I wander around with my iPhone hung around my neck, so that I won't miss a call from the French Telecom technician. Tomorrow, if there's still no appointment, I'll start screaming once again. Funnily, I'd often imagined this kind of scenario, and I guessed (correctly) that it wouldn't be simple. The other day, at Romans, I explained my predicament to an employee of the French Telecom firm called Orange (used to be Wanadoo). I asked: "If I were a customer of Orange, rather than Free, would I obtain better service in this kind of situation?" He hesitated a moment, then replied: "Not necessarily."
Meanwhile, as my former neighbor pointed out this morning, my gardening accomplishments have soared exponentially since this crash. Also, my work on the translation of the movie adaptation of Rilke's Malte has advanced enormously, since I don't need the Internet to work in that domain. Besides, I've learned how to send text messages on my iPhone... which is not a really earth-shaking achievement. The only major learning problem consisted of realizing that you can't really send messages in French from an English (virtual) keyboard. As soon as I switched to an AZERTY keyboard, the words flowed.