Are you old enough to remember the "joke" about a certain European nationality changing a light bulb? (Answer--3. One to hold the bulb and two to turn the ladder). This post isn't about ethnic insensitivity or making fun of another culture. A funny incident happened last week that I simply want to pass along to readers curious about what life is really like here in Ecuador.
Thursday is the day our housekeeper cleans the apartment. She was already here so we were surprised to hear a knock at the door. Lo and behold it was our landlord and another guy. He explained that they were here to take care of some problems we've been having with some of our light fixtures.
Backing up, these problems have been going on for months. But none were like ruining our quality of life or anything, so while we had made him aware of them we hadn't been applying pressure to get them fixed. But on this particular day for some unknown reason here they were bright and early at our front door so giddyup!
The gentleman accompanying our landlord is what is known as a "maestro." In our world we might think of a maestro as the person conducting an orchestra or at least a master of his trade. We used to think that about people who showed up to do work here. Just as we have learned over the years that mañana doesn't mean "tomorrow" but instead "not now," we've figured out that maestro indeed means "the person who shows up."
Clue #1--after examining the lights that won't come on in the ventilation hood over our stove, he asks me if I have a screwdriver. What "maestro" shows up without any tools?
Clue #2--he inquires if I have a ladder. See previous question.
While "handyman" will never be part of my resume I do have both of the required items. Plus a hammer and pliers should they be needed later.
The deliberations about these two little bulbs goes on and on. I go into the kitchen at one point and there's a third guy who appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as mysteriously. I didn't ask. Eventually Cynthia lies down on the couch and I assume a similar horizontal position in the bed. Our maid keeps cleaning.
At some point our landlord comes into the bedroom to inform me that they have to take the kitchen fixtures to a workshop for testing. He says they may have to jerry rig a separate switch to solve the problem. I ask him if it will be ugly. He says, "Maybe," another word that we've learned that in this context really means "Yes." I tell him ugly is not acceptable. He seems surprised that his solution is vetoed.
But while we're in the area, what about the lights that don't work in the master bathroom? The ones over Cynthia's sink and the accent light over a painting? The maestro replaces a socket and gets the accent light back on again. Hooray! Then he replaces one of the two bulbs over the sink with a light so bright that sunglasses are required. He is pleased that it works. I ask him to take it out and find something else.
All of this has been going on for hours and the two of them finally leave with the dismantled kitchen lights and wiring. They say they will be back "mas tarde en la tarde" (later in the afternoon). Translation--they ain't coming back today.
Sure enough, the next morning our amigos are knocking on the door. They've added a separate switch to the lights that dangles from the back of the hood. Not great, but some strategically placed masking tape holds it in place without looking too weird. For some reason one of the new bulbs doesn't work so they have to remove the one from the accent fixture in the bathroom that just became functional yesterday.
So here's where we stand a week later: the lights in the kitchen work--the lights in the bathroom still don't work. And it may be months before they do. We'll just have to wait for the next knock on the door.
In Ecuador, that's solid progress.