Mal humor = bad mood. I am in one.
As if Saturday’s cluster-doo-dah at Ikea weren’t enough. What, I wonder, would an Ikea look like on a Saturday in Spain if there was 5% unemployment instead of 20%? Apparently, the Spanish, like the Chinese, like to spend their weekends body slamming along the illuminated pathway of the super store, arrows kindly pointing the direction to the self-service area. Swine flu is of no concern, either. The customer service girl was friendlier this time, however, and directed me toward all the items I couldn’t find because they were sold out (we have 3 new desk chairs but no desks). What they don’t tell you in Spain, is that you can still pay to have all of your self-service items delivered to you for a fee; they fail to disclose this fact until you are all the way through the check out line and thus have to go back into the line, like a salmon swimming up stream (but only through the prescribed open aisles – they will yell at you otherwise) to reverse your steps.
I ditched the cable man, who was going to be here at 10:00, at 11:30. He was supposed to fix our (second) cable box which is not working. I could not get through on the Digital + technical assistance line to advise them I was leaving my house because they have an automated answering service and, I am guessing, do not understand my Spanish. Go figure. This, I realize, is seriously cutting my nose off to spite my face but I had to a) get groceries and b) get back for the repairman, Ramon (rhymes with jamon), by 2:00 who was going to fix the sink, the Ikea bed, and the rusted lock on the mailbox (unable to close, the automatic sprinklers are ruining the mail). Ramon was supposed to show up Friday afternoon from 4 – 6. When I called him at 9, he rescheduled for today. Manana, manana, fantastico.
But before all that this morning I went to the gym which was closed and was going to open at 9 a.m. today instead the normal 7. Apparently, I did not get the memo and did not check the website for upcoming local community holidays. My bad.
Did I mention the bickering Things? The telemarketer who called at nearly midnight? On a Sunday? The forgotten gym clothes? The two hours in The Dreaded Carrefour?
If it weren’t time to make dinner, I’d go back to bed.
*P.S. – jamon is a makeup word from yesterday.