Thursday, July 13, 2006
Here I am – still in Ascoli. I planned to visit three days. I have been here two weeks. It has been wonderful in many ways – my time with Daniele especially, the chance to visit old friends and wander the streets of a city that holds such a special place in the book of my life experiences, the simplicity of life here, the olive oil…. Daniele and I took a quick trip to Assisi – an amazingly beautiful town set in the hills of Umbria, filled with the life and spirit of St. Francis of Assisi, and also filled with tourists. Unfortunately we didn’t have the chance to see much, but it is a place I know I must return to with time to savor its beauty and rich history. The extra week in Ascoli has given me time to linger with Giorgio in conversation, to see Valentina and her crazy crew of friends, to visit all the people who brought smiles to my daily life at the grocery store, the phone store and other places, to tease a bit with Alessandro and remember the wonderful first days in Ascoli at Café Italia, and, most importantly, to listen to Antonella’s sweet soothing voice (once she finally forgave me for showing up and surprising her). I’ve met interesting new people like Diana, a professor from Maine, Valerie, who keeps a blog similar to mine at baci2.blogspot.com, and Linda, who took my room when I left the old apartment. It is her new attic apartment, filled with sunlight and breezes from the mountains, where I have been staying and where I am writing now. It was a rare opportunity to stand in the streets of Italy as the Azzurris claimed the World Cup, their fourth in the history of the tournament. It was exhilarating just to watch these people celebrate, filling the streets, the piazzas, waving thousands of red, white and green flags, setting off fireworks, cruising through the towns, horns blaring, singing their anthem. This in itself was an amazing experience. The entire country held its breath for three hours during the final. Streets were empty with not a car, moped, bike or person to be found. Piazzas, on the other hand, were overflowing – large projector screens or TV’s brought out from the bars using extension cords – chairs surrounding every screen as people sat, stiff backed anticipation. The first scores were made early then the game lulled interminably until the stress filled tie breaker – and boy is it stress filled! Each team takes turns making just one clean kick – just the player and the goalie, face to face, trying to anticipate the other’s movement. At each successful kick for the Azzurris the streets filled with shouting. France missed the second kick but could still win if Italy missed two. As the fourth Azzurri kick planted the ball in the net, you could probably feel the earth shake as every Italian in the country jumped to their feet – screaming, kissing, some even crying. Being part of such a patriotic excitement alone was, well almost, worth the delay.
I have tried to patiently accept the absurd hold up that has kept me here. I must admit, however, that objects have flown across the room more than a few times - including my telephone which thankfully survived. And so you ask, why am I still here? Laugh--- on account of a little bottle of a mineral supplement called Lysine. You see, Italians (or at least Ascolani) have an unusually high occurrence of fever blisters - maybe because so many of them bite their nails, maybe because they kiss when they greet, who knows. But virtually every friend I know here gets fever blisters. Lysine is a little miracle pill for fever blisters. Pop a few the day a fever blister starts and you will stop it in its tracks. So when I called my daughter to send me the package I had left for her to send when I reached Ascoli, I asked her to pick up a bottle of Lysine for me to giv to my friends. The package was filled with magazines and a couple little gifts for Antonella, postcards I never sent from Ascoli and wanted to finish here, a couple books, and other non-essentials that I didn’t need until later in the trip. Nothing terribly important. Except… My contacts didn’t arrive in time for my departure and so were added to the package after several hours of phone calls to resolve an issue with the prescription. This wouldn’t be such a necessity if not for the fact that two weeks ago I got an infection in my eye and was told to get these contacts replaced immediately. Then there were the business cards that were to be sent to Vaughan Town and never arrived. No big deal, really, just a little easier for giving out my website address. And then my computer battery went dead. Well not dead, dead. It can hold a charge, for about thirty minutes. This was an issue. See for every hour of tourist-ing it takes about the same amount of time to write, edit, compile photos, and post. Eight hours of sight-seeing equals eight hours of work, sometimes more. Most of this work I do on the trains, at cafes while I’m eating, or in piazzas where I can write immersed in the feel of a place – all are places that require battery power. That would be why I bought the baby Vaio with the 9, yes 9, hour battery. A new battery costs 200 euro. Not in the budget – and not something I should have to buy for an eight month old computer. Three hours of phone calls with Sony working around the international and warranty issues and they finally agreed to send a new battery to April who could add it to the package and forward it to me. This was an urgent necessity.
