A slight kerfuffle arose recently regarding a new key for a
(perfectly fine) door. Long story short; our lovely, safety-conscious neighbour
decided it was necessary to change the locks on a shared external door (in
light of the recent Barcelona attacks...) which, in turn, meant that Mother had
to go to a very specific key-cutting store to make a copy of the new key. Unfortunately,
a regular key-cutting store wouldn't... cut
it... (HAHAHA excuse the pun!) I say "Mother had to go" but - of
course - that means me as well.
Arriving at the store (finally, after negotiating their
bizarre, Spanish opening times), I spot two women operating the machines and
zero men. I suggest immediately leaving so as not to waste time. Mother wishes
to combat my sexist opinions (a basic concept that Spanish women are capable of
giving birth to a lot of children and not much else) by confidently marching in
and reeling off a script of information (in English, of course) regarding the
key situation to one of the two women. The woman stares at Mother. I intervene;
condensing Mother's narrative into a "please can you make a copy of this
key? Thanks".
Ah, it is not a normal key. It is a "special" key.
A security key. With codes. The woman asks some questions and trots off, a
little scatterbrained, trying to locate a scrap of tiny paper with a 5-digit
code scribbled on. A-ha, the EVER-SO-IMPORTANT-SECURITY-CODE needed to make the
copy. Glad she was able to dig that out from underneath her ham baguette. She
then informs us that, as it is a complicated key, could we come back another
day?
"Pardon?" Mother is shocked.
The woman explains that, as they are currently making a set
of copies for a community, they cannot stop the machine (the ONE machine they
have in this key-copying-shop) so we will have to return another day. The fact that we are even in
here, getting a copy of a new key that wasn't necessary in the first place, is
rather irritating. To have to return another day was, apparently, not an option
for Mother.
"No. You'll have to stop that machine. I can't come
back. Do it now. I've got a plane to catch and I need this key, it's to my
HOUSE!" (n.b. ~ flight was non-existent...)
The flustered woman pressed a button and the machine
stopped. Evidently not too much of a problem.
This is precisely when my thought process went from
"we'll be out of here in 5 minutes, brilliant" to; "I am going to be forced to spend
the rest of my living life in this store."
The following 25 minutes consisted of Woman 1 aggressively
pressing multiple buttons on a high-tech touch screen programming system,
whilst Woman 2 observed closely, occasionally joining in on the screen-prodding.
Multiple times, Woman 1 waddled off in frustration, heading to the back of the
shop to have a munch of ham baguette, then returning to the situation. Clearly,
her boss did not train her. Or Woman 2, for that matter, as she appeared to be
more of a hindrance than a help. During these endless minutes, Mother continued
to tell me, in great detail, the solution for the 'broken programming
computer'; "unplug it".
A simple solution.
"Tell her, darling!" Mother demanded of me,
"Tell the lady she needs to unplug it, leave it for three minutes and then
plug it back it again. Tell her it has a memory, go on!"
Mother points at the woman, as
if I were unsure who to give this message to.
I do pass this message on, however Woman 1 does not accept
these wise words. Instead, she insists on prodding away at the exact same
buttons that she's been bashing for the last 20 minutes.
During these torturous moments, a mother with three delightful, screaming toddlers descend
into the store. Hooray. I love children, especially when they're screaming
their heads off. Just as I turn to Mother in order to suggest a swift exit, I
see Mother; bending over the pushchair, head INSIDE the pushchair, making
bizarre noises. The mother of these toddlers is staring at her, in shock.
However, the sounds of screaming and whining seem to have ceased. The Baby
Whisperer has succeeded.
Turning our attention back to Woman 1 (Woman 2 does not
return in this story. She gave up long ago. Very little interest in the job and
very high interest in her chocolate donut) ~ we see this persistent woman on
the phone to, presumably her boss. I tell Mother this.
"Oh, great, do you think he's a man.....
excccuuuuuuuuuuuuse me!" Mother hollers at Woman 1, whilst she is on the
phone. She doesn't turn around.
"Excuuuuuuse me!!" Mother turns to me and says;
"Darling, ask her if her boss is a man, quickly! He will know what to do
if it's a man."
"No. Just, no.
Let her do her job. Or at least try."
Five seconds later, Woman 1 is actually shouting at her
(presumably) boss down the phone, whilst we can hear another voice doing
similarly on the other end of the line. This terrifying exchange of harsh words
(I have learnt my fair share of Spanish swear words.... they were all used in
this conversation) escalated into a tearful smash-down of the phone by Woman 1.
Woman 2 makes a slight appearance to see what all the fuss was about and then
retreats to a second donut.
At this point, the woman turns to me and rapidly spills out
something that translated to "well the machine isn't working so can I come
and do the copy at your house?"
I tell Mother this and Mother recoils in shock;
"Pardon?! Why on earth... What?! I don't see how that would be any better,
considering they need codes! How odd but certainly not! I do not accept
visitors at home without 48 hour prior notice! She'll have to do it here! Tell
her, sweetie, tell her that NO she may not come home with us!"
I mildly translate a decline back to Woman 1.
Woman 1 begins to cry a little. This is HORRENDOUS. I have
never seen such a mess of a situation. This is not rocket science but this poor
woman has no idea what to do.
Unfortunately, I then share these specific thoughts with Mother,
which encourages an idea...
"OH MY GOD, darling, brilliant! Here, tell her I work
for NASA."
"Sorry, what?" I am confused, of course.
"Yes, tell this woman I work for NASA and I deal with
computers all day long."
"Wait, why am I lying about your career path to this
stranger?"
"Just tell her I work for NASA, darling! Then she will listen to me. Look, just get her
attention and then you can translate each thing I tell you to at the time,
okay?"
I didn't have a choice as Mother leans over the counter and
taps the woman on the shoulder. Her shaking body swings around. I translate
Mother's message:
"I work for NASA. I deal with computers like these all
the time, it is my job. I can see the problem. If you unplug the cable there,
see? Leave it 'off' for three minutes and this way the computer will forget
everything that was entered before. You can start fresh, see! Go on, try
it!"
NASA-Engineer-Mother looks smugly as Woman 2 waddles over to
see what's going on. They do exactly as Mother says. Of course they do; this is
an official NASA Engineer, we're talking about here!
Now - as bizarre as this may sound - the whole "turn it
off and on again" solution actually worked! Who would've thought it?! Only
a NASA engineer could have fixed this complex issue.
The two women were as perplexed as they were grateful. I,
too, was grateful (mainly to leave but thank God Woman 1 didn't have a full mental breakdown). Mother's grin
was as wide as ever as she embraced the women (I'm not joking; she actually
dished out hugs...) and there were a lot of translated "thank-you-so-much's".
Finally, we made it home. A billion years later, mind you. I
think I missed seven birthdays during this experience. Oh, by the way......
The key doesn't work.
xoxo
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