t the guy on the other end of the phone. Ever notice how when someone doesn’t understand you – and you don’t understand them – raising your voice seems like the appropriate way to make them understand? Regardless, the “Man” won that round. I called “202,” again, and asked to speak to a residential manager. And, just who do you think answered the phone when I called “202?” Yep, the “Man.” And if it wasn’t the “Man,” then whoever it was sounded exactly LIKE him!
Man: Yes, Madam. You will get a call back. He is out of the office until four o’clock.”
Me: No. No, I do NOT want a call back. I want to speak to someone, right now! Someone who I can understand and someone who can understand me.
Man: Yes, you will get a call back.
...click. HE HUNG UP THE PHONE ON ME!
I am incensed! About close to beyond controlling, at this point. If I knew where it was, exactly, that “202” was physically located, I would have been on my way.
I called “202” again, and some young lady with a very demure voice – a whisper, almost – answered. I explained – in that ranting, raving way only an incensed lunatic can – that I needed to speak to someone in charge, right now. Fortunately this young woman did understand the urgency of the call – and I found myself speaking to a man who identified himself with an Arabic accent in PERFECT, FLAWLESS English – and I explained the problem. I think he, too, could tell that there was a problem at this point and that probably my dryer vent was not “it,” or the freezer door… He did ask me for my number and house address and said he would be calling me back within five minutes, he just wanted to see who it was that had shown up – not fixed the problem – made it worse – and to top it off, had walked off with my duct tape.
I did get a call back, within about two minutes, and this man asked me if he could come and see the problem. Yes, do, by all means…
Five minutes later, the door bell rings – again – I round up the “kids,” back to those crates… This man – who I now know is the Quality Assurance Manager – wants to fix my problem. He has someone with him. The two of them look at the dryer, and the other man – not the “Manager” – tells me that the hose is too big. [NO! You’ve got to be kidding, right?!?] The Manager makes two quick phone calls – speaking only Arabic [and this is why I am so bound and determined to learn this language so that when someone is talking to someone else – if they are talking ABOUT me – in Arabic – I’ll know whether or not they are saying, “Yeah, Mohammed, here’s the situation – we need a roll of duct tape right away to cover this bitch’s mouth – and someone to fix her dryer – she is about crazy! There is steam coming out of every orifice in her head – and we are afraid she could be a threat to the community if we don’t fix this, right now. Yeah, yeah. Security should probably be on high alert. We’ve got a classic nut case on our hands at 456 Flower Circle.”] Mr. Manager hangs up the phone and explains that someone is on the way to deliver a roll of duct tape to me [although, really, I could care less about the duct tape – which is NOT the issue – but for the fact that now I can’t fix my own damn dryer without it – and no, I don’t think it was “stolen” but merely that one of the members of the five-man construction team who was there earlier probably walked off with it not realizing that it was mine to begin with], and another man is on the way with a new dryer vent hose and the problem will be taken care of today…
So, we have “freezer guy," then “Supervisor and his four-man construction team,” the “Quality Assurance Manager,” and – who knows who it was with him – we were never properly introduced – probably just some “desk jockey” along to be a witness after realizing that there was a volatile situation to defuse over a dryer vent and half a roll of duct tape… That’s eight men visiting, in three separate “door bell rings / time to be crated” instances.
The door bell rang just moments later. There are three men standing there. The Boy takes off around the corner and dutifully goes into his own crate. He is such a good boy… And I think he realizes too that “Mom” is not having a good day, best to get to the crate and be safe. The Baby, well, she’s still young. She doesn’t quite realize that it is not a “good day” here at 456 Flower Circle, regardless of the fact that she’s now been imprisoned three times. Well, this was it for her, too. As I was struggling to get her in her crate – she actually BIT me and drew blood!!! This is a very, very first, ever, and no, it wasn’t a “real” bite, well, she didn’t take a chunk out of my finger, but she didn’t want me to have the chance to “latch” the crate and she bit me! And drew blood – kind of like a pin prick would, but the point… I know she hates the crate, but this behavior is GOING to stop! We’ll work on “crate desensitizing” starting tomorrow – which of course, means that my list once again has one more item to be added to it… Two steps forward, one step back.
These men are here to fix my dryer. All three of them? [Hey, the “construction crew was four and a Supervisor.] No. Only two. One of them is carrying a new roll of duct tape.
