Is there one that goes 'how many people does it take to sell a vacuum cleaner in Baku'? Maybe there should be.
I had moved into a new apartment in Baku and needed a vacuum cleaner. Easy, I thought. I'd go to the one home store I was familiar with, where I'd bought the drying rack, ironing board, bucket, brush, mop and other household goods. They should have vacuum cleaners.
A colleague of mine came up with a better idea which is how we ended up side by side in my classroom during our lunch break as she helped me choose and purchase a vacuum cleaner online to be delivered the same day or within the next two days. She had said I'd find a larger range of choice online than I would in a store as she didn't seem to be able to recommend a store where I could get one, after discarding my idea of going to that big household goods store.
A colleague of mine came up with a better idea which is how we ended up side by side in my classroom during our lunch break as she helped me choose and purchase a vacuum cleaner online to be delivered the same day or within the next two days. She had said I'd find a larger range of choice online than I would in a store as she didn't seem to be able to recommend a store where I could get one, after discarding my idea of going to that big household goods store.
It certainly felt like a better option than going shopping and avoiding all the hassle. Moreover, I was grateful for her suggestion when the subject had come up in the course of other discussions.
We'd gone through a series of models. Unfortunately, the one she would have liked me to buy was not available, but we managed to find the next best thing.
Click here, drag there, punch in figures...we'd agreed on the model I'd like and the amount I'd like to pay.
'Name... what's your address?'
'I don't know' I responded like an illiterate.
Expecting to be reprimanded, I was surprised my colleague was not surprised. I had never seen a plaque with a street name anywhere in the vicinity or on the building. In the last few weeks since I'd moved in, I'd given directions to visitors as the tall, brown building you see once you are out of the metro, which I'd never been on. It towers over everything and is difficult to miss. My directions drew a few jocular comments but certainly got the guests to the house-warming party we'd arranged.
Unfortunately, these directions would not work for internet purchases.
I had hoped my driver would be able to help - a local who picked me up every morning and dropped me off after work was at a loss as well. He suggested I call the security officers at the door.
My colleague took charge of the conversation with the doorman, and lo and behold, there wasn't exactly an address, so she was advised to write more or less the same directions I'd given on numerous occasions and put in the doorman's phone number for the delivery crew to contact him. Not only did I not feel foolish any longer, but I was relieved to be spared the trip.
As fate would have it, the internet purchase was not meant to be and had I known, I would have invested my precious lunch time in something more productive. After three attempts, the website eventually crashed on us and that was the end. Plan B. I'd have to go to that store after all.
After work, I joined others in the rush hour traffic in the opposite direction of my usual homebound route to Ram Store instead, as I've been told it is called, though I have never seen a sign anywhere confirming the name. This big warehouse-like building, sprawling over an extended area sold all household goods, or so I thought, until I walked in various directions looking for the section which would have a vacuum cleaner.
My failure at finding one eventually compelled me to ask one of the attendants who were busy commenting on and giggling at my appearance rather than offering their help to a customer who in all likelihood seemed to be looking for an item she couldn't find.
A big no, no is what I was told. I couldn't hide my disbelief. Thinking she had misunderstood my query, I asked her again and demonstrated. She reiterated her response. Not knowing whether to believe her or not, I took one last walk again around. Satisfied at last that she was right, I proceeded to walk through the checkout with nothing to check out.
As I stood outside looking around collecting my thoughts about the experience I'd just had, I wondered where else I could go, not knowing the city very well and not having received any assistance from the sales people I'd just left behind.
The driver, once again, was not helpful either. All he could do, he said, was to take me to the mall across town. After a full day's work, a mall was not high on my list, especially when I didn't know where to find what I needed. My only resort was my colleague. