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Tuesday, September 04, 2001 I am well into taking over the new piso -- I brilliantly made a point of arranging this move so that I overlapped time in both flats, allowing me to undertake the process in leisurely fashion, one monster-wheeled-duffel-load at a time. And the new place appears to be gradually morphing into a home. The hitch so far has been the phone company, Telefónica. (A little, teensy hitch, considering how smoothly the process has gone in general.) A year ago, moving into the old place, trying to get the utilities into order -- the landlord gave me no info. or assistance, a vacuum that produced serious trouble when I tried to ascertain which electric company I had to deal with (for reasons never made clear, there's more than one possibility). The attitude of the company underlings I pleaded with from various pay phones turned out to be less than service-oriented. For a while they passed me back and forth, from company to company; when I finally determined the correct one and tried to get the account for the piso transferred to my name, they repeatedly put me off. Until finally, on a Thursday afternoon, I was told I would have to call back the following Monday, that for some reason they couldn't 'help' me any more that week. Monday morning: went to class. On returning to the flat early that afternoon, I discovered the power had been shut off -- essentially reducing me to an outraged, swearing mass of stressed-out protoplasm. Curtis, a friend staying with me for a couple of weeks, returned shortly after to find me thus and kindly took over, getting on the horn, talking with power company people in very passable Spanish until something got worked out. The power either came back on that night or the next morning, I don't remember which -- I only remember how miraculous simple refrigeration seemed, how grateful I felt when the flick of a wall switch actually produced light. So this year, knowing I wanted to move when the lease on that flat was up, I began the search process at the beginning of July, as I also began another few weeks of intensive Spanish classes. At the language school, I came across a small ad for a piso on the lounge bulletin board, called and spoke with a friendly British woman. She and her American husband let me take my time deciding on the flat, allowing me to see the place more than once, spending an hour or so with me both times chatting, until I signed on. With that arranged, I called Telefónica at the end of July to arrange the transfer of my phone from the old place to the new place on the last day of August. They told me a technician would call me the day before and set up the time for the work. Estupendo. In the following weeks, I realized that I'd rather have made the switch closer to the time that I'll be moving into the new place full-time. And guess what? Came August 30th, no phone call from Telefónica. They'd completely forgotten about me. To shorten a lengthy, boring story, it's now late Tuesday afternoon. I'm sitting in the piso, waiting for the installation person. Much closer to the time when I preferred the line be switched over. How about that, huh? Yesterday, the landlord of the old piso showed up in the morning so we could go over the place together. During the previous autumn and winter, he'd made mistakes in dealing with me that indicated his concern was getting the rent, not taking care of things in the flat. Over the last 2-3 months, his manner with me has changed immensely, becoming softer, more human and attentive, and though no problems in the flat were taken care of, I appreciated his change in tone. Yesterday, there was some confusion over the exact amount of the security deposit I gave him last Sept. -- he never provided a receipt for that, just a copy of the lease agreement -- and through what could have been an explosive process, he behaved with gentlemanly equanimity. It's interesting how the change in his manner happened after I did some serious work on adjusting my attitude toward him. Appreciating the good things a person does instead of their errors can have surprising effects. Or one might prefer to chalk it all up to chance. Either way, I'm pleased with the changes. The new flat feels very Spanish -- the walls and moulding are stucco and white, white, white; an expansive spread of built-in shelves across one wall of the sala de estar (living room) is lined with white tile. Spanish sunlight, a distinctive type of illumination, spreads in through the windows; the rapid Castellano of passersby in the street below comes and goes with the light breeze. Me: obnoxiously content. The installation technician for Telefónica called a few minutes ago to assure me he would be here soon. My life continues trickling from one phase to another, like water down a gentle slope. rws 2:02 PM [+] |