(Plus Some Finales and Encores Because That’s How Long It Takes to Tell This Story)
Act 1: Solutions …
Temporarily
ICE (eey – say)
is the Costa Rican government’s internet service provider. When we moved into
our house, Jenny (our landlady) told us that the internet was already set up
and ready to use. But if we wanted WIFI we’d have to get our own universal WIFI
router. “For now, all you need is a cable,” she said.
We didn’t have a cable. Jenny made a phone call. “The ICE
guys will be out here in an hour or two,” she said. “They will be wearing
yellow shirts and driving a yellow truck.” Pretty easy to spot, especially
since no one drives down our road.
A few hours later, the yellow ICE truck pulled up and two
guys in yellow ICE shirts got out. I jumped up and down on the porch like a
little kid seeing the ice cream truck. Different “ice.”
We pointed them to the modem. In Spanish they told us
something. In English we responded. Finally we got it. They were telling us we
needed an Ethernet cable. We were telling them, “Si, comprendemos!”
They hooked up an Ethernet cable that was long enough to go
from the modem in the spare room out to the dining room table, which, because
we have no other furniture, is also our current office workspace.
Buenos and handshakes all around. They got in their yellow
truck and drove back up the hill.
We had internet!!! We could contact our loved ones and let
them know that we’d gotten on and off the correct plane and were now happily in
our Grecia house. Our joy was relatively short-lived when the first
thunderstorm hit. Jenny had warned us to unplug the computer and the internet
during any storm. Even though we have surge protectors, I have a feeling that
3-pronged electrical outlets all over the house aren’t actually grounded—they’re
more for show. At least that’s what we’ve heard from other expats.
So each evening for a week we faithfully unplugged during
the storm and then replugged. Sometimes we got internet back but sometimes not
so much. Then I would go into reset mode, unplugging the modem, restarting the
computer, sticking a pen into the reset on the modem. For several days this
system worked. Until it didn’t.
That’s when all the tricks stopped working and we lost
internet connection completely. This happened at a very inopportune time,
because we needed to wire funds to the people in San Jose who had received our
85 boxes of stuff from the shipping company. They were waiting to deliver them
to us but they needed to be paid. I had previously emailed Betty, my very
helpful and sweet delivery contact, to let her know that I would transfer the
funds on Wednesday morning. But on Tuesday evening the internet stopped
working.
Act 2: Who’s Elise?
Wednesday morning came and Paul dialed the first of two
phone numbers Jenny had left for us in case we had problems with the internet.
He turned away from the phone for a moment with a relieved look on his face, “Press
nine for English,” he said. Great, because it’s really hard to mime what you need
over the phone.
He spoke to a nice lady who assured him that someone would
be at the house either that day (Wednesday) or Thursday before noon. They would
call first.
At about noon on Wednesday, the phone rang. Paul answered.
“No, there’s no Elise here,” he said. “You must have the wrong number.”
I’d remembered that the name of the cleaning lady who used
to clean this house was Alyssa. Maybe that’s who the caller was looking for. I
started waving my arms at Paul so he’d look at me. “Ask if they want the lady
who cleans houses,” Paul was being insistent that Elise didn’t live here. He
finally noticed my flapping arms.
“Do you want the cleaning lady?” he asked, “she doesn’t work
here now.” At that moment I had a rare insight en Español.
“Wait!” I shouted. “They’re not asking for Elise! They’re
telling you that they’re el ICE!! El-eey-say!! The internet
people!!”
Paul was just about to hang up. “Internet?” he said
hopefully into the receiver. I saw him smile and nod. “Si, si, internet! So
you’ll be here in two or three hours? Great!”
He hung up the phone. “Two or three hours,” he repeated to
me.
Five hours later we were sitting on the patio. The afternoon
rain had lulled. “They’re not coming,” Paul reported to me. Unnecessarily.
Act 3: The Phone Number
On Thursday morning at 8 a.m. on the dot, Paul called ICE.
Or at least what we thought was ICE based on the information Jenny had left for
us.
He pressed 9 for English. A woman answered.
“What is the phone number?”
He gave her our phone number. She told him nothing was wrong
with the phone. “I know that,” he said, “I’m calling about the internet.”
“The number you called is for problems with the phone,” she
said.
“But I called this number yesterday and talked to someone
about the internet,” he said.
They went around like this for a few minutes. “Maybe if I
gave you the account number?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. He gave her the account number.
“Oh, you’re having problems with your internet,” she said.
“Yes,” said Paul, “and the person I spoke to said that
someone would be out either yesterday or today before noon.”
“We’ll send someone out before noon today,” she said.
“Great,” said Paul.
We were on edge all morning waiting for the yellow truck
with the guys in yellow shirts to arrive. I was worried that sweet Betty who
was holding our stuff hostage in San Jose was probably thinking we’d just
dumped 85 boxes on her for the fun of it and she’d never hear from us again.
