You never know what you have until it's gone. That wisdom has never been more relevant for me than now. You see, I moved into the House of My Dreams recently. With four months' notice, we renovated, remodelled and relished in the knowledge of our soon-to-be abode as the end all, be all solution to our housing woes of the last five years. It is charming, expansive, solid, quiet, gorgeous and lovely.
Prior to our move, we had lived in a tiny house for sixty-four months, not that I was counting or anything. During that time, I spent thousands of hours conducting research and communications online. I wrote and published three books, published a CD-rom, wrote an unpublished novella and one partially published novel. I wrote for several major magazines, landed hundreds of media interviews for dozens of clients, and dreamed of the day I'd leave my office 'tube' and move into a real one.
Some day.
That day arrived on March 29th. We had painted the walls, laid hard-wood floors and bought new furniture for my office. With three times the space, I was ready to create three times as many books as I had before while continuing my gratifying work as a PR consultant for various US firms. In that same week, my battle with the German telecommunications industry began.
I'm a reasonable person. I pay my taxes, read to my kids, serve vegetables daily, and exercise. I'm friendly with our new neighbors, give to charity and generally appreciate being alive. Yet I never knew how hard it would be to convince the German telecom that I too am worthy of Internet access.
I naively believed all my ducks were quacking happily in a row the day the German Telecom technician arrived on my doorstep April 1. I even called in advance to ensure he knew how to get there. He grunted at me as I let him in. Unphased and full of plans to jump right online the moment his utility trucked peeled from the driveway, I soon found out I hadn't done the right thing.
"We don't have a DSL order," the technician managed to say.
"Oh, I get it," I good-naturedly admitted. "I'll just give my other provider, Tele2, a quick call..." I called my Internet provider, who promised to take care of it.
"Might take a week," the phone rep said in an okey-doke sort of way.
I inhaled, filling my lungs like a yogi.
"Alrighty," I said, a little less convinced of the phone rep's ability to pull it off.
Tele2 had me dance through hoops, wasting a full nine days before realizing they couldn't win against the monopolist German Telecom. Think Ma Bell in the early 80's. I wasn't going to get Internet access from Tele2, who relies on the Telecom's lines, even though I had had that arrangement a few streets away in said tiny house.
My foot shook relentlessly as I dialed the customer service department to place a DSL order with the Telecom directly.
"I'm ready to go to the Dark Side," I explained to my husband that evening. A noise emanated from behind the newsprint, masking his expression. Another week went by when I called again to be sure everyone knew what to do and that Department A had communicated with Department B.
'Why am I doing their job for them?' I thought moodily as I listened to easy listening music while on hold. Yet another cheery phone rep promised to take care of it because for some reason they had changed systems and a software glitch caused them to ignore my request.
Huh?
I waited another five days, then called again.
"Oh, Department A doesn't know a thing about your order, and we'll need to send a technician to see if it's even possible" the somber voice on the other end of the line reported.
That's when I started to cry.
Not softly. Not quietly. I let out a full blown wail.
"You don't seem to understand," I said between gulps of air.
"I'm going to lose my job, my clients will send a hired gun to assasinate me in front of the children. My life is Godfather meets You've Got Mail. Only I have none. At least, I don't know if I do or not because I CAN'T CHECK MY EMAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The phone rep jotted down my cell phone number and promised to call me the minute she knew whether DSL was even possible in my street. She told me to be patient, that a mid-week holiday was coming up and that she doesn't work Fridays.
What the heck happened to the Protestant work ethic? Oh, I forgot. Martin Luther wasn't very well liked here. It has something to do with tacking some papers to a church door...
On my afternoon walk today, I watched a black cable be pulled down a dark hole. At even intervals, the black cable stopped moving long enough for me to read it. "T-Com," it said in white print. I lunged at the road worker.
"Are you with the Telecom?" My widened eyes burned into his orange hazards. The man nodded, then cautiously stepped back a few paces. "Then, what are you doing here?"
"Laying DSL cable," he said meekly.
Despite my very best effort to remain calm, I knew I had lost the battle. The T-com has its own agenda, its own timeframe. It honors its employees' time off more than it honors my time online.
Life offline as an expat. For now, this is as good as it gets.
