I recently had to sort some Swiss administrative matters via phone. My questions were answered within a couple of minutes, true Swiss efficiency.
In order to identify myself, I had to answer a couple of basic questions. It reminded me of the real quiz we have to go through here, in order to “protect our privacy”. The questions cover a wide range of topics, such as details about the policy we signed up for with this given company, last time a transaction was made on our account or the % of nitrogen in the air we breathe (OK, slightly exaggerating regarding the last one).
But I insist, the question about the last transaction made on the account is a tricky one as I don’t monitor everything the Man is doing with all the money he makes my money yet.
I usually pass the test, only to sometimes be told I am not allowed to solve the matter (see Little Miss Nobody).
The Man is usually pretty bad at it, just replying “I don’t know” when he is not sure, therefore making the customer service person refuse to process his request.
To his credit he has a personal assistant who usually handles these matters, and when she is not authorized to perform the task he gets calls from insurances or financial institutions during his working hours.
Somehow replying to security questions during a patient’s open heart surgery always makes him grumpy.
Everybody but polar bears would admit last winter was a tough one here in Canada. It therefore seems people are enjoying summer even more this year.
This also applies to our neighbors (I decided they are students), who believe a huge outside screen, loud music, lots of friends and even more alcohol should be a given at their place every summer evening.
So the past couple of nights were far from quiet in our street.
Oddly enough, I tend to get cranky past midnight: the feeling I am trying to fall asleep on a dance floor never makes me happy (I am actually pretty sure I could, but this would imply way more wine than what we had last night).
I really did not feel like talking to a bunch of drunk students, so I started fantasizing about a 911 call instead. As I was not sure that’s the number to use to complain about noise (they have people to save, no?), I just waited, hoping someone would make the call for me.
I knew the Man was not going to help as he had opted for ear plugs and was happily sleeping. As a dedicated mom, I gave up on such items as I feel someone has to hear the Dwarves if they wake up during the night (although I should trust them to jump on our stomachs or heads if they call and nobody shows up).
I then started plotting my revenge: sending the Dwarves outside at 8 am, with 1 great new toy, asking them to play quietly and share.
Dwarf 1’s broken arm has made us haunt the children’s hospital waiting rooms more than I ever wanted to (longest wait 3.5 hours, to hear we would not get the Dwarf a new cast, and there is nothing more to do until we take it off).
As the Dwarf pointed out, they could have sent us an email to share the info.
Good thing is, the Man works in the hospital treating the Dwarf. He therefore spent his extensive 20 minutes lunch break with us, of course wearing his OR scrub : 20 minutes is a short time to get changed if you want to eat and maybe hit the toilets as well (knowing washing your hands is not optional).
Most families who saw us chatting together probably just assumed the Man is a very dedicated but odd physician, truly caring for his patients but eating a sandwich while reassuring them about some cutting-edge surgery needed by the Dwarf.
When the Man kissed me goodbye, a woman and her 2 daughters (about 17 and 25- year-old) started to loudly giggle, staring at us. I had been overhearing their conversations for close to 2 hours (let’s say I don’t think they are potential Nobel Prize nominees), therefore I could not resist and had to add: “Yeah…we really clicked” to their attention (after a few hours one would do anything to get some entertainment in a waiting room).
The look on their faces was worth the joke, and now I cannot help wondering if they really believed I started flirting with a staff member while bringing my kid to the ER.
Bachelors of the world, clubs and bars are so passé.