Today Jonathan walked through the door with one of those gas barrels. How great was my joy! We moved to this apartment on September 7th. Today is September 17th. We have not had gas for that long. That means no stove. Most of you would say “What’s the problem? Just bake something.” Well that would be possible if I were an imaginative chef. I don’t have any cookbooks with me. I don’t have the internet to save me from my lack of ideas. What would you bake if you were stoveless, cookbookless, and unimaginative? I would love to know. Really. Then I could bake it and save my family from frozen pizza (nasty porkless turkish pizza) , cold sandwiches, and baked meatballs and baked fries (which really aren’t that bad). Now that I have one burner I can brown meat, make soup, puddings, pastas, sauces, vegetables, etc. Now Cinci can actually start eating again. Poor baby.
The thing about moving in this country is that you never know when the people are going to come and hook up your gas, your TV, internet, phone, electricity, water, etc. I must say I don’t have it that bad. No electricity? That’s worse. No water? That’s worse. I’d say that for my family, having no gas and having no TV tie for third. It all depends on whether the kids are in school or not. When my kids are in school what do I need TV for? I never watch the thing.
As you can tell by reading this long post, this having no gas thing has really irritated me. Yesterday, the gas guy came to my house for the second time. The first time he came I was quite hopeful. I thought he was going to turn on the gas. No. He looked at my kitchen window and told me I had to cut a hole in it for security reasons. OK. I understand. I’ll have Jonathan tell the man who is in charge of our housing. It should be taken care of. No problem, they say. Nobody came to cut a hole in my glass. I continue life assuming that Mr. ? (our housing guy) had a telephone conversation with the gas guy.
Mr. ? -Hello. Apartment 43 blok E doesn’t need a hole cut in their glass OK?
Gas guy-OK. I’ll go turn on the gas then
The conversation never took place. The gas guy came a week later. My face shows my excitement as he steps into my house. But no. He gives me a displeased look and says “Bla Bla Bla bla bla bla !!!! bla bla bla bla bla! Bla bla bla?” Which means “I thought I told you to cut a hole in your glass! Do you really think I’m going to turn on your gas now after you have disobeyed me and ruffled my turkish honor?” I plead with him, child in arm, and try to find the phone number of Mr. ?(our housing guy who speaks English). Can’t find it. The gas guy leaves and to my surprise I am in tears. All my dreams of puddings and pastas are shattered.
I tell Atticus, who is home sick from school, to get his shoes on and I grab Cinci. Out the door we go. I’m monologueing the whole way and Atticus is telling me not to talk like that. I stomp into Mr. ? ( the housing guy)’s office (yes, it’s walking distance) and tell him how the gas guy came and left without turning the gas on and then I start crying again. Out come the tissues and the “Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry”s and in a matter of minutes he had made three phone calls setting up something. I didn’t know what but it sounded like progress. That was yesterday morning. That afternoon some men came and took out my windows. That evening they came and put them back in with the appropriate holes. Today Jonathan came home with one burner to hold us over until Saturday, which is when the gas guy says he’s going to come again. He could probably come earlier but I think he’s afraid he might make me cry again. He wants to come on Saturday because then Jonathan would be home.
So ladies, I think this crying thing works. I want you to know that I never intended to be one of those females that cries to get everything she wants. I’m not one of them. If I were I would cry all the time. But, when your baby starts to lose weight because he can’t have his favorite foods like oatmeal and pasta, you start getting desperate. When your child comes home with a cough and you just want to make him a little herbal tea to soothe his throught, you start to get a little more desperate. Then the slightest thing will bring the tears. I believe God built women this way for a reason. If nagging doesn’t work ( which it doesn’t) then tears might. Especially on Turkish men who would never want to make a woman cry. Especially not a woman with children.