Mail Story

First of all, tomorrow I leave for Intag for my homestay. I will be living on a remote dairy farm, and will have email access only on Sunday when we go to market. How quaint. Also, my family does not speak a word of English, so it´s full steam ahead. New words on my vocabulary list include- clumsy, flirt, tax, afford, to be fed up, to pull oneself together, sweet, aftertaste, hint, to move away from, to move toward, hoarse, and leak, to name a few. I´m really exited to go, to tell you the truth, although also of course nervous about the unknown. Also I am worried about having to be -on- all the time, socially, and feeling like a guest the whole time. I mean, I can only keep my resteraunt manners on for probably a day and a half and then I´m just going to have to be myself. Poor host family...

Now for the story.

My mother, being the kind, generous, wonderful mother she is, and wanting to take care of me from far away, decided to send me a care package. Excellent! So she got an address from the volunteer coordinator and sent it.

Then she emailed me when it got here. I said, great, I´ll go pick it up on the way home from the rainforest.

So when I get into Quito after an all-night bus trip, (during which they played a Jean Claude Van Dam film called, I kid you not, ¨Sudden Death) I got on the trolley and went to the post office. Upon arriving at the post office, I quickly learn that I have no idea how to say the words post office, pick up a package, or mail. They send me from window to window. Finally I explain that the package has been sent to the foundation´s p.o. box. What´s the number, they ask. I don´t know.

So I walk down the street to an internet cafe and look up Stuart the volunteer coordinator´s number so I can ask him the box number. The internet cost amounts to ten cents. I hand the attendent a 20, the only cash I have on me. He can´t change it, it´s too big. I explain to him that if I go to the bank, they will give me more 20 dollar bills. He tells me to just leave.

So I go next door to the phone cafe and call Stuart and get the box number. The call is 45 cents. I give the attendent a 20. She also cannot change it. I explain it´s all I´ve got. She makes me wait till she can get change. I wait and wait. Finally a very nice man pays for my phonecall so I can leave, which was even nicer than usual because it was a situation where a strange Ecuadorian man was nice to me and was not hitting on me and this is unusual.

So I get back to the post office and they try to give me Stuart´s mail in the box, which he is late for paying for. They want me to give them money and take his mail. I explain I cannot do this, and only want my package. The package is not in the box. They direct me to another window, where a man tells me he cannot find my number, but if I give him the tracking number he can try to find it in the computer.

Back to the internet cafe. But a different one this time because I still only have a 20. I get the tracking number AND change my 20. I´m golden.

I go back and give the man my tracking number. He says, oh this is a UPS number sorry. You have to go to a different post office. I feel a little exasperated but it´s ok. So I ask for the name and address of the new post office I need to go to. He says he does not know the exact name or address but gives me a trolley stop, a few cross streets, and says, ask anyone and they´ll know where it is.

I asked 6 policemen or security guards where this post office was. No one knew. I walked around the block 3 times. This took at least an hour. Finally in desperation I call Stuart. He says the post office has called, they have my package. Wonderful! And they are going to charge 120 dollars for me to pick it up. And then the call drops.

I call my mother and she tells me she wants me to have the package and will pay the fee. She feels really bad about what a fiasco this has become, even though it is by no means her fault. I take the trolley back to the first post office. Keep in mind I slept on a bus and have not showered in almost 48 hours.

I get back to the post office and the attendent assures me the package is not there. I go and call Stuart again. He explains that the package will be at the UPS office, and that I should find it online. I try to, but can´t, so I go home dejected.

That was Monday.

On Wednesday I try again. Stuart has gotten information from the foundation´s office, to whom the package is addressed with attn to me. The UPS guys contacted the FBU office and now Stuart knows where my package is. So I get back on a bus to Quito, and take a 1 dollar taxi to the UPS office.

Hello I am here to pick up my package. The lady get the number, gets a form. That´ll be 120 dollars. I did my homework that morning and looked up several potentially helpful vocabulary words- robbery, tax, package, nightmare, pick up, fee, and afford. I asked her why the package cost so much. She replied, Spanish spanish spanish tax spanish spanish look here spanish spanish spanish package spanish spanish. I said fine and gave her the money. She went to get my package.

