The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Telmex

The Zen state of mind (or: I will no longer shed tears over Telmex and water)

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The beach in Progreso, Yucatan

I’m back from the Yucatan and I feel calmer already. The beach and the poolside views at our hacienda hotel helped. And so did (I’m semi-embarrassed to admit) certain chapters of Eat Pray Love, which I swore I would never read (over 7 million copies are now in print!), but now I’m so glad I did, because if a formerly divorced and depressed woman can find inner peace, then dammit, so can I.

Telmex says we’re not going to have a phone line for at least 15 more days. That’s fine, if that’s what the universe wants….

We still don’t have water, but pipa truck guys arrived this morning at 6 a.m. and rang our buzzer. (We had no idea they were coming and no one else did either.) The water is supposed to come back soon. The fact that we can even afford a pipa is a blessing.

And I am living in Mexico City, which is a blessing, too. Oh, and I met a really cool cab driver yesterday afternoon who said he’s known in Tepito as “Bruce Lee’s Cousin,” because he puts the smackdown on any dudes who try to mess with him. (Tepito is known as the toughest neighborhood in the city.) I got his number and he’s taking me to the airport next week.

Your faithful Zen Princess,
Lesley

Telmex made me cry

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A few days ago I had my hopes up. Sergio, the Telmex guy, suggested that a line in Apt. 5.1 appeared to be available. I could use it, if I had sufficient evidence that it wasn’t being used. I spoke to the doorman, who said the apartment was actually an office. Then I spoke to the office secretary, who said sorry, they were definitely using their phone lines.

I felt like I was living in 1962. (The outdated, frustrating 1962, not the glamorous Doris-Day-PIllow-Talk 1962.) Why do I have to ask these people if they’re using their phone line? Why does an office get to have three phones lines, while I have none? As soon as I got back to my apartment, I started crying. But only because I’m emotional right now.

Sergio called me several minutes later. “Well,” he said, “I think we’re going to have to make the network larger.”

“But what does that mean?” I asked. “When will they start?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. But here’s a number for my supervisor…”

I’ve already tried to call said supervisor. He never answers his phone.

UPDATE: After 20 phone calls, Crayton finally got ahold of the supervisor. They are supposedly installing our line “next Thursday or Friday.”

I finally thought it: “I want to go home.”

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This morning, my arms full of dirty clothes, I opened the door to our tiny washer/dryer combo and discovered the sheets I’d placed there last night were still wet. I’d already tried to dry these sheets twice. Did this mean our dryer was broken, too? I screamed in my head, and I think it reached Mars.

The past few days have tested my patience. First we didn’t have water. Then we didn’t have hot water. Then I got a haircut from an aggressive Mexican stylist who gave me spiky bangs. Then the telephone installation guy broke Crayton’s nightstand. Then he said, Oh señorita, actually you can’t get a phone line in your building, the “network is saturated.” Then I woke up to find the wet sheets. Meanwhile three other loads waited, staring at me with their dirty eyes.

At that moment, the United States suddenly seemed like paradise. Hot water gushes from the faucets without anyone worrying where it comes from. A person can call up AT&T — or a carrier of their choice — and receive a phone line without much fuss. Few people worry about whether they’ll have water or gas tomorrow. And they don’t get scratch paper shoved in their faces during business transactions. GOD. What is it with Mexicans and scratch paper? Is it leftovers from the dearth of fliers people give out on the street? I got a Dianetics one today (headlines: “Depresion? Estres?”) and was seriously considering purchasing it.

So yeah. I thought it.

I wanna go home.

Eventually, after banishing myself to my room and playing with my new iPhone, I calmed down. I took some clothes to the cleaners and passed a quiet street that reminded me of what I like about this country. An old, osteoporotic woman walking ahead of me called “Buenos dias!” into a cafe. The man behind the counter yelled back, “Buenos dias!” His voice sounded raspy, like he’d smoked too much.

When I got home, the maintenance man in our building showed me how to light our water heater’s pilot light, and I read the instruction manual to learn how to keep the thing going. (The whole while feeling like a dumb American for not knowing a shred about water heaters.) About an hour later, our hot water had been restored.

The sheets went into the dryer a third time. At the end of their three-hour cycle, they were dry too. (I have now purchased a clothesline.)

One beer and a few Hershey kisses later, life is really not so bad. And I’m coming around to seeing the other side all this, which is that as an American, I’ve been spoiled to believe that natural resources like gas and water are in endless supply. Obviously they’re not. Readjusting my world view is part of the reason we moved down here in the first place. Just wish it was more “lazy conversations with Mexicans over coffee” rather than “wake up, surprise!, there’s no water.”