Postales del Paraíso
The Gas Man
We shipped a few things south with a freight company and then I drove frantically to get here before everything arrived. Just made it!
So I went to take a shower this morning and there was no hot water. So I took a cold shower (cussing of course, the whole time).
Then I decided to make a cup of instant Nescafe (yuck, but there’s no coffeepots here yet) but the stove doesn't work. So now I'm really pissed and cussing the shower, the stove, the house, and all things Mexican. So after an hour of stomping around the house looking for what could possibly be wrong it dawns on me that the hot water heaters must be gas powered rather than electrical as I had assumed, so I checked the propane tank and sure enough it was empty. So I call Oscar (the gas man) and he comes and puts gas in the tank and leaves.
So now I have a stove that works, but still no hot water. So I call Oscar back and he comes and re-ignites the pilot light in one of the water heaters, but cannot get the other one to start and tells me to call a plumber. In the meantime he traces the gas line and tells me that there is a split in the line and part of the gas seems to be diverted to the neighbors house. So Oscar is Mexican, but he starts cussing about those shifty, no-good Mexicans who'll take everything they can from you. Oscar is a decidedly big guy, well over 6’ tall with a shaved head and an “I’m gonna get this done” kind of attitude and he wants to climb over the wall and confront the neighbors. I tell Oscar that first I'll have the plumber come over and confirm Oscar’s suspicions and then I'll deal with the neighbors. Oscar then wants to call the police, so I tell him I'll handle it and promise to call him if I need him to come beat up the neighbors.
So I walk a few doors down and knock on Armando's door (this is the same plumber-guy that didn't really fix the leaky shower faucet the last time I was here – more on that later). So Armando is not home and his wife who answers the door speaks as much English as I speak Spanish. After a brief conversation I get the feeling that she’s wondering what this crazy gringo is doing knocking on her door and is probably ready to call the police so I slowly back away from her door thinking that maybe I'll try the conversation again tomorrow.
So while I was waiting for Oscar to show up I decide to reinstall the refrigerator. I had pulled it away from the wall, unplugged it and turned off the water source before I left here the last time to save energy. So I open the door to the fridge and sitting on one of the shelves is a very formal notification from the Governor of Jalisco's Legal office, addressed to the previous owner of the home, dated August 6, 2012 and demanding payment of $6,100 plus interest for non-payment of taxes. The letter states that the defendant must show up at the office in Guadalajara, within 10 days (it’s now mid October), pay the fine and face possible legal action for other infractions. What this obviously official document is doing sitting in my refrigerator I have no idea. I subsequently ask the maid, the gardener and the pool guy but none of them speak English and just stare back at me blankly as I repeatedly jab my finger into the piece of paper. All the rest of the mail is dutifully jammed under the front door, the side door, the garage door, or some neighbor’s door, nothing is ever placed in the mailbox and this is the only mail I’ve found in the refrigerator, although I haven’t checked the other appliances yet.
So after I have my informative conversation with Armando’s wife, I call Dale (the previous home owner) and leave a message telling him that the Federales have been looking for him in my refrigerator, and promise him that I will not divulge his real location, and then head off to find my attorney to finalize my FM-3 (Resident Visa). She wasn't there yesterday and is in court in Chapala today, but her assistant promises that she will be in the office tomorrow but only in the morning, unless of course something changes, in which case she may, or may not, be here at all.
As I'm leaving the office I get a phone call from Victoria at Rojas Freight Forwarding saying that our furniture arrived in Ajijic today and they will deliver it at 9:00 AM tomorrow, and I realize that I have no knife to open and check the boxes, no packing blankets to protect the furniture and the floors, no furniture dolly or hand truck and no drill or screwdriver to open the crates. So I immediately become the source of great amusement in town, as I run frantically from one hardware store to the next, not knowing the Spanish word for furniture dolly or screwdriver, and trying to pantomime my way through the process.
I arrived back home to discover some good news; we're now in the phone book! New phone books were delivered around town today and it's about the same size as an old high school spiral bound notebook and it has white pages and yellow pages. So I turn to the white pages and there it is! My first name and middle name have been combined, but the space between them has been misplaced: Willi amryan, (small “r”, thank you) but at least the Sheehan part is correct! It makes it seem so official – like finding my name in Saint Peter's San Pedro's book at the Mexican Gates of Paradise!!!
This is as exciting as it gets here. I spent the rest of the day coal mining beneath the kitchen counters trying to clean the cabinets before I put all our stuff away. Nothing has been cleaned here since father Miguel Hidalgo y Castillo led the local Indians to revolt against the Spanish. Everything is covered in mildew and dirt and of course none of the shelves are removable so you gotta climb on in to the darkness and the mold and wrestle the cockroaches into submission armed only with your Clorox Blanqueador spray bottle and a sponge. If the Indians had to clean the Spanish kitchen cabinets it's no wonder they revolted.
I went to Walmart later to get a refill for my Blanqueador and the place has aisles and aisles filled with Halloween costumes and décor, as opposed to the Walmarts at home where there are aisles and aisles of Halloween candy; this place has NO candy! I better figure out what I'm supposed to do before I'm confronted by an angry mob on Halloween night - whenever that is down here – or even IF it is down here. Or maybe this Halloween stuff is all for the benefit of the gringos and the locals are all more sensible.
More later, if I ever figure this out.