So the package was to arrive in Ascoli on Friday, two weeks ago. It didn’t. Nor did it arrive on Monday. Tuesday I called to check on it. Fourth of July –everything closed. Wednesday, I got through to the states. They gave me numbers in Italy but with the time difference everything here was already closed. Thursday I finally got the scoop. You see ANY bottle of ANYthing – vitamins, minerals, aspirin, can be held up for a declaration to be completed that says it is for your personal use. It would be nice if they called either of the numbers on the Fed Ex form to tell me this when the package was stopped a full week before. No, you are supposed to somehow intuit the problem. The first conversation went something like this:
“We’ll need a declaration from you that this is for your personal use. The process will take a few days. ”
“Look, I’ve been waiting a week already for this package. I HAVE to get back on the road. Throw the bottle away and send me the rest of my stuff.”
“We can’t do that.”
“What do you mean you can’t do that?”
“We can’t open your package”
“Of course you can open my package. Customs opened my box on its way to America and lost half the contents, including my Grandmother’s recipes. I know full well you can open the box.”
“No, we’re a private company. We’re not customs. We can’t open the box.” (What the hell right do you have to HAVE my stuff – I didn’t say it)
Deep Breath
“Okay, how do we solve this problem?”
“Well, the declaration is easy. I’ll email it to you. You fill it out and sign it then fax it to or email it to me with a copy of your passport.”
“Okay, no problem.”
“It is the payment that is more difficult.”
“The WHAT?”
“The payment.”
“What payment?!”
“You have to pay to process the declaration. Probably 80 or 90 euro though I can’t say for sure.”
“WHAT!!!!!!”
Deeper breath.
“Okay, look. I have to leave tomorrow. How do I get this all done today.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“We have to send you an email with all the information.”
“And?
“And it takes at least two or three hours.” (what fucking email system are you using – I didn’t say it)
“Then, once we receive everything, it takes two to three days to process. Business Days.”
“WHAT??!!!”
Now I’m hyperventilating and have to get a paper bag.
Through strained teeth – I say, slowly, “F-I-N-E… what time can I expect the email.”
“Around 2pm, 3pm at the latest. “
“Fine. Uh, thanks.” (for bending me over and… - I didn’t say it)
At 3pm I am sitting at the internet café. And at 4pm. At 5pm I start calling the company. It takes 40 minutes to get a response. It’s my friend Eleanor.
“Um, Eleanor, I’m still waiting for the email. You said 3 at the latest and it is almost 6 now.”
“I never said it would be 3pm for sure. It will get there when it gets there.”
At 6pm the email arrives.
Here’s the breakdowsn.
Diritti Doganali: 64.77
Ns competenze: 52.00
Sanitario: 7.33
Diritto Fisso: 15.00
IVA 3.00
Grand Total: 142.10.
That is Euro, mind you. We’re talking almost 200 cold American cash dollars.
“FUCK YOU!!!.” I scream in Italian, in the middle of the internet café.
I call Fed Ex, after the internet lady has unscrewed me from the ceiling.
“I don’t want the #*!#% package.”
My grand scheme is to return it to April who can take the damn bottle and ship it back for less in less time than it is going to take to pay for and release the bottle.
“No problem. We will return it to the shipper. It will take a week to process.”
“WHAT!!!”
“And we will charge your account for the shipment.”
The lady at the internet café has to revive me.
I take a deep, deep breath…
“So let me get this straight. I have two choices. I can wait a week and pay 150 euro to have what already belongs to me or wait a week to pay 150 euro and have nothing.”
“Yep, that’s about it.”
“Great scam you guys have going on.”
I take my instruction sheet to the post office where it takes an hour and a half to process the payment. The copy places are closed by the time I leave. Te passport will have to wait until tomorrow.
Commission to the post office for the payment: 5.16
Cost to fax proof of payment: 2.60
I’m not happy.
