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Tuesday, April 22, 2008 Last Friday morning: gray, cool, rainy. (One of a series of a.m.'s like that, the week turning away from spring, back toward late winter). I made my way out early, through the piles of plaster fragments and swirling dust created by the workers slowly Where I wanted to end up: a rental-unit facility, one of only two within doable distance of the city center. I'd investigated both -- the other was closer in, more accessible, involving only a ride on one Metro train with a bit of a hike at the other end. An attractive difference, me living a carless life here. I made the trip to the closer facility, found them distant, formal. They quoted me a fairly high price, but the info sheet they handed me specified a low-price guarantee ("MEJOR PRECIO Garantizado -- In the spirit of improving the quality and attention to our clients, we will equal the offer of our competitors in the case that they offer the same services and conditions"). A call to the outfit I was currently en route to produced friendlier people, lower prices, but a longer, more complicated trip. I phoned the first to see if they would match their competitor's price, a young woman told me the guarantee only applied to 'competition within our zone.' (There was no competition in their zone, the way she defined it.) Could be that bit about 'in the case they offer the same services and conditions' provided the way to weasel out of delivering. I forged ahead in the nicest, most reasonable way, assuming the lure of hundreds of euros in combination with my limitless charm would make some headway. Nothing doing. She remained unyielding, my business went to their competitor. That competitor turned out to be a hidden away a half-mile along the service road, bringing me to an office buried away inside a maze of buildings where the owner greeted me with genuine friendliness and the deal was done. I opted for the storage idea after re-discovering something I'd experienced a few years back, when it seemed like I might be on the verge of closing out my Madrid life: that prospect felt so bad that it provoked a sensation of panic, of drowning. Me trying to tell myself something. I listened, calling up my patient landlords (after having given notice), asking if it was too late to keep the place. (It wasn't, I groveled at their feet (metaphorically) with relieved gratitude.) This time around it does feel like the moment to move on has materialized, at least from this flat. The logical option: a small trastero to hold my modest pile of stuff until I figure out what's next. [continued in following entry] España, te quiero rws 10:31 AM [+]
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