I slept fairly well after my cathartic time of unpacking and prayer that first night in my apartment. I think all the crying combined with the leftover jetlag wore me out enough so that I entered a comatose-like state. I awoke the next morning to a beautiful, sunshiny…wait, no; that would be overcast, windy, gray day. I had a new motivation, though, to tackle the rest of the unpacking process. It was going to be a good day.
While I was in the shower, I thought that I heard workers beginning to drill something in the building. I thought that was odd, seeing as how it was only about 7:45 in the morning. As I continued getting ready for the day, the drilling sound grew louder and louder. I decided that they seriously must be drilling right outside my front door. I decided to check it out.
I looked out of the front door and saw nothing, but the noise was most definitely louder. That’s when I looked to the right, into the kitchen, and saw the Refrigerator of Frankenstein. I stood, shell-shocked, watching the refrigerator (which, by the way, looked like it was Soviet-made, too) moving across the floor in the kitchen and making the drilling sound.
All my years of watching MacGyver episodes starting flashing back to me, and I found myself wishing that I knew where my duct tape was. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do with it, but it had to be helpful, right? I decided my first move should be to unplug the refrigerator; I didn’t really have much in there yet, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.
When the Rays arrived to pick me up for errand-running, I explained and acted out the fridge situation. Mike also discovered that I had a plumbing problem with my kitchen sink. Basically, I just needed to stay out of the kitchen. He got on the phone and began calling in reinforcements, while Mrs. Linda decided to get me out of the house. Again, I think she recognized the signs of impending emotional trauma.
As the day progressed, more problems arose. Mrs. Linda shepherded me through my new neighborhood, showing me the ropes of using the bazaar, how to store my purse in the locker at the grocery store, where the closest pizza place was, etc. Periodically, she’d call Mike to check on the apartment progress. After every phone call, she skillfully avoided my questions about the “progress” being made and instead directed my attention to a new task. That feeling of impending doom grew stronger and stronger.
Mid-afternoon, Mike took a break from the junkyard kitchen and took me to the local internet provider office to attempt to arrange internet hook up. This was my first experience with the complicated system of paper work and documents that is the foundation for everything in Ukraine. After about an hour of signing, stamping, and relocating offices multiple times, I was told that I would have internet in about 2 weeks. I knew my mother was going to love that two-week delay. I kept reminding myself, though, that I could be in the middle of the desert somewhere with no electricity, much less internet. Surprisingly, this thought did NOT brighten my mood.
Mike eventually explained the state of my kitchen to me; it was necessary, seeing as how I was about to walk into my partially-demolished apartment. He told me that the kitchen pipes had to be replaced. The electrician was going to have to come rework the electricity in the kitchen wall behind the refrigerator. One of the cabinets was completely ruined because of the pipe issue. Oh, and I’d probably be needing a new refrigerator. Gracious goodness- I’d only been there ONE DAY. How could so much have gone wrong?
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