You have betrayed me. You have proven yourself to be unreliable. My trust in you no longer exists. You have absconded with a portion of my meager wealth. You have forced me to undertake tedious journeys under adverse conditions. You have mocked my decision to purchase you in America. I can no longer sing praises of your glory for your glory has vanished from my world. I look at you with contempt.
What came upon you when you decided not to power up only 12 days after your one-year warranty expired? I treated you like a brother (my real-life brothers might think that that might be a problem) affording you with a place of prominence in my castle (you know the saying – “my home is my castle”). I protected you from electrical surges. Neither food nor drink could approach you. You never lost a challenge to gravity. You were my most prized possession, more so than my wife and sons (who probably don’t consider themselves possessions anyway).
Your Maker - the Toshiba Corporation- refused me the opportunity to bring you back to life under their Goodwill Program that would have enabled you to have been repaired at no cost, reasoning it was so close to the expiration of the one-year American warranty. I came to learn that laptops purchased in Europe have a two- year warranty and three years if purchased in Japan (or is it Germany?). You have rubbed salt in my wound and mocked my fellow consumers in the “home of the free and land of the brave” (or is it “the home of the brave and the land of the free?”). Why only one-half of a European warranty for Americans?
Your doctor gave me a choice to get you back to where you once were. I could pay 300 Euros for a new motherboard or 140 Euros to get the burned out components replaced (how did you manage to “burn out?”). I chose the latter since that was only ½ of my monthly subsistence allowance and I would be able to eat at least every other day. A somewhat easy decision.
You forced me to undertake a six-hour perilous round trip on a bus with neither air-conditioning nor operational windows in 90 degree heat to the only repair facility in the entire country. Three times! You subjected me to waiting hours in a darkened bus station for the next bus departure to my hometown in Probistip. Three times!
So now that you have robbed me of both my treasure and my trust, and have stolen three days of my life, I find myself sitting once again before you, composing this dispatch. I do this not knowing when you will choose to betray me again.
Maybe someday I will no longer point to the heavens – as does an enthused baseball player after hitting a home run– when you respond to my request to power up. Maybe someday! Till then: Toshiba – Caveat Emptor!
(N.B. Knowing that I would be in Macedonia for 27 months, I purchased a Toshiba Satellite laptop computer, considerably more expensive than other comparable laptops, relying on what I was told regarding its reliability. My experience has proven to me that “It” is not reliable (13 months before a major problem). I also raise the question as to why the Toshiba Corporation has different warranty standards. Are they enabled by weak consumer protection laws in the USA to offer a minimal one-year warranty. Based on my experiences and if I were to be so asked, I would not recommend this brand of laptop to anyone considering purchasing a Toshiba brand laptop in the USA.)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
"You're Under Arrest!"
It’s July 4th and Phil and I are in Skopje visiting “Naistar” (the Oldest) Michael. There are six Michaels in Peace Corps Macedonia – I am Postar (the Older) Michael. We are there to attend an afternoon picnic organized and sponsored by the American embassy and open to any American citizen that happens to be in Macedonia.
We had spent the morning shopping for stuff that we can’t find in our communities. I purchased a muffin tin and a Bundt pan so that I can continue my quest to introduce “new” foods to my Macedonian friends and neighbors. We had taken many photos of a musical group that was performing in the center and of other interesting things that caught our interest. We had taken off on our 20 minute trek back to Michael’s apartment (79 year old Michael wasn’t with us because he didn’t want miss his workout at the gym) and had three hours to get ready for the 4 o’clock picnic. It was a quiet Saturday and there were few pedestrians or shoppers about at this time on a summer day.
We were walking down the main boulevard and as has happened on numerous occasions before, noticed ahead that the traffic lights weren’t working at a major intersection and that a police officer was directing the flow. Nothing we haven’t experienced before. We got to the intersection, started to cross and stopped on the middle island, checking for oncoming traffic.
It is then that we saw in the distance, a motorcade approaching . Great timing we thought and got our cameras ready for when it passed by. Who was it – the mayor, a foreign dignitary, a rock star? We had no idea but got are cameras ready and took a few pictures in the less than 5 seconds it took for the motorcade to pass. We put away our cameras wondering who it was that was totally obscured from our view behind the blacked-out windows on the vehicles. We proceeded on our way.