Intermission
Paul made hot dogs for lunch. I bit into one. A crunchy
fried plastic sleeve slid off the hot dog into my mouth. Apparently Costa Rican
hot dogs are individually wrapped in plastic and then vacuum sealed to keep all
the yummy hot dogs parts under control.
Paul had already eaten half of his plastic-grilled hot dog.
I guess it’s a guy thing (and also a dog thing). After we peeled the nicely
crisped plastic off our hot dogs and started lunch over, I said, “I’m gonna
call again.” It was only noon, but I was beginning to be wary of the
responsiveness of the guys in the yellow shirts.
Act 4: The Next
Conversation
I dialed the number and pressed 9 for English. It was
raining so hard I could barely hear. A gentleman answered. I got right to the
meat of things. “Internet,” I said.
“What is your phone number?” he said.
I gave him the phone number.
“Do you have a problem with your phone?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “With the internet.”
“This is the number for phone problems,” he said.
I sighed. I don’t think he heard me sigh. “Here’s the
thing,” I said, “we’ve been calling this number – and people on the line have
been telling us that the ICE guys were coming but they never come and so I’m
just calling back to make sure that they’re really coming.”
“But this is only the number for phone problems,” he said.
“How about if I gave you the account number,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. I gave him the account number.
“One moment,” he said. He came back on the line. “The
account number you gave me is only for the phone. You don’t have internet
service.”
I sighed again. I think he heard me this time. “Sir,” I
said. “We’ve been calling this number and giving out this account number for
the last three days. We were told that someone would come out to fix our
internet either yesterday or today by noon. I was simply following up to make
sure that they were still scheduled to come out. And now you’re telling me we
don’t even have internet service.”
“That is correct,” he said.
“Then why did ICE come out a week ago to fix our internet?”
I asked.
“They must have come out to fix your phone,” he answered.
“No, they came out and checked the ICE modem. They provided
an Ethernet cable for my computer. I have been using the internet for a week.
So I know that I have internet service.”
“There is only record of phone service on the account number
you gave me,” he said. Was I in a Saturday
Night Live sketch or a Twilight Zone
episode? “Let me talk to my supervisor,” he said. He put me on hold. There is
no “hold” music or adver-happy-jingles to help you distinguish whether you’re
actually on hold or if he’s simply bailed on you. I chose to believe he was,
indeed, conferring with a supervisor.
“We do seem to have an open work order for your internet
repair,” he said when he came back on the line.
“So you do have a record that we have internet service
here?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “they work until 4:30, so someone should be
out before then. They have many service calls which is probably why they were
delayed.”
“Why did it take so long for you to find out that I had
internet service?” I asked.
“Because the account number you gave is only for WIX [that’s
what it sounded like to me],” he said.
“What is WIX?”
“Your phone service.”
“What is the account number I should use if I have internet
problems?” I asked.
“The service people will be out today before 4:30,”
“I am aware of that,” I said. “But in the future … should I ever need internet service again … is
there a different account number I should be using?”
“The number you gave is the correct one,” he said.
I sighed. Or growled. One or the other.
“They will call before they come,” he said. “Who should they
ask for?”
“My husband Paul or me,” I said, “I’m Marilyn.”
“What is your last name?”
“Stevens.”
“And your passport number?”
I considered asking “Why do you need my passport number?”
but I quickly decided if I did he might cancel the service call and I’d have to
start over again. I gave him my passport number.
“Do you want my husband’s too?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “that will not be necessary. Is there
anything else I can help you with?”
“So they’ll really be out today …” I was eager, grasping.
“Before 4:30,” he said. There was a firmness to his voice I
hadn’t detected previously. “Will that be all?”
“Yes. Thank you.” I was meek. “Buenas Tardas,” I whispered.
Act 5: Paranoia
I am absolutely sure beyond the shadow of a doubt that my
passport number is – right now, before
4:30 – being filed with the only efficient part of the Costa Rican government
– the Problem Gringo Blacklist Department (PGBD). I will never be able to get
my pensionado. Paul will be allowed to live out his golden years in Costa Rica
but I will be forced to return to the states and work in the circus (under an
assumed name). We will never be able to communicate. Because he still can’t get
ICE to come out and fix the internet.
Act 6: Yet Another
Phone Call
At 4:30, Paul called. It was obvious no one was going to
show up. He had a long drawn out conversation with the person on the other end
of the line, which I won’t repeat here because it was almost word-for-word like
the one I had had earlier. The new information that he gleaned: when the customer service people asked for
our phone number, and like fools we gave them our phone number, what they really wanted was what Jenny had written
down as our account number.
After checking with various supervisors, the customer
service guy got back on the phone and assured
Paul that someone would be out first thing in the morning.
Following is an approximate transcript of the half of the
conversation I heard:
Paul: I know you are
trying to support my needs by telling me that someone will be here first thing
in the morning, but I would really prefer honesty.
Customer Service guy says something.
Paul: You see, for the last two days, every time we’ve
talked to a nice person like you, we’ve received assurances about something
that, in the end, did not occur.
Customer Service guy responds.
Paul: I understand that you have no control over whether or
not a technician actually comes to our house. Let me suggest that a better
system might be if your department and the technical service department had
some way of communicating? It seems to me that your job is to just make the
customer feel better, even if it is not the truth.
Customer Service guy goes into a lengthy explanation. I know
that because Paul said “Um-hmm,” and “I understand” a lot.
Paul: Well, thank you for running all over the building
trying to get answers for me. I really appreciate it. (using his firmest tone) And I expect to see a technician in the
morning, or we will be looking for other service.
Mi esposo spent many years as a corporate trainer. He helped
companies with their communication issues. He was very good at it. I think,
deep down, he’s expecting to receive a call from one of the jefes (bosses) at
ICE who had eavesdropped on his exchange with the customer service guy. “Señor
Hastings,” they would begin, “it appears you know much about efficiency. We
would like you to consult with us as to how better to serve our customers,
before they all leave us for X internet company.”
Paul would demure. “No es nada,” he would say, humbly. “I
will be honored to work with you.” He eventually receives a medal from the
Costa Rican government for helping to make their services profitable. I read
about it online when the circus train stops at a Starbucks with WIFI somewhere
in Nebraska.
Finale (Or So We
Thought)
On Friday morning, we were sitting out on the patio, having
our coffee. “Wanna take a bet on whether they’re coming this morning.”
“They’re not,” I said glumly. “No need to bet.”
At 10 a.m. the yellow truck pulled up and a young man in a
(very) yellow shirt got out. I could barely control my excitement.
He held a sheaf of very official looking papers in his hand
(my deportation to the circus papers?). We showed him the modem. He sat at my
computer and shortly took out the Ethernet cable. He changed the plug. He pinged
stuff on my computer. He explained what was wrong in Spanish. We nodded
understandingly (did not understand him at all). He added a third different
kind of Ethernet plug. He jiggled it. The pinging report showed that one kind
of jiggle make the internet work, while another kind of jiggle made it stop
working. It was MY LAPTOP that was the problem – my big American Ethernet
outlet was too big for the dainty Costa Rican internet plugs!!!
“When we get WIFI will that solve the problem?”
“Si, WIFI.”
Paul said, “Well, until we get WIFI, I can just hold the
plug while you type.” I thought there had to be a better way. Masking tape did
the trick. So now we have internet and we know what to say if we need to call
ICE again. And no one from PGBD has shown up to haul me off. Yet.
Encore (But wait …
there’s more …)
Remember a little earlier in this essay when I said that we
were supposed to unplug all the technology when the rains came? One afternoon,
we forgot. So ICE stopped working. I tried all the restart tricks I could think
of, plus a few that I thought should
be restart tricks (note to self: never, never do this again).
We called Jenny who suggested that cable would probably be a
better option for us – and it was about the same price ($26/month). The cable
company, TIGO, had recently installed cable at the top of our hill. On
Saturday, the cable sales guy showed up. Jenny came with him which was great
because he only spoke Spanish and kept trying to sell us the “premium package”
which was for internet and TV, even though we don’t own a TV.
After we signed up for the cable (and I had to give out my
passport number again), we were excited to see the installation guys show up
early Monday morning. But our joy balloon soon deflated, when they came back
from the hill to say that our house was 115 meters away from the pole, and the
cable would only work within 80 meters. Great.
We called Jenny. She called TIGO. Someone at TIGO told her
that those installers were probably “inexperienced” and didn’t realize that
even though they were told that they couldn’t install cable beyond 80 meters,
it would really work (pretty well, mostly) up to 120 meters. They would send
more experienced installers. Maybe tomorrow.
Another Encore?
When “tomorrow” came we waited for a few hours and then made
a decision. We would go with the third option that Jenny had told us about. An
American-owned internet company that was more than twice as expensive, but
apparently much more reliable. Reliable was going to be worth the $60/month
(still much less than we were paying in the states). The next day the installer
from the company, CRWIFI, showed up and, with only a few speed bumps, got
everything working.
What is interesting is our attitude about this entire
experience. Yes it was frustrating to be unable to communicate online for
nearly a week. But I think back to our stress level in the states if we had
problems with our internet service provider. There would be pacing, teeth
clenching, elevated blood pressure … (lots of) foul language. None of that
showed up this time. In Costa Rica we
are trying to allow the spirit of place to color our reactions. It is getting
easier every day.
Applause