I tried last night to do a post on double standards – rape of the maid a week or so ago – and three young men, who shall remain nameless and faceless for taking pictures on their camera phones of women. I wanted the “photos” and scanned them in from the papers, but couldn’t get them to download after about two and a half hours. Then, tried it again this morning – spent another hour or so and still couldn’t get them to go… Decided my list of things to do was much too long to be playing with the computer and posting scanned copies of photos. Instead, wanted to let you know what happened with my “house assistant” this past Wednesday when I sent him to town… I’ll try to fill you in on that tomorrow or Monday. I’ve just had too much, already, today, with the freezer door, the “major” dryer vent fix and the disappearing duct tape. Time for a cup of tea – something stronger, perhaps, and to try to unwind … Ahh, yes, life in The Sandbox will, no doubt, provide plenty of fodder for blogging…
The bad: Today I had two minor maintenance situations and no less than eleven [11], yes, ELEVEN men have been here to fix them – two, simple, minor little maintenance problems.
The ugly: Me, at this point. Ugly beyond belief.
I have much to do in the next twenty days before leaving, again, for a short visit to the States – my third trip in six months. My list has six million three thousand and eleven “things to do” on it… So much to do, so little time… Deciding to eliminate two of those “things to do” off my list I called “202” first thing this morning to see about having the freezer door repaired and the dryer vent fixed.
Our refrigerator, supplied by housing, here, is probably going on thirty years old – it is at least twenty years old. It is one of those ‘fridge on the bottom, freezer on the top. Standard, basic model. No ice maker, no water dispenser. Nothing fancy. For three years now, I have lived with opening the freezer door and having whatever is on the bottom “shelf” of the actual door falling out onto the floor. The cheesy little metal bar that holds the items on the shelf was broken at some point before we moved in. Typically, I just pick up the frozen peas, the “kid” ice creams, and the box of Eggo’s that only has one waffle left in it, put the little metal bar back in, and then put the “stuff” back on this shelf. At this point, the metal bar is swimming in the holes where it is supported as the plastic molding has been chipped away little by little each time the bar falls out and is then replaced. When a can of frozen limeade fell out this past weekend and got me on the top of the foot, having this fixed made its way from being lost in the middle to the top of the “list.”
The dryer is another story. The vent hose – connected from the back of the dryer to the “hole” in the floor to blow the “hot air” outside has not stayed in place from the very beginning – from the day it was hooked up. My husband or my “house assistant” has to fix this for me almost every time I use the dryer [daily] as the hose “releases” itself and blows hot air into the kitchen. When it is 110 degrees outside, and your air conditioner is already working overtime, the very last thing you want blowing on you is hot air, especially if you have to be in the kitchen because you are cooking food for the “kids” to stock the freezer in preparation of departing for a short while, which I started working on yesterday and planned to continue working on today. So, having the dryer vent “fixed” became number two on the “list.”
The simple dialing of “202” is really something that can spoil a person. It is a good thing. If your hot water tank breaks at ten o’clock at night – someone from maintenance comes right away – and by eleven o’clock you will have a new hot water tank [if that’s the problem]. If your air conditioning goes, no matter what time it is, someone is dispatched to your abode, pronto! An air conditioning “break” constitutes an “emergency” here in The Sandbox. Pretty much whatever the problem – but for having the phone / computer outlet changed in the bedroom [see earlier column…] is taken care of in short order.
Certainly, but for maybe some sort of assisted living retirement home, or hotel, there is no place you could live in the States that I know of where you can simply dial three numbers and have a problem resolved, in a relatively short amount of time, even if it does require twenty different men to show up. Did I mention that this service is “free?” Well, free in the sense that we don’t pay for it; it is part of “housing” and the “company” takes care of it. Even when The Boy went through the sliding screen door, folded it in half, and completely tore the screen out of the frame, it cost us nothing to repair. Sure it cost something – the help that comes to fix the problem has to [hopefully] be paid, the cost of a new frame for the slider and screening, but we were not personally charged a penny. It is all good.
There was a situation with “big bugs,” really, really “big bugs,” that required several phone calls – somewhere close to twenty different repairmen, engineers, supervisors, metal workers, exterminators, glass fitters, photographers and whoever else, shortly after we first moved in, and took about a week to resolve. So, but for this one exception, calling the simple three digit number for maintenance has been great, and even this was taken care of, it just took longer than the usual customary “right away” timeframe…
I walked downstairs one morning into the kitchen and saw this “shadow” on the wall. I turned to see what it was and it was and screamed! It was a roach the size of a mouse – maybe even bigger! I am not kidding. [I’ve lived in Florida, I’ve seen what they call “palmetto bugs” which are actually roaches on steroids, but this roach was mutant!] I didn’t even want to kill it because of the noise I knew it would make – the little creature screaming in pain and agony, and then the “crunching” of its bones and body – but did end up grabbing one of my husband’s sneakers and attacking it. Yes, of course I felt bad – it was akin to killing a small animal – I probably could have named it and wouldn’t have had the get The Boy a sister this past February – but for the fact that there is not enough room in this townhouse for THAT bug and me.
