The retrograde mattress

Three or four times a year, an astronomical event occurs that I’ve learned to take seriously: Mercury going retrograde, meaning it appears to reverse its course for three weeks.

Mars retrograde – source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apparent_retrograde_motion

It’s not because of the astronomical aspect, but the astrological. It’s a good time to make plans, but NOT arrange them, a good time NOT to buy anything mechanical or electronic, to be prepared for all kinds of communications snafus, on and on. And good luck if you sign a contract without reading the fine print five times. Here’s more.

In the early 2000s, I had two distinct related experiences.In one case, I had been on the phone with customers all week, but Thursday afternoon, all of a sudden I might a well have been speaking Urdu: communication simply ceased as conversation continued. Sure enough, Mercury had gone retrograde.

I had become frustrated with the limitations of my Macintosh, poring over the monstrous Computer Shopper magazine every month. One day I said to myself, just pick up the phone and order a PC! No sooner had I picked up the phone than I put it down again, checked online, and sure enough, Mercury had just gone retrograde. The purchase would most likely have been a disaster.

Similarly, friends here suddenly felt compelled to plan a holiday in Europe during the last retrograde Mercury period (22 March – 15 April). I warned them, but they were thrilled how easily all the plans fell together. Less thrilled when the plans started falling apart within a few days: rail strikes in France coincided with their bookings to and from Switzerland, and to add injury to insult, they were only able to get a 65% refund. Then airline strikes in Latin and America loomed, and Air France strikes threatened the flights they had booked in lieu of train tickets. Alas, all seems to be going well for them now.

mattress

Anyway, also ignoring my own advice, I purchased a mattress online during retrograde Mercury. It arrived two days later, and we struggled up the spiral staircase with it, started to remove the plastic, only to realize it was not what we ordered. And in fact, an un-flippable “pillow” mattress that we specifically did not want. The man who we phoned at the vendor’s showed absolutely no interest in finding a solution. Finally I reached a woman there, after seeing that a flete to return it would cost 1,500 pesos (USD 50+). She helpfully connected me with their flete operators, who quoted me 650 pesos. Mercado Libre was now involved, and assured me that the flete expense would be reimbursed. I wasn’t so sure.

The nice couple with their miniature van showed, strapped the mattress on the roof, and drove it back to Montevideo between rain showers. They assured me I didn’t need to pay, since it wasn’t my fault. So far, so good! I was a little concerned by the almost complete illegibility of the receipt they left.

illegible receipt, Uruguay

But it worked! A few days later, they showed up again, mattress strapped to the roof. And – drum roll please – again not the mattress we ordered! Knowing my wife didn’t speak much Spanish, the woman called the vendor, and hung up rolling her eyes. The “no help” man wanted her to convince us to accept the wrong mattress.

Finally, a month after the purchase, we did get a complete refund (less $17 exchange rate loss; the USD had gained in the meantime) with the help of Mercado Libre.

So, I hope I’ve caught your attention. Next occurrences of retrograde Mercury:

  • 26 July – 18 August 2018
  • 16 November – 6 December 2018

You can easily find them online.

 

 

One size fits all? (UTE office)

This starts with a story. We have a little chacra (mini-farm) 10 km inland with a little house that we’ve never even stayed in (others have, for a couple months). So there’s no energy consumption, and we usually end up paying the bare minimum of ~ USD 15 to be connected to the grid.

Except for last January, when I did a regular check and decided to vacuum up spiders and spider webs. The vacuum cleaner wouldn’t start. So I walked out to the road, because our attentive neighbor has been known to turn off the mains when I so much as leave a 5-watt LED light on in the bathroom. No, the main switch was on. So maybe a power a power outage. Returning to Atlántida, I discovered that indeed there was a widespread power outage. OK, no worries…

…oh but wait: the vacuum cleaner,  a cheap horrendous screeching thing we bought from a departing German-Romanian couple (seriously: you should probably wear the ear protectors you see on airport runways).

A week later, pulling in for another routine check, I heard a strange, high-pitched noise. From inside the house.

You got it: I didn’t unplug the vacuum cleaner, and the power came back on, , and the damn thing had been running 24 hours/day for a week. I could feel the heat as I walked into the house.

And of course we had a frightful electric bill. But then the next month was estimated, and high, and the next also estimated, and high, and in April it was back to the minimum again. But by now we’ve overpaid!

I checked the meter, pretty much inscrutable behind a stained plastic shroud, and decided that UTE – the electric company – needed to do a real reading, account for what we’ve paid, and issue a credit.

Which – ojalá – which may actually happen next week.

But what tickled me is what I observed in our little local UTE office. UTE is the government electrical company, and apparently the “latest and greatest” for every little branch is their idea of the best use of their resources.

Overkill at the local electric utilty office, Atlántida, Uruguay

Here is what you see while waiting at the UTE office in Atlántida. A, B, and C are the actual service desks. Two out of three in service today.

