Head outta the gutter---it’s not what you think.
I received a box from the States a few weeks ago containing
a pair of shoes, a pair of pants and my hidden 1-year-old Android (lest we run
into any electronic import tax shenanigans). Alas, Argy customs were too clever, and when
the box arrived at my house (to my thrilled astonishment!) I was told I needed
to pay 500 pesos--that’s over $100--more than the value of the contents in the box.
No explanation, just demand. I refused to
pay, of course, and when the deliveryman walked away with my belongings I could
do nothing but flip the crazy switch I only discovered I possessed since living
down here:
“FUCK YOU!” was my very calm, cool and collected response.
It was at that moment I realized that in order to
survive in the BA jungle, one must actually become an animal.
When I walked into the house, my roommates were all quite
mortified at the whole thing, but tried to calm me. They let me rant for a bit
and then gave me the simple, complacent answer I always get:
“That’s just the
system here, there’s nothing you can do”
No no, there’s always something you can do.
I told my English class about the incident, and one of my
older students informed me of a good friend at the Correo that would “take care
of the situation”. One phone call later, my box was fee-free and is now waiting
with my student for me to pick up.
Boom.
This seems to be a reoccurring theme in my BA struggle with
public affairs. I get frustrated, lose my cool and just when I’m about to flip
tables…...some little Argentine guardian angel of sorts steps in to offer their help. It’s because they know that systems are broken here--they’re used to it--so they feel bad for new, foreign species like me trying to survive in their jungle.
Survival. I’m practically a master now.
And I get to continue to hone my skills after taking a pay cut at a time when inflation here is off the charts. I am now living on
what I like to call an unlivable salary. Expats, can I get an amen?!
Luckily, I’m crafty, ambitious and I have parents that
I’ve tricked into believing in my lofty pursuits.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Living in Buenos Aires as a freelance writer is a far cry
from being a crackhead.
It can always be worse.
Love,
Holly
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