When my husband finally got up later that morning, he asked what his sneaker was doing in the middle of the floor – he was sure I was going to say, “Hey, you left your shoes out – The Boy didn’t know it wasn’t a chew toy – and that’s why your sneaker is there.” I am incredibly tolerant of this type of thing – and there are no bad “kids” in this regard. My philosophy, with regard to “kids” is that if you want to make absolutely sure something you want or need isn’t going to be chewed, you need to take care of it or you are at fault. Of course, The Boy has never, ever chewed a sneaker – or any shoe – but I wouldn’t have blamed him if the sneakers did end up getting chewed when they weren’t in the closet or on a pair of feet where they belong. I explained to my husband that I put it there – the sneaker – and that he would have to clean up the mess – and he says, after sipping his coffee, “What mess?” To which I respond, “The mess of mangled bug blood and guts underneath your sneaker.” He’s a good man, my husband, and dutifully cleaned it up. [A really, really good man would have gotten out of bed when his wife screamed at the sight of the “critter” on the kitchen floor and come running down to save the “damsel in distress,” properly eliminating the scary little monster!] End of story…
Wrong. A few days later the dead bug’s big brother was in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, just waiting for me… There was no way I was going to be able to kill this one. First of all, my husband’s sneakers were no where in sight – I wasn’t stepping on it with only my flip-flops on – no way! – and there was NOTHING else readily at hand with which to maim this giant mutant cock roach, so he was able to escape to freedom without losing his life. I did, however, immediately call “202” and tell them that I needed an exterminator. The “interior” exterminator appeared a short time later. I told him about the “bug.” He probably didn’t have a clue what I was telling him, but he was able to spray the house and tell me that I needed to call “202” again and tell them that I need “outdoor” pest control, as there was a hole in one of our sliding glass doors that someone must have drilled for some reason and that is where he [the “interior” exterminator] thought the bugs must be coming in from.
Okay, fine. I called “202” and told them that I needed “outdoor pest control.” The next morning the man for “outdoor” pest control appeared and he sprayed outside. Afterward he pointed out the “hole” [it was more like a double-wide garage door for mutant cock roaches!] and patiently explained to me that unless I got the hole in the door fixed that I was not going to solve my problem. So I called “202” again, and after explaining what I had been told by the “interior” exterminator and the “outdoor” pest control men, finally got to speak to a “supervisor” that could help me. The supervisor made an appointment to come and see the problem. It only took him about three seconds to determine that there was in fact a problem, and one he did not have a simple solution for. [I suggested a new sliding door, but that, apparently was a far too simple solution and NOT the way things are done here.] This is when the various departments of men started showing up on a daily basis. First there was the glass guy – he had no suggestions to take care of this – he wanted “construction” to come – they did – then they sent some sort of engineer to look at the door – who, again, readily agreed that I had a problem but offered no solution. Another engineer – or door planner – or glass architect – whoever – came a short while later and took pictures. That afternoon someone else – metal worker of some sort – showed up to take measurements – he had two workers in tow with him. This went on for a week. However, finally a piece was designed to fit over the hole that would block these “visitors” from coming in without an invitation. [It sounds much more simple than it actually was, and but for drawing a diagram of the door – and showing where the “piece” was missing, just go along with a “hole that someone drilled.”] Truly there were no less than about twenty different repairmen, representing the full gamut of building professions – but for plumbing – all coming to simply fix a “hole in the door.” Yes, my “simple” suggestion of taking a sliding glass door off an empty unit for here – putting the door with the hole in it on an empty unit – doesn’t actually “solve” the problem, but it would have easily “solved” my problem.