She comes back and explains to me that it´s actually going to be 150 dollars. Why? Because the ultimatum for picking it up was two days ago. It´s in the pre-liquidation stage now and so you have to pay extra.

The pre-liquidation stage.
Fuck.
You.

What I actually say is, hey, I didn´t even know the package was here, no one emailed me, no one called me, I didn´t know where to go, I got lost, this isn´t fair, I can´t afford this, it´s not my fault that I´m late picking it up you guys didn´t tell me, I am a volunteer and a student I´m not rich. She says they notified the foundation. Please I say. She goes into the back room to talk to her boss.

And then I pull out the big guns. I focus very hard on how unfair and upsetting this entire situation is. I focus really really hard.

And by the time she comes back into the lobby I am sobbing into my hands. I am weeping shamelessly, loudly, and all the workers in the back poke their heads out to see what´s wrong. People are obviously very embarassed. Maybe they´ll give me my package so that I will leave.

When I pull myself together, the lady says, I´m sorry but that´s how it is.

NO MERCY.

So I take a walk down the street and go to the bank, come back walking up an enourmous hill. As I am walking I think of strategies for getting my package. I consider that since I have now lost all human dignity, I can really do anything. Ideas include refusing to pay and refusing to leave until I get my package. Turning refusal into a hunger strike. Taking off all my clothes and chasing people around the office yelling and jumping around stark naked. Pooping on the couches and the rug in the reception office. All these things strike me as very real possiblities right now. But in reality I decide that it´s not quite worth it. I don´t speak enough Spanish to deal with the police.

So I go and pay the lady 30 more dollars. Thank you she says, you may come back and pick up your package in 5 business days.

Excuse me? I say. Yes she says, 5 days. They have to release it. No, I say. No, I want it now. I want my package now. My voice is officially raised. I can´t come back and get it in 5 days because I´m moving to Intag, I´m going to live there. There is no bus system. It´s far away I can´t just come back to Quito because I AM LEAVING. Well, she says, we don´t have your package here. Well, I tell her, tell me where it is and I´ll go get it right now. You can´t do that. Why not? Spanish spanish spanish paperwork spanish spanish spanish. We have a problem, I tell her. Yes she says. She tells me to give her the address of where I´m staying and they´ll drop it off for free. Fine.

I take a cab back to the bus station. The cabbie tries to charge me 2 dollars. I tell him 1.50 which is more than I payed to get here anyway. No, he says, 2. Fine I say, go. I will only pay 1.5o. Ok, ok, get in, he says. God I am SO sick of people trying to fuck me here! I am so sick of people trying to take advantage of me! I am so sick of arguing and having to be scrappy and cynical and distrusting! I used to be graceful. I used to feel inherant respect for people. I used to go out of my way to be pleasant. And now I´m standing on a curb in industrial Quito telling this cabbie that he can just drive away and find some other customer if hes not going to give me EXACTLY WHAT I WANT.

I get to the bus station and buy some plantain chips and get on the bus. I feel like I´m in that scene in the Big Lebowski after John Goodman smashes the wrong guy´s car, and the Dude, Walter, and Donnie are driving in the Dude´s destroyed car, eating In-And-Out burgers, not having gotten anything out of the kid they think stole their money. I am living that scene.

It occurs to me that there must have been some point along the way where I should have given up. There was some point at which I should have just said, liquidate it, assholes. But I passed that point without seeing it. Yes, I passed it like ships in the night, or rather, like busses on cliffside roads in the night, almost touching but never quite making contact. And after that point there was only the point where I had done too much, worked too hard, to give up. My friend Alex tells me, no Rachel, that´s just your ego. You could have given up at any time. I know, Alex. I know.

Today I got word that my package was already to be picked up, because Stuart was wonderful and pulled some major strings. I have some great books, an incredible sweater Alley felted for me, and lots of chocolate and curry mix. Joy.

So, over and out, going to Intag. Love you guys!