Mood: Pensive
Theme Song: “Crazy” by Aerosmith
Because I made a promise to myself not to badmouth England for awhile (I’m thinking the end of the year is a good time frame), I am approaching the situation in a bit of a devious, round about way. Ever hear the saying that what you don’t say is sometimes more powerful than what you do say? Yeah, this is kind of like that.
It all started yesterday when I went to the post office to buy stamps and mail some letters. I waited in an huge queue (about 25 people deep who all seemed to be sending packages to the Isle of Man, Australia or random Eastern European countries that have probably had a revolution and are called something different already). I ordered my stamps (some for Europe, some for U.S., some for UK) - which strangely consisted of me having to re-weigh the same letter over and over (I didn’t ask). While doing this, I noticed that everyone working in the post office was not English. Wait, I guess that’s not fair to say. They could have been English, but they all looked foreign - mostly African or Indian. I know for certain the woman who helped me had a very, very, VERY heavy Indian accent because most of our conversation consisted of me saying, “Excuse me - I don’t understand what you are saying. Could you please repeat that?” over…and over… and over again.
[side note: doesn’t England have some kind of language proficiency test before people are allowed to work in the public sector? I noticed this problem at the airport, most specifically (and I guess humourously/ironically) at Immigration. The people telling you to stay in line, go over here, present your passport etc for entry into ENGLAND don’t even speak proper English. It all becomes rather surreal after awhile…]
After I paid for my stamps, I put them on my envelopes and then slid the envelopes through the window to the postal employee. Who immediately freaked out on me and started yelling and pointing and generally having a fit. She shoved the envelopes back at me like they were coated with the plague and started yelling something about “the cage”. As this a) made no sense, b) was said in a very heavy accent and c) frankly scared me a little bit, I didn’t really do much of anything but stare right back at her. I recovered enough to try to ask for clarification, but I got nothing more than shaking her head, crossing her arms and repeated utterings about “the cage”. I backed away slowly and began looking in the general vicinity of her pointing. Which took me to the end of the counter. Where there was no cage of any kind. There was a display of greeting cards, 2 for 3, but I don’t think that’s what she was foaming at the mouth about. I stood there helplessly and rather frustrated until some poor man in the queue took pit on me, and breaking all kinds of unwritten British rules of social interaction, kindly pointed out where I was to put my envelopes. Which happened to be through an unmanned window (like a bank teller window). Which looked exactly like the windows behind where all the employees sit. For some reason in England, you are unable to hand your post to the postal service worker… you have to put it through an unmanned window, and then I guess hope they get around to putting it in the postal bin. *Confusing* !! At no point, either, did I find anything resembling a “cage”.
I guess it bears mentioning that this experience came right on top of the snafu that I have been having with my flat. I could go on for HOURS about this, so to keep things maneagable, I’ll list the situation below:
- November 30th brings epic snowfall and a 5 hour commute home for me. As my toes felt frostbitten, I decided to take a bath. While I was towelling off, I got a knock on my door from my downstairs neighbors, who kindly pointed out that I had flooded their ceiling.
- I tried to call my estate agent (see other posts for my explanation of these fools), but they don’t have any kind of after hours emergency number. I ended up leaving a message and chewing out some lady in the corporate office.
- Many days go by with much to and fro, involving three contractors and my bathroom being torn apart (tile jackhammered away, etc)
- Bath was supposedly fixed around the 2nd, but was unusable for 24 hours minimum to let a “seal set”
- When I returned to my flat, I drained the water that had been left in my tub (to push the seal down), and voila! a new leak!
- I called the estate agent again… and explained, which brought more contractors to and fro
- I left for Spain on the 8th, with assurances that all would be repaired by the time I returned on the 13th
- I got back on the 13th to find my bath fixed but with a caulking job that Helen Keller could have beaten.
- I informed the estate agent on the 14th… as of Friday the 17th, no resolution - only I found out from the guy who replaced the tile that he had left things perfectly, and that someone else must have come along and taken things apart afterwards
- Enter the weekend… when my boiler decided to stop working. There is no central heating in my flat (not sure if it exists in England) and I have heating through a boiler and radiators. I was freezing. I spent Sunday morning trying to get a plumber to come out but no one would come. They were all either busy or wouldn’t bill the estate agent directly, and I can’t afford to be paying bills for some place I don’t own. I spent a very long Sunday under lots of blankets and heating my flat with my oven
- Come Monday I had to chase my estate agent THREE times to get them to realise that no heat = emergency. The contractor showed up in the afternoon and pointed out that the reason I have boiler problems is that there is a faulty part…which they identified MONTHS ago (for the last tenant) but which the estate agent never acted upon. He also let me know that he was pretty sure my bathtub was never fixed… that they were thinking about it, but hadn’t figured it out.
- So I call the estate agent, who argued with me that my bath WAS fixed, until I put the contractor on the phone. This was Monday afternoon. As of tonight, Tuesday evening, the estate agent hasn’t bothered to get back to me to let me know if anything is fixed or not. This is typical. They are truly, as the English say, a bunch of freaking muppets.
Which got me thinking of a list of things I love but that I can’t get over here, or which I can’t get in the “right” format in England. This is by no means a comprehensive list, but it is representative…
- Gummi bears - I love me some gummi bears, but I can’t ever find the right kind here. They’re too hard or too sweet, and not bouncy enough. The closest were ones from the duty free in Spain.
- Spaghetti/Pasta sauce
- Decent frozen pizza - have not found one that is even close to those back home. Marks & Spencer do a decent Margherita, but the pepperoni over here is jacked up and tastes all wrong. It’s “spicy”, but like hot sauce spicy, not like pepperoni spicy
- Triscuits (thank goodness my sister sends to me)
- Decent toothpaste (thanks again to Jessica!)
- Tupperware - where do they hide it? I know they have to use it, but I can’t find it anywhere!
- Stuffing - even StoveTop beats what is going down on this side of the pond. They serve it in a LOG, people
- Turkey - I miss American-style turkey. The way they cook it over here, or raise the turkeys or something is different
- Bread crumbs - not the same, not sure why
- Ramen noodles - I’ve written about this before…boggles my mind
- Steak - namely prime rib
- A real hamburger - not cooked well done, but medium rare and juicy
- American soups - no particular brand name
- Salads. Real salads. I’m talking romaine, celery, tomatoes, avocado, onions, green peppers, basically LOADS of fresh veggies… maybe topped with some grilled chicken and a light drizzle of balsamic vinaigrette…and avocado…
- Shopping centers - you know, the ones on every corner, anchored by a Walgreen’s or a Dollar Store or even the ones with a Check Cashing place…
- Chicken broth (don’t have it here… it’s called “chicken stock” and it’s NOT the same)
I’m still enjoying my adventure, but I have most definitely put brackets around this “English experience”. When my visa is up, I’ll be heading off somewhere new - hopefully somewhere exciting in Europe, or if not to a big, happening city and wonderful job in the U.S. of A.
Federman out.
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