Back to today… I get a maintenance “appointment” for 2:30 this afternoon. At 1P, the “appliance” man calls and says he is outside, can he look at my freezer now. Sure, come on in… I have to crate the “kids.” He’s petrified of them. Okay. Everyone is, not a big deal. So I round up the “kids.” The Boy happily trots into his crate – he is soooo good about this – The Baby, on the other hand, is still small enough to be incredibly nimble and limber that crating her requires quite a struggle on her part and my part – to do this – and it all has to be done very quickly – get her in it, get the door closed and get it latched – she HATES her crate – just HATES it! Poor little Girl… The appliance guy opens the freezer, sees the problem and says, “not good – cannot be fixed.” Okay, fine. Not my problem. The refrigerator comes with the house, and obviously I need one – a refrigerator. He calls his supervisor and explains that the freezer door cannot be repaired and that the entire unit needs to be replaced. This is now on order and it will be delivered within the next day or two. Great. List is already looking shorter, with only six million three thousand and ten “things to do” left on it…
At about 2:15 a “construction” crew from the Maintenance Department shows up. Yes, four men and a supervisor – all to fix my dryer vent. I dutifully send The Boy off to his crate, and chase, catch and crate The Baby. The construction “crew” comes in and we all crowd into the laundry closet – which of course is hot, because the hose isn’t connected to the vent properly and is blowing hot air out into the kitchen – so that I can explain the problem and tell the supervisor that no matter what we do – twisty-tie-thingy’s, duct tape, wire, super glue – nothing is keeping the hose connected to the vent that goes outside because the hose is so much bigger than the pipe we’re connecting it to. So with the six of us crowded into this little closet area, the “supervisor” pulls the dryer out and says, “The hose is not tight.” [No shit, Sherlock! Are you sure that’s the problem? Guess this is HOW you became the supervisor!] And, right in front of me, he proceeds to take the giant twisty-tie-thingy off the hose that is connected to the back of the dryer and attaches the hose to the floor vent with it, which NOW means that the hose is going to fall off the dryer! He moves the dryer back into place. I am trying to remain calm and not hurt him – explaining that I could have done that – but that this isn’t fixing the problem that as soon as I turn the dryer on the hose is going to fall off the back of the dryer and won’t be fixed. “Yes, madam. All fixed.” No [YOU IDIOT] it is not fixed! Now you’ve made it worse! “Oh, no, Madam. It is tight. All fixed.” As the supervisor and his entourage trot out, I am still rambling on that this has not taken care of the problem, that I need a new hose – one that FITS – and that I am just going to be calling them back, and what about the back of the dryer… and they have left and the door has shut.
I uncrate the “kids,” The Baby is going nuts, she’s been “locked in her prison cell” for all of five minutes, for the second time today! She is crying, barking, as if to say, “What have I done? Is there ANYTHING I have EVER done that could possibly justify my deserving such cruel and unusual punishment!?! I didn’t mean to chew the fig tree!!!” The Boy is just so mellow he could care less one way or another. I turn the dryer on. Two seconds later it is blowing hot air directly on me. I go to grab my duct tape to fix the back of the dryer myself. Incredibly, the gang that has just left has walked off with MY duct tape! I am starting to feel myself lose it… My temper. It isn’t going to take much… I call “202.” Now, not only do I have to report that the “construction” [yes, I am not kidding – CONSTRUCTION] crew that has just left after supposedly fixing my dryer not only did not fix my dryer, but made it worse, and they took my duct tape. I have a conversation with a man that goes something like this:
Me: Yes, I called to have my dryer fixed. They have come and gone, but now my dryer is worse than it was before they came, and I can’t fix it myself because they took my duct tape.
Man: Yes, you called on freezer. It will be replaced.
Me: Yes, yes, I did call on the freezer. This man has come and gone, I have a “ticket” for another refrigerator to be delivered in the next day or so. But my dryer is not fixed.
Man: Your refrigerator is broken?
Me: NOOOOO! My refrigerator is fine. This is all set. My dryer is broken.
Man: Oh, yes, we will send somebody.
Me: No. You are NOT understanding me. Somebody JUST left – five minutes ago – they fixed my dryer but made it worse and took my duct tape.
Man: Company dryer, Ma’am?
Me: No, my dryer.
Man: Oh, not our problem, Ma’am.
Me: Yes, yes, this IS YOUR PROBLEM! My dryer works fine. The vent is the problem. And I want my duct tape back.
Man: Something is missing, Madam?
Me: Yes, my duct tape is missing.
Man: I will call security.
Me: No! I don’t need you to call security over a missing half-roll of duct tape. I just want my dryer fixed. And if I had my duct tape I could fix it myself.
Man: Oh, yes, Ma’am. You need to call “residential,” this is appliances.
Me: Well, what number do I call for residential?
Man: Call 202, Madam.
Me: I did DIAL 202 – that’s how I got you!
Man: Yes, call 202.
This turned into a “shouting” match. Well one of us was shouting – and it wasn’t the guy on the other end of the phone. Ever notice how when someone doesn’t understand you – and you don’t understand them – raising your voice seems like the appropriate way to make them understand? Regardless, the “Man” won that round. I called “202,” again, and asked to speak to a residential manager. And, just who do you think answered the phone when I called “202?” Yep, the “Man.” And if it wasn’t the “Man,” then whoever it was sounded exactly LIKE him!
Man: Yes, Madam. You will get a call back. He is out of the office until four o’clock.”
