So the thought has crossed through my head, a few times, as to what it would be like to be in the United States right now. Mainly, because people ask me and I have to place myself in that imaginitive state to answer. But, usually, I don¨t gaze whistfully at the stars and daydream about being home. Usually, I love my job and I love where I live.
Today, not-so-much.
Nothing huge happened today. I came into the city a couple days ago for the presentation with the USA college students volunteering in Arequipa, and a couple meetings to coordinate the dentists arrival next week (there was some drama and a site change) and the nutrition lectures next month. Should be a prosperous trip and it has been.
But, loving folk have sent me letters and packages and the charades at the post office were played out yet again. But, this time I got there early, only had to wait in line for 2 hours instead of the usual 4, and the woman working remembered me and pushed me through quickly without giving me grief about my international paperwork. All seemed to be flowing smoothly until I arrived at the bank to pay the taxes on my grandmothers christmas present to me (a kick-butt indestructible camera). The poor attendent couldnt get his computer to recognize my credit card, and when he asked for help from his co-worker she looked at my face and the smile faded from hers. Having no interest in actually helping gringa she said I needed a pin to be able to use that card. She being utterly incorrect, I explained to the woman (working at the bank) the difference between a credit card and a debit card. She says I need a pin. Mind you, while she is talking to me she is mumblig under her breath so it is impossible to hear her and not looking at me as her hands fiddle with other paper work (typical Peruvian avoidence behavior).
At this point I pull out my card where I recieve my monthly pay and say, "look, I am a client of this bank, I live here in Arequipa, I am not a tourist. Now that you know that, will you be more willing to help me?" She looks at me a little defeated but with a half smile and says, " yes ma"am, pardon me let me go ahead and run that as a credit card for you. I should have known by your pierfect Spanish accent that you weren2 a tourist. In fact why don"t I just excuse you the taxes because you are here serving my country and you should be able to take pictures of the kids you are working with here. In fact, I will just go ahead and carry that box for you to a taxi and pay your taxi home, you shouldn"t have had to deal with any of this."
... yeah so that didn"t happen.
I didn"t have the guts to be rude to her. Instead she continued to refuse to look at me in the face or help me insisting I needed a pin for my creadit card. So, I went to another bank.
After waiting for another hour the kind assistant at my new favorite bank in the whole entire world patiently explained the the taxes have to be paid in cash and I would have to use the ATM. So, I ran over to the ATM and pulled from Daddy"s emergency account for me (oh, my lord, I am such an American brat). Back at the post office my darling postal worker friend, Gloria, did a little dance for me that I finally had the box of christmas presents from my grandmother in my very own hands. P.S. Gloria sends my family salutations, and I will tell her you all send the same.
Feeling enfuriated by this disfunctional system I was greeted by a street protest/riot that felt the same way! I got swept up in their crowd as I munched on my grandmother"s deliscious cookies in a completely different world than my neighboring whistle-blowing stick-carrying buddy. They try to look strong, but it is truly sad how weak the people are against their own government.
When I met up with Cesar he explained to me that in order to open a credit card in Peru it has to be connected with a bank account. I explained that is not the definition of credit, and he shrugged and said that was why the woman thought I could just put in my pin and the card would access my account instead of the credit line. What made me sad was that she works in a bank, that regularly has to work with tourists, and she couldnt explain to me in her own language why we were having a problem. The complete lack of training and education all over the country is tearing me apart bit by bit. Usually this enforces my desire to teach like a mad woman, but today was about the second time in my Peace Corps experience I just wanted to curl up in a little hole, plug my ears, and cry for the people here and my impotence to help them. I took myself to one of my favorite coffee shops, sipped my coffee, closed my eyes, and imagined myself in one of my favorite coffee shops in Austin with my enamorado by my side.
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