Mediocre update at best

Wow. Two updates in two days. Y’all should count your blessings.

First corrections/amendments to the previous post.

1) As Mauigirl correctly pointed out I exaggerated my last meeting with the good Dr. slightly. (You have met Dr. Pepper haven’t you?) I wrongly indicated that the last time I had a Dr. Pepper was 5 months ago. This time I didn’t exaggerate for dramatic effect. Simply, I exaggerated because I’m stupid and don’t count so gooder.

I didn’t tell the story of my last date with the Pepper for reasons of brevity. Our Romania updates have been written as a single Word document and are copy/pasted as blog updates. As I write this, sitting behind a closed door to avoid interaction with Swell’s family and drinking a Dr. Pepper, I am on page 42 of the document. The word count up to and including this word right here is 14,031.

14,000 words over 42 pages tell our Romania story thus far. If I see a place for brevity I seldom take it – as was kindly pointed out this morning when I got my paper back from the fine folks at the Journal Optometry. At least they didn’t reject me outright. One reviewer is on board given some revisions in language/style/excessive use of words. The other reviewer not so much. As someone emailed me this morning – some people just don’t get it. I’ll revise, revise, revise when we get home. I had hoped to do it while in Romania but…you know… the whole my computer is broken kind of puts a damper on accessing my copious notes and ideas.

Anyway I sat and debated with myself if I should include a side story about Dr. Pepper when I indicated that I found the sweet-nectar-that-I-should-avoid-at-all-costs-lest-I-be-gifted-with-diabetes. I weighed the pros and the cons. I looked at my page and word count. The side story was axed.

I then calculated that February was 5 months prior to June. I know, I know a child wouldn’t make such a careless mistake. What can I say? Look at where I got my education. If they let my sister teach in the public school system back home you can guess the quality (or lack thereof) of the teaching (if someone buys a dog larger than they are, literally taller than they are, they can’t be all that smart. I know I’m not the only one that thinks this. Short people need to get short dogs. If you’re a short person and you get a large dog it makes you look SHORTER! Fat people shouldn’t wear horizontal stripes, short people shouldn’t get giant dogs. It’s a rule.).

Given my public education I’m lucky I can construct a sentence. (I can, I just choose not to when on the world wide waste of time.)

Complicated math?

Forget it. Not going to happen.

So here is the Dr. Pepper side story. Gilda flew from Maui, Hawaii to visit us in Nablus Palestine. In a very small amount of luggage she was able to bring about a million things for Swell. A French press, coffee(?), clothes, a bag, jewelry, mugs. I am sure there is much, much more. It seemed that Gilda’s bags were those new top-of-the-line bottomless bags people are raving about here in Europe – they’ll be in America in 2 years, you know, like fashion trends.

Weightless, bottomless bags – the best thing to happen to travel in…like… forever.

She even brought gifts for the staff in the Faculty of Optometry. As Swell was receiving gift after gift I started to feel left out. So sad. Nothing for poor ol’ me. I feigned happiness for Swell. Deep down a bitter resentment was building and as I fought to control my rage Gilda pulled out a bottle – yes a bottle, not a can – of Dr. Pepper for ME!

I exclaimed, “My precious!” and immediately put it in the freezer. A couple of hours later I consumed that drink like the obese heathen that I am.

That day was not five months ago. It was four months ago and it is a day I will never forget. The day Gilda became not just Swell’s friend but my friend as well.

I humbly apologize for misleading you, the fair reader of this agonizing, self-aggrandizing, overly wordy, overtly preachy blog.


2) Don’t lie, you forgot this was a list didn’t you?

I have absolutely no idea if the previous post was number 100 or 98. When we signed in to update it said we had 99 previous posts. Swell said we should commemorate that momentous occasion with a special post.

I responded (nicely!), that I spent a good number of hours (yes it takes me hours) writing the post and I wasn’t going to change it for nuthin’.

We compromised and titled the post 100th Post. Someone proceeded to do some more complicated math.

Math who really needs it?

Adding up the posts along the side of our blog you come up with a different number than 100. Which is right? Dunno. Ummmm… don’t really care. So we claim this as our 101st post whether it is or not.