Me: No. No, I do NOT want a call back. I want to speak to someone, right now! Someone who I can understand and someone who can understand me.
Man: Yes, you will get a call back.
...click. HE HUNG UP THE PHONE ON ME!
I am incensed! About close to beyond controlling, at this point. If I knew where it was, exactly, that “202” was physically located, I would have been on my way.
I called “202” again, and some young lady with a very demure voice – a whisper, almost – answered. I explained – in that ranting, raving way only an incensed lunatic can – that I needed to speak to someone in charge, right now. Fortunately this young woman did understand the urgency of the call – and I found myself speaking to a man who identified himself with an Arabic accent in PERFECT, FLAWLESS English – and I explained the problem. I think he, too, could tell that there was a problem at this point and that probably my dryer vent was not “it,” or the freezer door… He did ask me for my number and house address and said he would be calling me back within five minutes, he just wanted to see who it was that had shown up – not fixed the problem – made it worse – and to top it off, had walked off with my duct tape.
I did get a call back, within about two minutes, and this man asked me if he could come and see the problem. Yes, do, by all means…
Five minutes later, the door bell rings – again – I round up the “kids,” back to those crates… This man – who I now know is the Quality Assurance Manager – wants to fix my problem. He has someone with him. The two of them look at the dryer, and the other man – not the “Manager” – tells me that the hose is too big. [NO! You’ve got to be kidding, right?!?] The Manager makes two quick phone calls – speaking only Arabic [and this is why I am so bound and determined to learn this language so that when someone is talking to someone else – if they are talking ABOUT me – in Arabic – I’ll know whether or not they are saying, “Yeah, Mohammed, here’s the situation – we need a roll of duct tape right away to cover this bitch’s mouth – and someone to fix her dryer – she is about crazy! There is steam coming out of every orifice in her head – and we are afraid she could be a threat to the community if we don’t fix this, right now. Yeah, yeah. Security should probably be on high alert. We’ve got a classic nut case on our hands at 456 Flower Circle.”] Mr. Manager hangs up the phone and explains that someone is on the way to deliver a roll of duct tape to me [although, really, I could care less about the duct tape – which is NOT the issue – but for the fact that now I can’t fix my own damn dryer without it – and no, I don’t think it was “stolen” but merely that one of the members of the five-man construction team who was there earlier probably walked off with it not realizing that it was mine to begin with], and another man is on the way with a new dryer vent hose and the problem will be taken care of today…
So, we have “freezer guy," then “Supervisor and his four-man construction team,” the “Quality Assurance Manager,” and – who knows who it was with him – we were never properly introduced – probably just some “desk jockey” along to be a witness after realizing that there was a volatile situation to defuse over a dryer vent and half a roll of duct tape… That’s eight men visiting, in three separate “door bell rings / time to be crated” instances.
The door bell rang just moments later. There are three men standing there. The Boy takes off around the corner and dutifully goes into his own crate. He is such a good boy… And I think he realizes too that “Mom” is not having a good day, best to get to the crate and be safe. The Baby, well, she’s still young. She doesn’t quite realize that it is not a “good day” here at 456 Flower Circle, regardless of the fact that she’s now been imprisoned three times. Well, this was it for her, too. As I was struggling to get her in her crate – she actually BIT me and drew blood!!! This is a very, very first, ever, and no, it wasn’t a “real” bite, well, she didn’t take a chunk out of my finger, but she didn’t want me to have the chance to “latch” the crate and she bit me! And drew blood – kind of like a pin prick would, but the point… I know she hates the crate, but this behavior is GOING to stop! We’ll work on “crate desensitizing” starting tomorrow – which of course, means that my list once again has one more item to be added to it… Two steps forward, one step back.
These men are here to fix my dryer. All three of them? [Hey, the “construction crew was four and a Supervisor.] No. Only two. One of them is carrying a new roll of duct tape.
I tried last night to do a post on double standards – rape of the maid a week or so ago – and three young men, who shall remain nameless and faceless for taking pictures on their camera phones of women. I wanted the “photos” and scanned them in from the papers, but couldn’t get them to download after about two and a half hours. Then, tried it again this morning – spent another hour or so and still couldn’t get them to go… Decided my list of things to do was much too long to be playing with the computer and posting scanned copies of photos. Instead, wanted to let you know what happened with my “house assistant” this past Wednesday when I sent him to town… I’ll try to fill you in on that tomorrow or Monday. I’ve just had too much, already, today, with the freezer door, the “major” dryer vent fix and the disappearing duct tape. Time for a cup of tea – something stronger, perhaps, and to try to unwind … Ahh, yes, life in The Sandbox will, no doubt, provide plenty of fodder for blogging…
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