[continued from previous entry]
These final days here in this flat have turned out to be -- and this is not a phrase you will hear from me very often, given that I tend to live a charmed life -- a fucking disaster.
One reason: las obras –- the rehab work that has been going on for more than 3-1/2 years in this building (more than 3-1/2 years!!) -- returned to the teeny hallway on this floor yesterday morning. Meaning noise and a constant, unstoppable flow of dust into the living space while inside. Leaving the flat or coming back means plaster dust all over clothes and a mix of dust and wet plaster smeared all over footwear. Put it all together: pure joy, beginning at 8 a.m. and stretching to 6 p.m.
Another reason: Telefónica, the Spanish telephone company, is apparently incapable of terminating my phone/internet/cable services in a timely, coherent, efficient, effective, productive, trustworthy manner. (Pause to ponder tacking a few more adjectives onto that description.) Three or four years ago, when I disconnected internet service, the process was simple: write up a letter with the details, fax it to them. Did that three or so days before the desired date, worked just fine. This time they can't and won't guarantee anything in terms of timing. They no longer accept a handwritten letter -- they send a form by mail (that may take up to 15 days to arrive, they emphasize) that must be filled out and faxed. So far, six days later, hasn't shown up. They did manage to turn off my internet and cable services last Friday morning, though, ignoring the May 1st date I'd given them for the shut-off. Calling customer service produced a wall of double-talk and a refusal to pass me to a supervisor. I apparently made an impression, however -- a few hours later, after I'd gone out to clear my head, I found the service restored. They called three times on Saturday, apparently anxious to make sure I handed over the cable box before bolting -- I stonewalled, working from the presumption that anything I said might wind up in another surprise loss of service. Yesterday a.m. first thing, feeling more tranquil, I called and resumed the process for internet/cable termination. So far: nothing more from them. Called earlier today to give them a gentle nudge, since I'm out of here tom'w. Did not go well with the first woman -- apparently asking them to work with you on coming to some sort of arrangement to get things taken care of does not compute for some of the personnel. When she wouldn't stop talking over me every time I tried to say something, I hung up, called back, dealt with someone else. The second individual heard me and had a suggestion or two that might turn out to be a solution.
Spent the last few days getting ready to move things to storage. The truck came this morning, I had to force the work in the hallways to stop while I carried everything down four flights of stairs -- I will never live in a fourth floor walk-up again -- so that the truck crew could take over from there. Unhappy workers standing about, refusing to go away until I was done, not looking my sweaty, heavily-breathing self in the eyes. Had to raise my voice at one who didn't want to stop and clear the hallway to let me do what I needed to do. Me navigating plastic sheeting on floors and walls, bags of plaster, workers, and items placed on stairs by workers, crowding the way enough to cause problems. (One near-catastrophic result of all that pointless horseshit: the destruction of my cellphone and one of my cameras -- the one that took the below image.) Possibly the single most unpleasant move I've ever just barely survived.
The positive side: the truck crew. Fast, efficient, were in and out leaving me here to do clean-up. Another positive side: sunny, cool, lovely weather. Yet another positive side: with all the work that had to be done to be ready for this morning, much of what's left to be ready for tomorrow's departure is done. And one more: a Spanish friend has been a real friend during the last few days.
Short on sleep, tired, not in my finest state of mind. In all the complications with the morning's move, two or three items didn't get included, me too tired and distracted to realize until the truck was gone. Will have to be left in the flat, a donation to landlords or future tenants.
Blah blah blah.
One strange note: for some reason during the past week, this has happened to me many times -– I'm walking somewhere in the barrio, I hear a telephone ring. An old one, the ancient kind with an actual bell. A sound that gets me looking around, expression puzzled. Someone nearby digs into a pocket or bag, pulls out a cellphone. A cellphone that has a ringtome of an ancient telephone. Suddenly they're everywhere. A kind of analog retro-chic thing. Madre mía.
Assuiming I survive carrying far too much luggage out through nightmarish rehab work and down several flights of stairs to the street (never again will this boy live in a elevator-deficient multi-story apt. building), I will be in transit tom'w, touching down in Boston, spending the night in Cambridge. Send good thoughts.
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Along la Calle de Augusto Figueroa, Madrid:
España, te quiero
rws 2:43 PM [+]
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