Lo que hacen en Uruguay

Translation:

“What are you going to do today?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?”

“Yeah, but I never finished it.”

Thanks to ExFedBob for sending me this.

End to the window saga

The guys arrived today to actually change my broken window, on a day with a rain forecast (and clouds, and rain from last night)! Threats to keep them locked in their workplace actually trump the water-solubility of Uruguayan workers. New strategic mental warfare technique for the win! ExpatBob wins. Flawless victory.

6 people to change one double-pane glass window. Which meant 2 to move the glass around and the other 4 to watch.

They just about destroyed WifeBob’s new curtains in the process, but I successfully herded them where they needed to go so as to not smash everything in the vicinity.

In other news, WifeBob had an interesting conversation with FarmstandBob when she went out to get a fix for our unfortunate Coke habit. We bought his last 2-liter bottle and he can’t get any more. The Coca Cola distributors are slacking again and failing to deliver adequate product to their clients. This follows a series of strikes by the distributors late in the High Season, which left a lot of restaurants and stores without Coke products. I guess they still haven’t learned their lesson. Why should we want to pay them *more* when they are still not doing their jobs?

How many Uruguayos does it take to replace a broken window?

Lots of them. And lots of time.

Eureka, they have made an appointment to come and change the broken glass! Monday. I had left a threat, through ArchitectBob, that I would park my truck across the entry to their place of business, blocking all entry in or out, but I would wait until they are inside first (nobody hates being stuck at work more than a Uruguayan!). They know (and the whole town knows) that I am crazy enough to actually do it and that my word is gospel.

What a wonder that they suddenly produced the glass, and called to inform me that it would be installed posthaste. I worked as a glasscutter for a time when I was a teenager, so I know damned well that with even basic tools and 20+ years of rusty skills, I could knock out a new window in 10 minutes. Why it took 6 months, ah, well, Who is John Galt?

“What time?” I asked.

“Monday.”

Confused, I inquire, “Surely you must know when you will be there. I *will* answer the door naked if you are too early, and you don’t want to experience the inevitable suicidal feelings of hopeless inadequacy afterwards.”

“Monday. We don’t know what time. We’ll call you to arrange.”

Which, of course, they won’t do; they will simply show up and I will answer the door naked as I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and after frightening them with my pendulous gentleman-sausage, I shall then show them my arse as I wander back into the house to get dressed.

I feigned as halfhearted a “Graçias” as I could muster. More Mañana, more Semana Que Vienen. Oh the joy.

We shall see, dear readers, what occurs Semana Que Vienen. Don’t hold your breath. And pray it doesn’t rain.