Our way was less than ten steps before we heard a whistle and the police officer who was directing traffic and next to whom we were standing when the motorcade passed, heading towards us. He motioned for us to stop and asked us in broken, yet understandable English, of what we were taking pictures (a rhetorical question perhaps because he already knew the answer). “The motorcade”, we answered. He asked us for identification (we gave him our Peace Corp ID’s) and he called for backup. Within minutes there were eight more police officers on the scene – four plain clothes and four uniformed in four separate squad cars. They asked for our passports which Michael brought, after our call, from his apartment. They confiscated our cameras and refused to talk on the phone to our Peace Corps Security Officer who speaks perfect Macedonian considering that he is a Macedonian.
So Phil and I were standing around, trying to guess what we did that merited such an overwhelming response from these law enforcement officials. We ruled out jaywalking. Then the Paddy Wagon (politically incorrect term nowadays but I don’t know what else to call it) arrived and Phil and I were ushered into it. We were told we were “under arrest for photographing the President’s motorcade" a seemingly serious offense in this developing nation. (The Paddy Wagon appeared to be brand new, so Phil and I believe that we were the first prisoners to utilize it, somewhat of an accomplishment in and of itself).
Earlier on I had called the Peace Corps Duty Officer and told her of our predicament. She in turn called our Safety and Security Officer, and he in turn called his contacts at the American Embassy. Within the hour a Peace Corp staff member and a representative from the Embassy arrived and sat with us in the waiting room while the police inspectors examined our photos and did whatever it took them two hours to do.
By four o’clock (the picnic starting time), after signing statements that we didn’t need a lawyer now, that we wouldn’t need a lawyer later, that we needed no medical care, and that we were treated well, and after signing a couple of other innocuous papers, we were given back our cameras and credentials and on our way back to the apartment, already late for our sole reason for being in Skopje. All this was accomplished with the Embassy representative translating and guiding us through the process.
In the end, the police inspectors and the police commander apologized for what had happened and for the use of the term “arrest” when it should have been “detained”. His officers speak very little English. He had to follow pre-established procedures and we got the impression that he felt it was foolish to forbid taking pictures of a motorcade, regardless of who is in it.
At no time during this adventure were Phil nor I concerned about what was happening. We knew the Peace Corps and the Embassy had our back and they kept in constant contact with us during the whole time. The “arresting” officers were low key, yet professional. They didn’t take our phones; they didn’t search our bags, and they didn’t handcuff us on the trip to the stationhouse. In the end, they asked us to please erase the pictures of the motorcade, trusting us without supervising us, to do so.
One of the main requests of the Macedonian Minister of Education is that we assist teachers in improving the critical thinking skills of today’s students. After witnessing us openly take photos of the motorcade and realizing that we were Americans ignorant of the law, the traffic officer had two choices. He could have informed that one can’t photograph the President’s motorcade, asked us to comply with the law in the future, and asked us to delete the photos. Or he could have called in reinforcements “according to procedure.” Option 1 would have been the proper call in this situation if the officer had the option. But“according to procedure” is how many things are governed here in Macedonia, often in cases where common sense would dictate a more sensible approach.
So Phil and I, serving together in Macedonia, have now broken the law, been detained by a squad of police officers and have ridden together in a Paddy Wagon - boasts few if any Peace Corps Volunteers can make. The brotherhood has been strengthened and a solid reminiscence has been engraved in our story telling repertoire.
I am unable to support this episode with any photographs, for aforementioned reasons.
We had spent the morning shopping for stuff that we can’t find in our communities. I purchased a muffin tin and a Bundt pan so that I can continue my quest to introduce “new” foods to my Macedonian friends and neighbors. We had taken many photos of a musical group that was performing in the center and of other interesting things that caught our interest. We had taken off on our 20 minute trek back to Michael’s apartment (79 year old Michael wasn’t with us because he didn’t want miss his workout at the gym) and had three hours to get ready for the 4 o’clock picnic. It was a quiet Saturday and there were few pedestrians or shoppers about at this time on a summer day.
