You’ll recall that I (charitably, I now think) attributed a botched attempt to buy a mattress on Mercado Libre to retrograde Mercury. I’ll get back to that.*

When we arrived in Uruguay in September 2009, we had bought an unfinished house. By the time we were ready for furnishings, there happened to be a sales-tax-free (at some places) weekend. We took advantage of it to avoid an involuntary 23% donation to the government. Turns out the stove we bought was 50 cm wide, but the opening in the countertop 60 cm. Since we had kitchen cabinets built a little taller than standard, the stove was also a bit short. I may lack the resources (and motivation) to restore an antique car, but I have no problem cranking up the table saw and making a little riser and side shelf for the stove.

However, after over eight years, with paint wearing off the front, and the mechanical connection that pulls out oven shelves when you open the door completely shot, I decided it was time for one that both fit the space, and looked good.** And I found one on Mercado Libre:

So I ordered it, said I’d like to pick it up myself in Montevideo (after the mattress fiasco, I don’t want the wrong product delivered to my door).

The seller sent me instructions how to pay. And asked for my phone number to coordinate delivery.

So I went to the bank, withdrew cash, took it to Abitab and paid.

And they called. I asked if I could pick it up the next day. Since they apparently had to deliver to a third-party warehouse, the woman said she’d call me tomorrow with more info.

She didn’t (BTW this is a common theme in Uruguay), so I sent a reminder email that evening. The next morning, I get a message from them: lamentablemente (also a common theme here) we don’t have this stove, but for USD 30 more we can sell you one similar. Or refund your money.

Incompetence and passive acceptance of mediocrity comprise the warp and weft of many, if not most, economic transactions in Uruguay, at least at the retail level. I’ve had years to get used to this. Even so, I was irate. Rather than tell them to give me my money back and insist that I would never buy something else from pond scum like them, I filed a complaint. Said they were doing false advertising, and should not be allowed on Mercado Libre. Maybe someone at Mercado Libre will read it some day, but in the end the message went straight to the vendor.

Before getting to their response, let’s review:

1. Vendor offered an item for sale
2. I ordered it (“bid on it” in their terminology for some reason)
3. They sent payment instructions and accepted payment
4. They contacted me to coordinate delivery
5. Two days later, tell me they don’t have the product but offer to upsell me something else

And so, what is their response?

– It’s a shame the customer has to have this attitude. After all, he never asked us if we actually had the item in stock.

With that, the issue was closed; I couldn’t reply. So I went back to their listing page, and posted that I’m sorry to have caused a problem. I’m not from the Third World, and in other places companies don’t advertise and accept payment for products they don’t have.

Too harsh? You tell me.

More likely – if you live here – you’ll have similar horror stories. Feel free to vent– beyond having a heroic sense of humor, or devolving to subservient acceptance of abuse and mediocrity, what else do you have besides wanting to break things?

* I now tend to think the vendor never had the mattress he advertised, but hoped we’d be the “acceptance of mediocrity” part of the warp and weft and accept whatever he sent us.

** regarding the stove we now have: between our house, casita, and the house in the country, we have three kitchens to furnish and only two stoves, so the replaced stove will fill a personal need.

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.)

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.

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.

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.