During a three week stay for Global Volunteers, I was testing the ideal scenario – telecommuting from an island paradise in the South Pacific. On Tuesday morning I had escaped duties to finish up some design work then started the 3K walk to the computer store to use the email. En route, the curio shop was opening for the first time since our arrival. Inside a lady in disarray was uncovering showcases. Her knowing the GV presence, asked of my function. I mentioned electronics and she promptly insisted I could help fix her microwave oven. Unyielding she closed the store and secured me into her old Datsun wreck to take me home.
In the islands, any vehicle was a luxury and maintained far beyond considered functional operation. Her pickup had no springs which put undue pressure on the rusted and disappearing cab floor. The passenger door could only be opened from outside and a flexible hinge combination allowed a tenuous latching.
On the way she told her life story as the widow of a New Zealander whose technical career left her with a pension, she had to fly to Honolulu twice a year to collect and do a little shopping. Two years ago she purchased a microwave oven that did not work in Raratonga. Some German had rigged up something that did not help and she insisted Americans were better than Germans to get things working. Thus in spite of my dissent, she was certain of my ability.
Her gated art deco mansion suffered major disrepair and neglect but at one point in a time worthy of the adoration, she reflected on. The expatriate had taken very good care of her. A perfect hostess emerged from this frenzied mistress with a cool fruit drink and conversation about her husband. Then presented with the microwave and a haphazard transformer connection, I said it was hopeless to fix without tools. She led me to her husband's den pilled with junk but with diligence, we found a meter and other electrical tools. Undaunted by my need for wire and terminals we loaded into the Datsun and off we went to see a cousin working at the electrical station. The power station was not exactly what I meant and further explanation led us to another cousin that owned an electrical store with all the solutions. Back to the mansion, I was able to get the microwave operational in a short time. Her undying gratitude would give her more than zapping a quick dinner but credibility to many of her cousins on the Island that I assume had scoffed at her misfortune. With such success she wanted me to meet another cousin, married to the Chief of our section of the Island. Back in the Datsun and down the hill she drove across the lawn of the Chief’s residence to the front porch but unfortunately, she was not at home. At that, I asked to be dropped at the library where I had promised volunteer duty that afternoon.
In the islands, any vehicle was a luxury and maintained far beyond considered functional operation. Her pickup had no springs which put undue pressure on the rusted and disappearing cab floor. The passenger door could only be opened from outside and a flexible hinge combination allowed a tenuous latching.
On the way she told her life story as the widow of a New Zealander whose technical career left her with a pension, she had to fly to Honolulu twice a year to collect and do a little shopping. Two years ago she purchased a microwave oven that did not work in Raratonga. Some German had rigged up something that did not help and she insisted Americans were better than Germans to get things working. Thus in spite of my dissent, she was certain of my ability.
Her gated art deco mansion suffered major disrepair and neglect but at one point in a time worthy of the adoration, she reflected on. The expatriate had taken very good care of her. A perfect hostess emerged from this frenzied mistress with a cool fruit drink and conversation about her husband. Then presented with the microwave and a haphazard transformer connection, I said it was hopeless to fix without tools. She led me to her husband's den pilled with junk but with diligence, we found a meter and other electrical tools. Undaunted by my need for wire and terminals we loaded into the Datsun and off we went to see a cousin working at the electrical station. The power station was not exactly what I meant and further explanation led us to another cousin that owned an electrical store with all the solutions. Back to the mansion, I was able to get the microwave operational in a short time. Her undying gratitude would give her more than zapping a quick dinner but credibility to many of her cousins on the Island that I assume had scoffed at her misfortune. With such success she wanted me to meet another cousin, married to the Chief of our section of the Island. Back in the Datsun and down the hill she drove across the lawn of the Chief’s residence to the front porch but unfortunately, she was not at home. At that, I asked to be dropped at the library where I had promised volunteer duty that afternoon.
1 comment:
I saw this title and immediately said...
"Oh great one of my favorites!!!"
Post a Comment