10 October 2006

I'm sitting on my kitchen-nook floor, waiting for the delivery of my new bed, mattress, bed-side table and drawer pieces from IKEA. They said they would be here between 10.00 and 16.00, and I'm at the half-way mark now. Still trying to figure out how to orient my soon-to-be bed, I took the opportunity to clean the floor in the second room. I have to use some special cleaning fluid especially for parquet and wood floors, which ends up doing a decent job and smelling of not-too-powerful flowers.
At the same time, outside my porch, are hordes of people walking towards the starting point for the annual Jerusalem March, with helicopters constantly circling above the area. On the Pilgrimage Festivals (Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot), when pilgrims would arrive at the Temple to offer sacrifices, modern-day Israelis now celebrate by taking to the streets of the capital city in the tens of thousands. Apparently the starting point could be reached via my street, so all morning people passed by – some with baseball caps, some without; some clutching bottled water, others with backpacks; some by themselves, others in finely choreographed groups. Every few minutes I'd hear tambourines and indiscernible singing slowly yet rhythmically approaching. Thinking it would be a group of Hare Krishnas who made a few wrong turns along the way, I'd rush to the window to get a glimpse – instead it would be groups representing youth movements, companies and businesses, or interest groups walking in formation and singing songs about Israel or Jerusalem. For a bunch of Jews, who at least in services I've been to can't seem to continue clapping synchronically to a beat, they got their marching band skills down pat.
Now it's past the window of time I was supposed to sit by and expect a call 30 minutes ahead of the delivery's arrival. I call the moving company, who gives me the number of the driver. Fine, I think, he's a few minutes late of a 6-hour block because of the March, so I'll roll over and play Genteel American. The driver says he wasn't supposed to make the delivery until tomorrow between 11.00 and 13.00 because of the march! I asked if someone was going to bother telling me this news, and said I'd see him tomorrow. I attempt calling back the company – I say attempt, because I called back at least 10 times before I got through to someone again. I'd like to think they Caller ID'd my number and were practicing a sentence that somehow becomes harder to say when in possession of an Israeli National ID: I was wrong.
At this point I'm furious, and as soon as someone comes on the line, I start speaking in rapid-fire Hebrew, demanding to know why no one bothered to let me know about the delivery time change. The woman who answered the phone is caught and says "You're right, I apologize." If I was a little more clear-headed, I would have asked for a refund of the delivery charge, but I was so angry I hung up the phone. At least she apologized, I said to myself, trying to calm down. I eventually realizing there wasn't anything else to do (call the company back and demand someone be reprimanded for this? Please.), so I got to work on making dinner. A huge serving of carbohydrates later, my food coma has calmed me down and I'm interested to see if the driver tomorrow apologizes as well (or if he's got the nerve to ask for a tip).