Fuck this country.
Fuck the internet.
Fuck Orange Telecommunications.
Fuck my 400 year old basement apartment.
Fuck everything.
Since my arrival in France, I have been telling everyone that I don’t have internet. The ultimate irony in the situation is that I can’t communicate with any of you without the internet. So if I’m posting on Facebook, sending emails, or putting up blogposts…how can I not have internet?
For the first month that I was in France, a public network would “float” into my room most of the time. The only catch was I needed to have my computer resting on the wide window ledge above my desk. It was uncomfortable to lean over my desk, and it was a terribly weak and almost useless signal, but if it connected me to the outside world and was a temporary solution…I’d oblige. One of my friends was kind enough to give me a password to said network, since it was already included in her rent. Between that temporary fix and having internet access at my program’s office, I could get by. My roommates and I were in the process of figuring out all the information we needed to set up a connection and what company we were going to use. All of us had some tiny stolen internet connection, so it wasn’t an especially pressing issue.
Unfortunately, as I enter month three in France, I haven’t seen this public network floating into my windowsill in weeks with the exception of a handful of moments. Somehow, every bedroom in my apartment can grab stolen signal…except mine. It’s not available in the kitchen or the living room. The tables and chairs that were in my private garden have long since disappeared (apparently it’s winter here now?). I’m relying on the schedule and goodwill of others to contact the outside world for short periods of time.
Enter my household’s ongoing fight with the phone company.
Since this is France; the land where apparently up is down, black is white, and every piece of paperwork needs an identity photo paper clipped to it—getting an internet connection is unnecessarily complicated. We needed the name of whoever used our telephone line last in order to avoid a 50 euro fee to set up a new phone line. We checked with our landlady, who didn’t have anything to tell us. I’m not even going to expand on that because I think its crazy speaks for itself. The company was able to give us a list of people who had at least used our number in the past, which we cross referenced with the list of former students from my program (remember that my program works with the same landlords every year…so one of these people lived in my apartment and used the same line and got internet because no one wants to live in 1993 again). One of the names matched up, we passed it onto the company, and they said it would take about 2 weeks for us to get the box and get the line activated.
That was 5 weeks ago. What has happened between now and then? We received the box in a timely fashion…but it wouldn’t activate. After waiting three weeks post signing the contract, giving them the benefit of the doubt, we finally went and had our program staff contact the company. Orange said that they never received the name of the girl who used the line before, so they couldn’t set up the line. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT, ORANGE. YOU HAD THE NAME. After re-giving them the name, they said we would have to wait a few more days and then they box would be activated. Again, BULLSHIT…but okay, it looks like this is almost over.
While in Paris last weekend, a blogpost that will make it up here eventually, we found out that the line was activated. And there was much rejoicing. Until we got home only to see that it wasn’t activated. We went into our office to get help dealing with the company again, and they were supposed to call my roommate yesterday to start dealing with this again. They never did. Repeat the same process today, and she finally received the call. The company asked what our problem was, even though it has been explained to them a thousand times, they do their thing, and reply that there’s a problem with our line. NO SHIT SHERLOCK. I HADN’T NOTICED. So they’re going to call my roommate back on Sunday to set up an appointment for a technician to come out later in the week. That last part is too ridiculous for me to even expand on.
It is the year 2011. I am living in a decent sized city with 50,000 other college students. It is a goddamn right for me to have an internet connection. It hit me this week that I have been away from home for five months, because I’m not counting the ten hectic days between France and DC. I miss everyone. I feel super disconnected. I haven’t skyped with a single friend. I can count the number of good facebook chat conversations on one hand. I’m starting to go crazy. I bought George W Bush’s autobiography to have something to read. This is what happens when I don’t have access to the internet.
Please send love, notes, internet, and help to:
Carly Danger Wilson, Academic Program in Aix
30 Avenue Victor Hugo
13100 Aix-en-Provence
If your love, notes, internet, and help don’t fit in an envelope…please write “sans valeur commercial” on the box…or else I’ll have to pay import taxes.
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I want to take the goddamn internet box and do this with it. All day everyday.
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