On hold


I’m a patient person. With teaching, my patience has been refined and streamlined for a specific target audience: Students. If you’re not a student, get straight to the point and don’t loiter near the walls of my sanity with a sledgehammer. Please.

The waiting, it kills me.

In fact, when I first moved to Crete, I don’t know how I managed to sit still and hold for a phone line and internet for 3 months without declaring war on the particular phone company. I just lived on hope.

What a fool.

I was reminded of the same scenario today when I came home. I’ve recently moved and wanted to transfer the phone to the new place. I enter the apartment and see on the coffee table a box wrapped in pink. A present? No, just the logo colors of said phone company. Inside the box: modem #2. Man to connect our line? Nowhere to be seen. The call that proceeded had me huffing and puffing over the atrociously bad music on the speaker and getting a convoluted version of why I still didn’t have a line a month after the move. Along this lovely conversation came up some mysterious fees I was expected to pay. On queue I replied with: No thank you, goodbye and have a nice life.

Why call it customer service when it’s anything but that? All this waiting for nothing else but a bigger bill dressed in pink. Literally.

To top this, I have my hands tied beads and wire and cords but no endings or other such basic supplies to finish off any projects. Every day I wake up eager to check the mail only to be deflated by the noted absence of a box that should have been there yesterday.

But no, I’m going to take a deep breath and wait it out, because this box is worth it. As long as it’s not pink on the outside — I’m starting to feel a little too traumatized with all the  fuchsia in the house, not to mention the modems.

But  stay tuned to your modems because there’s a surprise coming your way on Friday. Please, do sit tight and hold.

[Unless you’re a teacher, at which case I can make alternate arrangements. Trust me, I understand.]