D is an automated-teller size device with touch screen, on which there is exactly one option – push the orange button and it will spit out a printed number for you. So – curious minds want to know – how is this an improvement over the paper number dispensers in the ferias? You know, the ones that cost maybe USD 30, and look like this?

paper number dispenser

You’ve got to wonder how many thousand dollars that stupid touch-screen machine cost, whose functionality boils down to a single button. I mean, seriously, don’t you? Oh, but – government.

But it gets better. See E: not only is there a TV screen endlessly replaying UTE television ads without sound in a fraction of full screen, whose subtitles are not exactly effective in this context of size and distance, but there’s a little sound system below. So when they trigger the next number, a female voice says número setenta-seis, punto uno. (Yeah it did say “punto uno” instead of “puesto uno” – at least I think so.)

When it was my turn, I was immensely gratified when the woman at “punto uno” simple called out “setenta-seis” instead of triggering this ridiculous electronic voice.

And then it turned out she loved my story of the vacuum cleaner.

And maybe thought I was a complete idiot, but that’s OK: objective is to get the billing straightened out.

It’s all an adventure 😉

What are the chances?

We went to both supermarkets in Atlántida today: Disco (which gives a 10% discount on the purchase of ten bottles of “fine” wine) and Tienda Inglesa. For both, I used the Alaska Airlines Visa card we’ve had since 1986.

We lived in Oregon from 1986-1995, and often flew Alaska. Charging all office expenses to the card gave us significant mileage rewards – as did showing up early for the 8:00 AM flight from Portland to New York, insisting they start a “voluntary bump” list, always to their objection, predictably getting bumped and a free ticket. After a leisurely breakfast at the airport, we’d fly out on the 9:30 AM flight. Those were the days, my friend….

I generally check receipts soon after purchase, curious about the exchange rate (great right now as the USD has “strengthened” – which, alas, cost me USD 14 as a result of the retrograde Mercury mattress purchase and refund; stay tuned for that quintessentially-Uruguay-business [and retrograde Mercury] story).

I sat down at my computer, placed the receipts in front of me and – holy something! –their totals were within 1.1 pesos of each other! (Prices are still calculated with centésimos and rounded, though the last coin smaller than one peso- the 50 centésimos – ceased being legal tender in 2010, shortly after we arrived.)

supermarket receipts

There’s the difference in USD from Visa online – three cents!

I find that rather remarkable, but then my attention was drawn to the digital clock* today at 3:33 and 5:55 today, so maybe Universe is saying something.


*on the computer; our only other two clocks on the house are analog. Speaking of which (we were?), did you catch this? — Schools are removing analogue clocks from exam halls as teenagers ‘cannot tell the time’

Seems like the teens are stressed, but the accompanying photo suggests a more quintessentially teenaged reaction: whatever.

teenage girl looking at an analog clock

It begins…

This summer (we’re now into autumn), we have been plagued for the first time by incredibly annoying acoustic pollution. Maybe as a kid, you loved hearing the piercing electronic truncated version of Für Elise, because it meant the ice cream truck was coming! Which maybe it did, once a day.

But not all day long, every day. Which is what the apparently-otherwise-respectable-in-terms-of-service gas company Acodike has been doing. When I wrote to complain, they responded that they can’t turn down the volume, because otherwise customers complain that they don’t hear it.

To which I responded, you have not been here the last eight goddam years, so how many customers, seriously, complained about not hearing something that didn’t exist?

End of conversation, needless to say. (I have a bit of a track record when it comes to ending correspondence using logic. A certain attorney in British Columbia comes to mind, but that’s another story.)

So fast forward, and the first deployment of anti-Akodike stickers has begun.

Sticker on trash container, Atlántida, Uruguay

Shut up, Acodike. It’s 2018. We have telephones.

Alas, these are just laser-printed paper labels. They won’t last long. I’ve got some high school kids, equally annoyed by this 1980s-era “marketing,” who may help post these. I say “may” because I delivered them to a couple houses  but not directly to the kids. Ya veremos. We will see.

This label stock is not sold in Uruguay, as far as I can find. I spent $30 to order 100 sheets @10/sheet, plus $7.95 shipping to Gripper, a Miami-Uruguay delivery service, and another $30+ to Gripper to get them here. And promptly trashed a couple sheets learning how to get them to print properly.

But it fits the characteristics of projects I like, such as freelance mentoring of at-risk adolescents in North Carolina, and adopting a bright and funny, but seriously socially disadvantaged 12 year old boy, also in North Carolina:

  1. I (we in the latter case) can maybe pull this off;
  2. If I/we don’t try to do it, nobody else will, and;
  3. It’s worth doing, even if it doesn’t end as you hoped (because it probably won’t, but that doesn’t mean you failed).

FWIW, the 12 year old boy is now cooking at Applebee’s in Prescott, Arizona, and has been awarded MVP (Most Valuable Player) status numerous times, and is training to be an instructor. I’ve lost contact with the others, but that’s OK: I didn’t want be a hero. Helping them navigate a little was enough. As far as I know, they are all doing well.

Revisiting a pet peeve

Yes, I have written about this before: here and here (with a cute catch at the end of the latter).

