The International Language of Electricians

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  Athens, Greece
Monday, September 22, 2008

It turned out there was a special breaker that needed to be switched on so I could have power to the stove. Kyria (which means something like "Missus" or "My Lady") tirelessly cleans the classroom building and courtyard, and apparently she's also the program handywoman. She came with me after I finished teaching my two classes this afternoon to fix the stove. We tried to have a conversation on the walk to my apartment, but it's difficult because Kyria speaks almost no English, and I speak almost no Greek. We tried, though. I told her I think Greece is beautiful. She told me she has three children, two girls and one boy. She said she's not married. She had a husband, but I couldn't understand what she said happened to him. Either they divorced and he moved to Germany, he died in Germany, or he was killed by Germans. Which is possible, given Greece's bloody occupation in World War II. A Nazi flag flew over the Acropolis, and almost the entire Jewish population of Greece was wiped out

The kind and very hard working Kyria

. But that would make Kyria 95 years old, and she's not even half that.

Kyria identified the breaker as the problem with the stove in two seconds. At last I could hard boil my eggs, but my dining room light doesn't turn on, so I asked her about that too. I wouldn't have troubled about the minor detail of the dining room light, except that 1) the program keeps up this apartment to house their ongoing succession of visiting professors so it's important that everything's in good shape, and 2) with my four guests coming in October, I imagine we'll want to sit around the dining room table one evening.

Kyria couldn't figure out how to fix the light, so she left. She then came back in about an hour with a new light bulb. That didn't work. She called the program office, and they scheduled an electrician to come tomorrow, and then she left again.

Cut to 7pm. I'm in my pj's. Face washed. Grading papers. Kyria surprised me by showing back up for the third time (I don't know if there is a time of day this woman isn't working) with electrician in tow. Electrician popped a little round divot out of the wall. I've wondered about these divots. I couldn't tell from ground level that they popped out, so I just assumed they were byproducts of the construction process, or maybe lame attempts at decoration. But no! They're actually the way you access the wiring and plumbing innards behind the walls.

Electrician poked around the wiring, sounding more and more vehement as he talked in fast Greek to Kyria

Wall divots -- who knew? (click pic to see detail)

. Greek speakers often sound loud and aggressive to American ears -- like people are always arguing with each other, even though they're not. He pointed to the wiring and asked me in English, "Who did this?"

I'm baffled. "I don't know, I've only lived here two weeks."

Finally he gets down off his stool. More fast Greek addressed to Kyria. Then he says to me, "If you don't know what you're doing, don't mess with the wiring."

"I didn't touch it! I didn't even know that round divot in the wall popped out!"

"No, not you. Others. Whoever did that wiring didn't know what he was doing. If you don't know what you're doing, don't mess with it."

Ah yes. The international language of electricians.

I'm happy to report I actually got to fill my belly today. I went to the grocery store (I've got to get a picture of the olive-flavored cookies) and bought some Greek yogurt, spaghetti, and what I hope is spaghetti sauce and not ketchup. There were no bottles of salad dressing. I think when Greeks eat salad, it's dressed with olive oil or nothing. And you KNOW they're serious about their olive oil, so I couldn't afford any of that at the moment. I stopped at Red Door and got a chicken gyro on the way back home. The woman behind the counter was very patient: when I asked for chicken, she quietly corrected my Greek pronunciation. So I walked around saying "chicken, chicken, chicken" to practice, and the girl at the register thought that was very funny.

At the door of my apartment, I ran into an older woman who lives there, who smiled at me (!!!!) and we had the "Good day-How are you?-I'm fine. And you?-Fine, thank you" conversation in Greek. This is the second older woman living in my apartment building whom I've met. The first one knew what floor I live on, despite the fact that I'd never seen her before. I think I'm being watched and discussed. Perhaps they've concluded I don't play loud music and don't speak a lot of Greek but I try, so maybe they're going to be nice to me.

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