We’ll accept gifts of congratulations at our Atlanta home.

3) Some of the following post took place during the previous post.

I’ll let you in on a secret.
It’s a good one.

Our posts are not exact replications of history.

Shhhh… don’t tell anyone! Please.

You see, I take some artistic liberties with the recollection of our lives. In some places time stops. In other places time speeds up. Sometimes I even make up what Swell says! Don’t hate me. I do it for you.

I’ll explain further for those who are shocked.

Take the previous post for example. I didn’t really keep score. I made it up.

Everything I write about is trueish.

One more example for clarification. Swell didn’t really turn to me and say, “We lost.” She didn’t even know we were keeping score…because we weren’t. She actually turned to me, upon seeing the girl doing her business in the front of the building – with the girl's parents very nearby, obviously not caring – “I $%$#@# hate it here” and then Swell threw up in her own mouth.

But just a little.

Why do I tell you this secret? Because some of this post might not jive perfectly, from a perspective of time, with the previous post. Just know that everything written thus far and forever into eternity happened but may not be in the order I’m recalling it.

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Have you ever heard of a store called Ikea? If you haven’t please go to ikea.com find your nearest Ikea and drive there. Once there eat the meatballs and leave. The only thing worth doing at Ikea is eating the food.

No need to actually visit the store unless:
i) You have the patience of a saint
ii) You thrive on disappointment
iii) You like crowds of slow moving people prone to
a) touch you
b) cut in front of you
c) give you the stink eye for looking at an item that they are interested in

The idea of Ikea is fantastic. Cheapish furniture that looks okish and lasts a longish time. The reality of Ikea is that it is the seventh circle of hell with goodish food.

Did you know that they pump some type of low level anesthetic through the air vents in Ikea? It acts to decrease your memory of the bad experience you had at Ikea. It leads people to remember Ikea as a pleasant experience. This is a fraud perpetrated on the people of the world unlucky enough to have an Ikea nearby. It must be stopped. I write this, our experience in the Ikea in Bucharest, as a warning to those who are considering returning. I was able to overcome the mind numbing anesthetic floating through the air vents and survived the attempt on my life to bring you people the truth.

Ikea is not a gift from God. It is Sweden’s attempt to take over the world. They will leave populations battered and bruised from building furniture with inappropriate tools. They will leave men and women flailing on the ground trying to figure out if their arrangement of four nearly identical pieces of wood matches the crudely drawn instructional diagram because they know if it doesn’t their TV stand will collapse crushing small children and animals.

Once the population is properly incapacitated the Swedes will waltz in and take control of the government. No one will stop them. Instead they will welcome the promise of a new flat-packed and efficient government.

I won’t bore you with a recounting of Swell and my experiences with Ikea, they were properly documented on our old blog. If you are new readers suffice it to say that we drove the three hours from Vancouver, WA to Seattle to go to Ikea more than once. Further we rented a u-haul to take Swell’s parents Ikea goods from Vancouver, WA to Washougal, WA because Ikea wouldn’t deliver there. Further we had some very interesting experiences with Ikea in Atlanta that included blood, anger, rain, wrong items. I have, in my short life, put together three homes worth of Ikea goods. I hung curtains designed by a drunk Swede whose sole purpose in life was to get me to contemplate suicide. I had the pills in hand…

Ikea opened in Bucharest in late March. We had planned to visit since we heard of its opening. I knew I made a mistake the minute we walked through the door.

The idea was so good. Ikea. We would go in, enjoy our time. Look at the stuff, maybe buy a thing or two.

We went the day after we visited Swell’s G-Pa. I think. I thought that that was the day her Dad was supposed to arrive but we had planned on going to Ikea before he arrived so there must have been a day between our G-Pa visit and his planned arrival. But if that is the case today should be tomorrow.

No matter. Swell, her Ma, her G-ma and I headed to Ikea. Ma and G-ma wanted to take public transportation. The fools. They had gone to Ikea by themselves before we arrived. It takes two hours to get there on public transportation and two hours to get back.