Retrograde Uruguay supermarket checkout

Once again, we’re forced to leave a wide space between us and the customer before, because the cashier is convinced the only function of the “next customer” divider bar is its use as a switch to stop the conveyor belt.

Even after eight plus years here, I still find this incredible.

Fried eggs

Shortly after we moved here, the cleaning lady walked by as I was having a couple of fried eggs or breakfast. “Oh, you Americans and your eggs!” she commented.

fried eggs and toast

Which is kind of strange if you’ve spent any time in Uruguay. Here’s the famous chivito:

Uruguayan chivito

And here’s an Uruguayan hamburger (the white stuff isn’t mayonnaise):

Uruguayan hamburger with egg

So it’s fair to say Uruguayans don’t have a problem with fried eggs.

But an obsession?

potato chips, fried egg flavor

Potato chips with fried egg flavor?

I think I’ll pass.


Picture credits: fried eggschivito, hamburger

42

I sometimes think this country’s motto should be Welcome to Uruguay. Please take a number. Because everywhere you go, you take a number. Even in the feria, the street market.

number dispenser

Overall, it’s a good thing. I recall my nephew’s amazement at the civility of our ferias, compared to their chaos in Guatemala, where he taught at an international school.

In the local ferretería (hardware store), where everyone knows my name, I have for years responded “42” and waved my paper in the air when the clerk calls out my actual number, which is of course never 42.

Alas, inquiring about property taxes in the intendencia the other day, I did get number 42. But there was no line, and no number called out, no number to turn in. What a waste!

42

So why 42, you wonder? Glad you asked.

 

Self checkout

A few days ago I was in the Disco supermarket here (yes, the one with the shopping cart idiocy), and was surprised to see that they’ve installed four self-checkout stations. This is old stuff up north, but not thirty years old as the Uruguay jokes go, so maybe the country is catching up faster?

When I went to the wait-for-a-number cashiers, I noticed there were six (seven?) instead of the previous four. Well, that’s good. Except the new number-display is farther away and the numbers appear to be smaller. I couldn’t make out which cashier to go to. No problem; the appropriate cashier waved his arm. He also thought it was amusing.

I asked him when all of this happened.

“Two days ago,” he told me.

Disco supermarket self-checkout
Ready attendant, but no one to whom to attend

Which pretty much explains why nobody was using them.

Fast forward to this morning — Christmas Eve, and the predictable jam-packed shopping crowd — and suddenly quite a few people thought these were an OK idea. Myself included.

 

 

Expo Cannabis 2017

Uruguay “sort of” legalized marijuana at the end of 2013. Being a place where free-market is generally considered a bad thing, and government somehow a creator of wealth, the experiment has proceeded with predictable ham-fisted bureaucracy. The government controls all production, licenses growers and buyers, limits the amount they can buy in a month, etc. At present there are maybe 16 pharmacies (all in Montevideo AFAIK) where one can buy marijuana, and they have had their bank accounts closed because of the ham-fisted and arrogant United States federal government. This echoes the contradiction between state and federal laws in the U.S.: marijuana is legal in California and Nevada, but if you transport it across the border you’re committing a federal offense.

However, there is good news: Hemp Planting to Triple in Uruguay. And the Expo Cannabis has gone from rinky-dink three years ago (according to Syd) to quite impressive.

Expo Cannabis 2017 display map

As you might guess, most of the crowd was younger than yours truly.

The first display inside the door showed a variety of products including hemp oil, and dog care products that Syd really wanted to buy. Not for sale? It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize the display was for the Museo del Cannabis Montevideo.

Flyer for Montevideo, Uruguay Cannabis Museum

Nearby, a display of plants.

Examining marijuana plants, Expo Cannabis in Montevideo, Uruguay

We quickly noticed a number of booths had hydraulic presses. We were a bit mystified, then watched a demonstration of extracting cannabis oil with heat and pressure — far safer than using toxic solvents, which then have to be boiled off.

Extracting cannabis oil

Many booths were selling seeds and growing apparatus, and the government was there with a booth where you could register with the authorities. Several booths centered on medicine and healing, as did a number of the presentations/panel discussions.

Uruguay marijuana sign up

I started asking questions about seeds when I saw “AUTO“ in some of their names (autofloreciente). Fascinating stuff.

handouts from Uruguay Expo Cannabis 2017

My only regret is that I didn’t ask more questions, because in the car on the way back, discussing what we had seen, we had plenty more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The electrician’s ladder

Time to replace the ceiling fan in our bedroom, a job I was not going to do myself — too high. The electrician brought a four-part folding ladder that wasn’t tall enough, and neither would my extension ladder work. By itself.

improvised ladder, Uruguay

Since I had just started a massage in the next room when he arrived shortly after 2 PM (having said he’d be there at 10 AM), he poked around in my workshop, found rope and wire, and assembled this. My ladder is on the left; his is folded over it. Rope, many pieces of wire….

Hey, it worked!

But how did he transport a ladder on a motorbike?

carrying a ladder on a motorbike, Uruguay

Easy! Notice the tool box balanced in front of him as well.