The Package

I have been without the Internet since the day I have moved into the apartment. That is okay for the average person, but when your life depends on communication, the Internet is essential. Without it, I feel lost and cannot write. I use it for everything, the dictionary, to check AP style and inspiration.

Maybe I exaggerate. I have not been entirely without the Internet. I found several signals to steal, and there is one in particular that I can pick up in the far corner of my room, but the signal is low and the speed is slow.

My roommate, Francesca keeps having conversations with me about the installation of the internet. At times, I hear her discussing it with her brother. I do not understand why there is a conversation.

Surely I must be missing something. In the United States, you make a phone call and BOOM, you are connected. I am sure there is something that I am missing; because it cannot be such a process. Or can it?

Francesca’s dialect is bit difficult for me to understand, so half of the time she pulls me aside to discuss it I do not comprehend the problem. The other half of the time, I do not want to hear about the dilemma, I just want to hear, “Natalie, the code for our wireless internet is . . ."

But that is in my dreams. In reality, she did order the Internet and the day before she left for a work conference she told me I had to be home on Thursday and Friday for the installation. At least that is what I understood.

In my mind, she said that someone was installing the telephone line on Thursday and then Friday they were installing the Internet. Now that I look back, I think this is just what I wanted to hear.

I reluctantly stayed home on Thursday, even though I was invited to a tourism conference . . . but I digress. I stayed home with the expectation that some man will be coming into the apartment to install a phone line.

At 10:30 a.m. my door buzzes. I let the person into the building. Another buzz, and I open my front door of my 4^th floor apartment. I looked out — left, right and down the stairwell — there is no one there. Then, I heard a voice screaming up to me from floor level.

“Signora! Signora! Vieni giu,” said some man. He was asking me to come downstairs.

“Chi e (who is it),” I asked.

Buzz, buzz.

“Blah, blah blah, Signora vieni giu,” now he screamed.

“Chi e,” I screamed back.

“Signora!”

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, goes the doorbell.

The window in the stairwell lets in the constant hum of traffic outside my door, and I could not hear who he was. Plus, this could not be the guy I was waiting for, I thought. Anyways, even if it was, why could he not just WALK UP THE STAIRS?

“Non ti sento ( I cannot hear you)! Chi e,” I kept screaming down the stairwell.

By now his hand was glued to the buzzer. All I heard was a constant buzz and him screaming at me, which does not impel me to come downstairs. Instead, I just wanted to make him come up the stairs. Why should I go downstairs for this stranger, who will not even tell me who is?

The conversation above and constant doorbell ringing repeated itself about two more times. “Signora!!!!” Buzz. “Ma va fa in culo,” I heard him say, along with other swear words.

That basically means “go fuck yourself.” This again, is not the way to get a woman to come downstairs.

He finally left. At about 3 p.m. I thought “where the hell is the phone guy.” I called the number Francesca left me.

Turns out, there is no phone guy. No. I was just waiting for a package from express mail service Bartolini Corriere Espresso. The Bartolini representative I spoke to said that the delivery guy is not allowed to come to the door or they are prohibited to enter the building. From what I understood that is a law.

If I spoke better Italian, I would have asked her what her definition was of “express mail.” I did not have time to argue; so I just told her that the delivery man was rude and swearing at me. That did not faze her; she just ignored my complaint and asked if I would be home tomorrow to receive the package. So much for service.

I am still upset that I stayed home to wait for a package. Never in my life have I stayed home for a package. Not only did I waste a day, waiting for a package, I was waiting for a package that was not even delivered to my door. Just to my building. At night, I still ponder this episode, why could he not just WALK UP THE STAIRS? It is so simple, yet they make it so hard.