Also, I've noticed that other blogs all have a whinge on them. (I've been looking at some American blogs, trying to understand the American-ness of this place). By their standards, ours has been too informative and non-judgemental. So I'm going to have a whinge. I promise they will be few and far between. And it seems that most blog whinges are solely to make the writer feel better, so feel free to skip this post and wait for the next installment.
My parcel.
I'm sure everyone loves getting parcels in the post - it's multiplied significantly when you live away from all your family and friends. So I REALLY wanted the parcel I got a slip for in the PO Box. I had tried to collect a parcel at the post office counter, but all parcels go through customs so they can extort *sorry, charge* import tariffs on stuff.
The post office is in town - a 10-15 min drive from my work. Customs is at the post office, but around the side at a different window. They were closed. It was 12.10pm. I asked the lady in the post office (to date the most helpful person I've encountered, no hint of sarcasm there) when they opened.
"They are at lunch."
"OK - when will they be back?"
"They finish lunch at 1.30"
"Thank you!" (I'm not criticising the 1.5 hour lunch - that's what I get. I think it's wonderful)
I start walking towards the door, then hear
"Ummm, but, maybe they not always come back then." (bless her for realising I am new here and expect things to open at the prescribed time)
"Oh, what time do you think I should come back?"
"hmmm... they probably back by 2"
"Oh, OK thanks. I can't come back then. Could you please tell me their opening hours?"
"from 10-12, and from 1.30-4".
I pop out of work the next afternoon (no lunch break!) and get there at 3.45. Closed.
Ben goes into town the next day, gets there at 11.50. Closed.
I went in today - got there at 11.20am. Closed. I went in and asked the lady behind the counter. "Oh" she says "they are at lun....." trailing off when she realises the time. Even for Micronesians, that's not going to cut it.
The other girl says with confidence "Oh, yes. they are at lunch. They take lunch from 11.30-1pm."
"But it's not 11.30"
shrug. "they open from 9-11.30 and 1-4"
"But last time you told me it was opened from 10-1.30 and 2-4?"
shrug. "No. these are definitely the times"
"so if I come back at 1.00 they will be there?"
shrug.
"How about if I come back at 2?"
shrug.
Older lady says "well, they never tell us the truth. we don't know."
At least I spoke nicely and didn't leap over the counter and get parcel myself, strangling whomever got in my way. No, I kept that on the inside.
So another weekend will go by... no parcel... sob! I'm going to change to a PO box in Palikir, which is where work. I found out they don't have a customs window. S0 please send all goodies, letters and floral tributes to:
PO BOX 268, Palikir, Pohnpei, FSM, 96941.
I'll still check the PO 2398 Kolonia one (no fear!) but maybe once a week is all I can handle.
And then I went to get petrol on the way home, broken and shattered and parcel-less. The gas attendant pumps for you. He (always a he) wedged the pump on and went to chat to his friends. That's fine - I worked at a petrol station for 4 years, I feel his pain. But as the amount zoomed closer and closer to $40 (the car can't fit more that that and it wasn't near empty)- the price of 'gas' never changes), I felt a twinge of concern. As it raced past, I looked at the nozzle - there were gallons of fuel spewing out onto the ground. The guy saw me looking, and raced to turn it off. I know mistakes happen. I was always going to pay the $43 - they might dock his pay if I only paid for the petrol I got, probably halving his salary for the day. So I was feeling very magnanimous, in tune with the developing world and ready to hand over the cash when the guy sauntered away, and got his mate to come up to the car.
silence. pause. silence
"how much is it?" (very sweetly)
"$42.99"
I couldn't help it. I felt this surge of rage. How about a 'sorry'? How about "well, I just don't know how much went on the ground... ?" I am so evil. So I responded:
"But what about all the gas on the ground?"
shrug. silence
"But my car can't fit more than $40 in it?!"
shrug. silence.
So I paid. As I was always going to. But without the nice feeling.
WHY DON'T I JUST DO THINGS WITH GOOD GRACE? (to borrow my mother's phrase). I can only blame it on the mourning period for the parcel.
Oh, dear. At least I am calm about the driving. That's the next post.
Jo
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