Good Morning New Dehli!

The scene: Downtown new Dehli, India...10:03 pm. A small office space in an old, six-story office building on the outskirts of town. Outside the open windows, street sounds filter up and into the room. Taxi cabs racing up and down the street, horns honking constantly. Street vendor carts cooking various Indian dishes in large open pots, the sweet, pungent smell of curry wafting upwards in billowing vapor streams. An occassional ox cart ambles by, its handler sitting just behind the animal on the rickety wooden vehicle, tapping the lumbering bovine with long, thin whips. Bicycling New Dehli-ites dart in and out of the taxis, cars, and smoking trucks in practiced techniques, barely avoiding certain death with every turn of the pedals.

In the cramped office just above, the workers go about their repetitious jobs with robot-like nonexhuberance. Well-used, dingy desks line the sides of the room. On the desks sit a computer screen, desktop processor and a telephone, each manned by a citizen of New Dehli.

There is not a discernable, singular conversation going on, as all of the workers are speaking to someone on the phone in English. Speaking to someone miles and miles from New Dehli.

On one of these computers screen, a small green phone icon begins to flash next to one of the names on the database displayed. The worker at this screen quickly scrolls the pointer up this name and clicks on it. The name: Skip Hansen, HFC Account, California, USA. Through her telephone headpiece, she can hear this...

Me: "Hello! (pause) Hello! (pause) Hello!"
New Dehli phone lady: "Hello...is this Mr. Hassen?", in her best pedgeon English similar to Baboo from Seinfeld episodes.
Me: "Excuse me?", in my usual indignant tone when aswering these calls.
New Dehli phone lady: "Is this Mr. Hassen? Mr. Skip Hassen?"
Me: "No...it is not", I repled shaking my head from side to side and rolling my eyes.
New Dehli lady: "I am telling you I am sorry. Is this Mr. Skip Hansen?"
Me: "Maybe it is...maybe it isn't".
New Dehli lady: "Well, I am calling regarding...."
Me: "Excuse me...but do you know what time it is?"
New Dehli lady: "Well, Mr Hassen...it seems that your HFC account is..."
Me: "Excuse me. But it is 8:03 am here...on a Saturday. Is that an appropriate time to call?"
New Dehli lady: "Well, Mr. Hassen...a problem we have had processing your online payment..."
Me: "Is 8:03 am on a Saturday an appropriate time to call?"
New Dehli lady: "Well, Mr. Hassen...I am asking you that it is possible to make a payment right here on the phone..."

At this point, I railed on her a few more times for calling me at this time of the day, told her I would resend the payment, and to send me a letter next time. The conversation went on for a short time longer with similar exchanges.

Me: "I will resend the payment today. Goodbye!", hanging up the phone.

I went to the computer and fixed the payment problem. I'm sure the New Dehli lady said something in Hindu to her co-workers like, "What an asshole!". Then scrolled up her computer screen to another flashing green phone icon...the icon indicating that someone was actually answering one of her computer-generated calls to that far off land called the U.S.A.

I made some pancakes for Loretta and I. And life went on this early Saturday morning in Modesto...and late Saturday night in New Dehli.