We took a taxi. After the long walk past the half finished houses, potholes, and killer dogs.

The taxi ride was uneventful aside from Swell’s continued embarrassment at her Mother’s need to tell taxi driver’s her life story.

We arrived at Ikea had some lunch (Swell and I shared some meatballs and they were good, the potatoes were even better here than in the US). Good times. Good times.

It was then time to go shopping. We really weren’t here to browse. We had a need. We were here for cabinets and a sink for the kitchen. We made our way relatively quickly to the kitchen area.

The day soon fell apart.

Swell saw an industrial looking sink and counter set that would serve the family well. Easy to clean, plentiful storage, inexpensiveish. As is all too common at Ikea they were out of stock of said sink/counter.

That wasn’t the bad part.

The bad part was figuring out how one buys a sink and counter at Ikea. You’d think you could just go up to a worker and say, “Worker, I would like to purchase a very simple sink and cabinets. Will you please sell me these things?”

It should be that easy. We thought, having had all our memories of past Ikea trips numbed in our minds, that it would be that easy.

Foolishly we approached a worker and tried the preceding line on them.

Her response, “Go to those computers over there and plan out what you want and then you’ll be done.”

Swell, “Ok. Thank you… wait. What?”

The worker lady takes Swell by the hand leads her to the computer and says, “Here.” And leaves.

Swell looks at me. I look at her. I say, “Let’s go home.”

She perseveres and sets out to solve the theory of relativity on these Ikea computers.

What are the room dimensions?

Dunno. We only measured one wall.

Make it up. Ok.

What next? It says to place the door where it belongs.

Ok.

Ummmm… why is the door as big as the entire room?

Dunno.

Skip the door.

Ok. What next?

Dunno.

WHAT NEXT?

DUNNO.

That wasn’t very helpful.

How do we buy a dang counter and sink?

Dunno.

Eventually I had a brainstorm. I figured out how to pick from a variety of cabinets. You pick the size, the layout and the finish. You pick the type of sink you want, the faucet and the handles. You then enter it on the computer in some unknown way and it prints an order sheet, which you then take to the counter to pay for.

We never did figure out how to use the computer. We had the worker type it in. They weren’t happy to do it.

It sounds easy when I type it out here. In reality it involved much head scratching. Some angry words. The overwhelming desire to just up and leave Ikea. Questioning Swell’s G-Ma as to what she wants. The answer every time was whatever is cheapest. She had no desire to input on colour, size, types of cabinets or anything.

It was annoying.

The experience and G-ma’s answers.

Let me go back a little. We worked at the computer. Got no where.

We looked at the cabinets on display. I found some signs. We looked at papers. After that process I decided we should just write down names, numbers, styles, etc. of what we wanted and then head down to the pick-up area of Ikea.

If you’ve never been to Ikea the general idea is that you’re supposed to help yourself to the items. You go to a designated area as indicated by the tag on the display item. Find your box, kill yourself heaving said box onto a moving cart and then go and find your next item. You then drive home and find out that you picked half dark wood colours and half light wood colours for the same item… wait is that just us?

Anyway our cabinets that we decided on did not have a designated area to pick them up. It said to see an associate. Now whenever we’ve done that before we just went down to the warehouse and spoke to someone there. So we went with our list and found a guy to help us.

He promptly sent us back upstairs to the sink department where they were to help us.

Just as we asked them to when we first arrived. In the kitchen area a worker dude asked if he could help Swell. She said, “Yes.”

He said, “Ok that lady will help you.”

The lady then said. “Then why did you ask if you could help her?”

Swell then waited to be helped. And waited some more.

Eventually the items were entered the list was printed and I found a mistake.

Items re-entered, list printed and off to pay we went.

Along the way to the cash register we noted another item that Swell’s Mum wanted to buy. Having lost Swell’s mum and Grandma in the crowd we phoned and asked if she still wanted it. The answer, “Yes.”

We went. Paid. And were instructed to go to another area and “wait for our number to be called”.

We stood for a while waiting for our mysterious number to be called. I don’t know why we stood waiting. We didn’t have a number nor was there an appropriate place to pick a number from.

