Twenty-four-plus hours without an Internet connection makes any already-stir-crazy Lockedowner more stir-crazy.
News blues…
“I can’t breathe….” Across the United States, this infamous phrase encapsulates horror, tragedy, injustice, police brutality, and shame. It denotes the brutal police tactic of an officer of the law placing a knee upon the neck of a human being – and not infrequently, removing it only after the victim has suffocated.
“I can’t breathe” takes on a whole new, tragic meaning as California’s wider Bay Area - home to more than 7.1 million pairs of lungs - suffers an
extra-ordinary fire season with some 560 fires, many the largest blazes in the state’s history. Family and friends report difficulty breathing amid the worst smoke pollution in the state’s history.
Air quality at Concord/Walnut Creek – 25 miles inland from the bay – fluctuates above 220 on the
Air Quality Index: “unhealthy for sensitive groups.”
Does “sensitive” mean “oxygen dependent”?
Is there a parallel between the brutal police tactic of placing a knee upon the neck of a human being and the brutal tactic of politicians, corporations, and governments effectively refusing to address climate change?
Given explosive fires as a symptom of climate change, is climate change inaction akin to placing a metaphoric knee on the neck of living creatures everywhere, depriving them of oxygen by ensuring a high CO2/ methane/ pollution-laded atmosphere?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
I purchase a monthly data plan from a local ISP and carefully titrate my usage to ensure data lasts the entire month.
Back in February, before my life had been threatened by my mother’s domestic worker’s son, I had given – naively it turns out – both domestic workers access to the data plan. I trusted they’d use it as lightly as they did their own limited, pay-as-you-go plan: for SMS (“text”) and WhatsApp.
Alas.
The same domestic worker whose son threatened to kill me has abused this trust.
Last month, I ran out of data before the end of the month, suspected excessive data usage by others, and asked the ISP host to change my password. He didn’t respond and, fully occupied seeking a care center for my mother, I dropped the issue.
This month, as usual, I carefully logged my data usage. I was on track to run out of data on 31 August. Instead, 11 days before the end of the month, I ran out of data.
Early Friday morning, I queried the ISP host who said I’d used 4 gigs
more than my plan provides. Records indicate the domestic worker has used upward of 11 gigs
and shut down my account.
Already stressed by family circumstances,
and Lockdown Level 2,
and this isolating rural neighborhood, 11 days without Internet threatens my sanity!
I depend upon technology to 1) communicate with my American family and friends, 2) conduct online research for freelance writing, 3) stay current with world news, 4) read online magazines, 5) download library e-books, 6) break the monotony of Lockdown, and, 7) defuse the stress of dealing with my elderly mother, her two domestic workers and one gardener, large garden, and her seven pampered, poopin’ and peein’ pooches.
At least this time, I know that the lack of Internet connectivity is due to abuse, not the usual mysterious, unfathomable, illogical, overly bureaucratic South African-ism….
Despite informing the ISP host early Friday morning that my Internet was down, he waited until Saturday morning – 24 hours later - to inform me he doesn’t work weekends.
I could, he said, reconnect today – Saturday - by buying an additional plan and waiting until Monday for him to drop by and change the password.
Or, I could not reconnect until Monday when he’d drop by and change the password and I could buy an additional plan.
Neither option meets my needs - or my level of anger.
A third option? Forgo buying more data for the rest of the month. I’d take my business to a local café where Internet connection comes free with the purchase of a decaf latte (imbibed around a face mask).
This option feels as if I’m punishing myself by way of passive-aggressively punishing a lackadaisical businessperson.
Ouch!
In California, I live forty miles from Silicon Valley – the world’s center of high-tech, high-end customer service, and high-end competition between businesses to provide high-end customer service.
In rural KwaZulu Natal, I live 14,000 miles from Silicon Valley and a million miles from mediocre customer service, with
no competition between businesses.
Usually, I find South Africa’s low-tech, half-assed business attitudes acceptably old-fashioned, even quaint.
Today? Not so much.
Let me say it in American: I am pissed off!
Or, more politely: I am PO’d.
I’m PO’d that I’m disconnected for days from an online world that sustains me during a difficult time.
I’m PO’d at the abuse of my Internet account by a domestic worker.
I’m PO’d that I allowed someone who has repeatedly proved herself arrogant and less than honest to use my generosity. And I’m PO’d that my mother recognizes this arrogance and dishonesty, but refuses to address it.
I’m PO’d at the ISP host’s business habits. What service business owner – less than a quarter mile away - makes a good customer (who has referred new customers) “wait until Monday”?
Today, I’ve finally reached overwhelming frustration with Lockdown.
***
Thirty-six hours after seeing her new home at the lovely community with a comfortable and welcoming care center, where semi-domesticated wild animals roam, my mother is
still on track to move.
Moreover, I emailed the matron yesterday and confirmed the move-in date – September 15 - and asked to hold the smaller room for my mother. (I could not convince my mother to take the larger, more accommodating room. Ah well. I tried. Win some /lose some!).
Might this “lifestyle change” actually happen? Could I have pulled off a miracle? During a pandemic?