I get up early Friday morning to copy and fax the passport and declaration. The fax number doesn’t work. I scan everything and send it via email to the address as instructed.
Cost of Scan and copies: 6.20
I call to make sure they received it as Daniele and I are getting ready to leave for Assisi.
“Oh yes, we received it. But we can’t print attachments. You’ll have to fax it.”
“WHAT??!??!?” (Why the hell do you instruct people to email it if you are too fucking stupid to print a goddamn attachment – I didn’t say it)
“Your fax machine doesn’t answer!”
“Sure it does.”
“I am trying to leave town – can’t you process the information and I’ll fax a copy when I get back.
“No, I have to have a paper copy. Not my rules, you know. You’ll have to fax it now or I can’t process it.”
Daniele hands me a brown paper bag.
Deep breath – strained voice
“F-I-N-E. I will go BACK to town and fax it now. Please call if you have any problem.”
“Sure.”
Now I have to say, Eleanor is fine. She is firm but for a bureaucracy-employed Italian she is actually quite nice.
We go back to a different fax place.
Cost to fax everything that I already sent by email: 2.60
Our grand total is now 158.66 euro – over $200. Keep in mind the only thing of value in the package is the $200 battery that I fought to get replaced for free.
Daniele and I leave for Assisi, content that finally everything is in their hands and the package is being processed and knowing that with two business days to process it should arrive Tuesday morning.
It doesn’t.
I call the broker – no answer for over an hour.
I call Fed Ex.
“You have to speak with the broker. Hold on I’ll connect you.” (Good to know this trick for the future.)
“Oh Hi Sherry” cheerful voice “We are still waiting on your passport. When are you going to be able to send it?”
“WHAT??!!!!!!!”
“Well, we have everything else except your passport.”
“What are you talking about – I emailed my passport, I faxed my passport, you have my passport.”
“No we don’t.”
“YES, YOU DO! We talked. You received the email.”
“I told you we can’t print the email.”
“Then I faxed it, again. If you have the declaration, you have the fax. If you have the fax, you have the passport.”
“Oh, yes, we received that. But its too dark. We can’t read it. You’ll have to fax a better copy.”
I lose it.
Ten minutes later I have stopped crying, yelling, and hyperventilating. Eleanor, shocked that I could be so upset over such a little thing as waiting for two weeks for a package while my dreams wash away down the drain with my money, is scolding me for crying but at least being patient and even helpful. “Look, Sherry, just send another copy of the passport and we’ll get the package on over to customs today.” I’m still breathing in those heaving breaths of crying fits.
“You,” sob, sob, sob, “you,” sob “can.”
“Sure, no problem. Just dry your face and go fax your passport. It’s not the end of the world.”
(Not the end of your fucking world, but I’ve just thrown one third of my money and one third of my time for this trip down the drain. – I don’t say it out loud).
“Okay,” sob “I’ll go now.”
I send a rainbow of passports – light, medium light, normal, medium dark, and dark.
Cost to send passport rainbow: 4.50
I call. I apologize for crying. Eleanor tells me she can’t read any of them very well but at least one is acceptable. (Maybe they should consider a new fucking fax machine that is worth a fuck since their business receives hundreds of faxed passports a day as part of this fucking scam. – I don’t say it out loud.)
“So the package will ship tonight?”
“Well, it will go to customs tonight. Then its out of my hands.”
I’m too emotionally wrecked to exclaim ‘What’.
“You might get it tomorrow. But I doubt it. Maybe Thursday. There’s a pretty good chance for Friday but I can’t tell you for certain. Though maybe there’s a hundred percent chance for Friday. Maybe.”
“Great, thanks Eleanor.”
So the grand total in agency payments, copies, and faxes: 164.16 Euro
Cost of apartment for the two weeks I’ve been waiting: 200.00 Euro
Loss of value for the rail ticket: 300.00 Euro
Grand Total 664.16 Euro
Add the cost to ship the package in the first place and we’re talking a nice round one thousand little green and white pictures of Mr. Washington.
The company slogan should be: “Thank you for letting us rip you a new one and have a nice day!”
Now I understand why people go postal….
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