Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Day I Met An Indian

When I got back to my room after work, I was shocked to find the room was chilly.  My roommates were still in bed and everything started to make sense when I looked at the climate control unit and saw an error code on the screen.  This typically happens when it is set too hot.  Usually, if you turn the unit off, wait a minute, turn it back on and turn it to a lower setting, it will work again. 
With my usual apathy towards the temperature in the room, I changed and crawled under the covers.  As I warmed up and started to doze, my roommates started pushing buttons on the remote to get the heat going again, “Beep, beep, beep.”  I guess the unit had enough of the temperature changing nonsense and refused to spew anything but cold air.  I was chuckling to myself as my roommates start discussing their frustrations with the temperature of the room.  They conclude that a work order must be submitted to the billeting office, but someone has to be present to let the workers into the room.  That is where I piped in, “I got that part covered.  I’ll be here all day.”  I guess working nights can come in handy sometimes. 
My roommates head off to work.  I am left alone to my thoughts and they are not conducive to sleep.  I lay there anyway starring at the bunk above me begging for sleep and repeating the word “nothing” to chase my thoughts away.  Somewhere between that time and one thirty, I dosed off to be awakened by a knock on my door.  I slipped on my bear feet slippers and went to the door to be greeted by two workers ready to fix the climate control unit.
Like vampires, they asked permission to enter the room.  I hesitated wondering how they were going to fix the unit if they didn’t enter the room.  I shook the sleep from my head and replied, “Yes, please come in.”  I began to describe the problem, and sat on my bed while they talked in a language I did not understand.  One walked to the outside unit and the other stayed inside to test the unit opening the window so they could communicate.  As the guy outside was taking the cover off the outside unit, the guy inside started saying, “Compression fan?” wondering if it was the compression fan that was the problem.   It took me a minute to figure out he was speaking English again and I think the same happened to the guy outside because he said, “Huh?” a couple of times.    The guy inside with me started talking to me.  I always get the same questions, “Are you married? Do you have kids?”  I say no to both, no use lying to a stranger, and ask him the same.  He is single, from a touristy part of India, is only 25 yrs old, and has been here for a week because he just got back from vacation at home.  He misses his village and says the weather here is never agreeable.  It is dusty all the time, always too hot or too cold, never rains, but he likes his job.  As he is telling me all this, a voice from outside starts speaking in a language I still can’t understand and my new friend stops talking to me.  He quietly tells me I am lucky because the repair will only take 20 minutes, whereas most repairs like this take two hours because they have to replace the whole system.  I only need a new wire. 
They are now done with the repair.  The indoor guy tests the system and sees that it is set to 30 (86F).  He looks at me and says, “30 is too high.”  I nodded, “Yes, 30 is too much.”  I take a mental note of this part of the conversation because it is a good way to get my roommate to stop heating the room to 90 degrees.  I sign his work order form, he says, “Good bye my friend,” and they are gone.
As the room starts to heat up, I start to get tired again.  I must have dozed off because I was again awakened to a knocking at the door.  It was about four thirty now.  I opened the door, later realizing I looked a mess, to be greeted by my favorite German woman (sarcasm) and two workers.  The German woman states, “I have work order for your room.”  I smile sweetly wanting to ask where her sign is, and instead reply that the unit has already been fixed.  One of the workers hands me a work order form for my signature.  I sign it, hand it back to him, again I smile sweetly at my best friend and wish them a wonderful day. 
As I was leaving for work, I found her sign.  Posted on the door is a sign that they will be working in the bathroom tomorrow.  Good thing I didn’t ask where her sign was posted. 

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