We waited none-the-less. Eventually I asked Swell to go find someone to ask. They directed us to a line where they took our piece of paper, scanned it and said, “15 minutes”.

We found a bench, had a seat and waited. We waited. And then for good measure we waited some more. I found the waiting alarming. Not only were we waiting but I wasn’t hearing any numbers or names being called. Eventually I convinced Swell to investigate.

Remember I’m not being mean having my wife go forth and investigate. I would do it but I’m an imbecile and barely know one language let alone Romanian. She does the investigating here even though she hates it. She hates talking to customer service people on the phone (as do I), she hates asking workers what we should be doing (as do I), she hates not just doing everything right without needing help (as do I). In English speaking countries I do the asking because I’m the man and don’t want the little lady to be uncomfortable. In other countries where the people are bigger, meaner, and a little stinkier she does it. Not my fault she knows Romanian, some Spanish and some Italian. Not my fault that many of those people are bigger, meaner and slightly stinkier than their American counterparts. It’s just the way it is. Deal with it.

Anyway she finds out that our stuff was waiting for us. They did whisper-call our names. We didn’t hear it because we weren’t standing a foot away from them.

Next we need to arrange delivery and installation. Normally I build and install all Ikea fixings. This time, however, I passed. I was not prepared to cut out a hole in the countertop for the sink. If it came pre-cut sure I’d do it. If it came with a stencil, I’d probably do it. If it comes with a tape measure, a pencil, and a hearty good-luck. No way, no how.

We waited and waited and waited in the seemingly non-moving delivery and installation line.

Eventually we worked up the arrangements. We would take most things home in the Taxi they would (and did) deliver some items the next day and installation would take place the following Thursday. Easy breezy.

Worker lady “Pay me please.”
Swell “Credit.”
Worker lady “Our machine is broken.”
Swell “I’ll pay over there then.”
Worker lady “That’s a different department. You’ll have to pay cash.”
Swell “I don’t have enough cash.”
Worker lady Shrug.
Swell Calls Mother frantically asking her to hurry to the checkout with some extra cash

That was taken care of. Swell may have said some choice words to the lady about Romania, and stupid, and perhaps something about the woman’s mother and a horse but I’m not entirely sure.

Swell’s mother had rushed out of the store to rescue her daughter so she still wanted to do some browsing. I had a cart full of stuff and couldn’t re-enter the store. I bravely volunteered to wait on the exit side of the registers in return for a hot-dog and a drink.

(I skipped a story about the “orange pop” in the restaurant looking a lot like dark cola but still tasting somewhat orangey. It was an unpleasant mixing of the senses. It was basically orange Pepsi - and not on purpose. Someone somewhere put nozzle x where nozzle y was supposed to be... on both pop machines.)

Romanian lines are not really lines at all. They are free-for-alls. Whoever can push their way to the helper first wins. We were battered and bruised by a guy behind us, who ended up in front of us and were outflanked by a family who ignored the line completely and just went to the cashier. I literally threw my hands in the air while Swell yelled obscenities about Romania and inconsiderate, smelly heathens. Eventually I received my hot dog and my lidless cup. I waited for the women to finish and we headed home.

For reasons of brevity I’ll end here. I am leaving out the story of my “building” the microwave stand that was purchased from Ikea. I’m not going to tell you that the screwdrivers that Swell’s family have here were all the wrong size. I’m also not going to tell you that the closest one to the right size was used as a chisel at some point and was, therefore, a very poor screwdriver.

Furthermore you will be left in the dark about the lack of pre-drilled holes for the stand’s wheels and thus the requirement for me to screw screws into wood without a drill, with a very poor screwdriver. I’m also going to leave out the fact that my hands remain bruised to this day. That story is just too long for me to tell.

I will say that we will eagerly await the Ikea installers tomorrow and look forward to a nice new sink. With water that will still be brown. And will fluctuate dramatically in temperature. And will still have an odour that one just can’t place one’s finger on. One can safely assume, however, that the odour belongs somewhere between the sewage and decomposing flesh families with some burnt hair thrown in for good measure.

Thirsty?