We were walking down the main boulevard and as has happened on numerous occasions before, noticed ahead that the traffic lights weren’t working at a major intersection and that a police officer was directing the flow. Nothing we haven’t experienced before. We got to the intersection, started to cross and stopped on the middle island, checking for oncoming traffic.
It is then that we saw in the distance, a motorcade approaching . Great timing we thought and got our cameras ready for when it passed by. Who was it – the mayor, a foreign dignitary, a rock star? We had no idea but got are cameras ready and took a few pictures in the less than 5 seconds it took for the motorcade to pass. We put away our cameras wondering who it was that was totally obscured from our view behind the blacked-out windows on the vehicles. We proceeded on our way.
Our way was less than ten steps before we heard a whistle and the police officer who was directing traffic and next to whom we were standing when the motorcade passed, heading towards us. He motioned for us to stop and asked us in broken, yet understandable English, of what we were taking pictures (a rhetorical question perhaps because he already knew the answer). “The motorcade”, we answered. He asked us for identification (we gave him our Peace Corp ID’s) and he called for backup. Within minutes there were eight more police officers on the scene – four plain clothes and four uniformed in four separate squad cars. They asked for our passports which Michael brought, after our call, from his apartment. They confiscated our cameras and refused to talk on the phone to our Peace Corps Security Officer who speaks perfect Macedonian considering that he is a Macedonian.
So Phil and I were standing around, trying to guess what we did that merited such an overwhelming response from these law enforcement officials. We ruled out jaywalking. Then the Paddy Wagon (politically incorrect term nowadays but I don’t know what else to call it) arrived and Phil and I were ushered into it. We were told we were “under arrest for photographing the President’s motorcade" a seemingly serious offense in this developing nation. (The Paddy Wagon appeared to be brand new, so Phil and I believe that we were the first prisoners to utilize it, somewhat of an accomplishment in and of itself).
Earlier on I had called the Peace Corps Duty Officer and told her of our predicament. She in turn called our Safety and Security Officer, and he in turn called his contacts at the American Embassy. Within the hour a Peace Corp staff member and a representative from the Embassy arrived and sat with us in the waiting room while the police inspectors examined our photos and did whatever it took them two hours to do.
By four o’clock (the picnic starting time), after signing statements that we didn’t need a lawyer now, that we wouldn’t need a lawyer later, that we needed no medical care, and that we were treated well, and after signing a couple of other innocuous papers, we were given back our cameras and credentials and on our way back to the apartment, already late for our sole reason for being in Skopje. All this was accomplished with the Embassy representative translating and guiding us through the process.
In the end, the police inspectors and the police commander apologized for what had happened and for the use of the term “arrest” when it should have been “detained”. His officers speak very little English. He had to follow pre-established procedures and we got the impression that he felt it was foolish to forbid taking pictures of a motorcade, regardless of who is in it.
At no time during this adventure were Phil nor I concerned about what was happening. We knew the Peace Corps and the Embassy had our back and they kept in constant contact with us during the whole time. The “arresting” officers were low key, yet professional. They didn’t take our phones; they didn’t search our bags, and they didn’t handcuff us on the trip to the stationhouse. In the end, they asked us to please erase the pictures of the motorcade, trusting us without supervising us, to do so.
One of the main requests of the Macedonian Minister of Education is that we assist teachers in improving the critical thinking skills of today’s students. After witnessing us openly take photos of the motorcade and realizing that we were Americans ignorant of the law, the traffic officer had two choices. He could have informed that one can’t photograph the President’s motorcade, asked us to comply with the law in the future, and asked us to delete the photos. Or he could have called in reinforcements “according to procedure.” Option 1 would have been the proper call in this situation if the officer had the option. But“according to procedure” is how many things are governed here in Macedonia, often in cases where common sense would dictate a more sensible approach.
So Phil and I, serving together in Macedonia, have now broken the law, been detained by a squad of police officers and have ridden together in a Paddy Wagon - boasts few if any Peace Corps Volunteers can make. The brotherhood has been strengthened and a solid reminiscence has been engraved in our story telling repertoire.
I am unable to support this episode with any photographs, for aforementioned reasons.
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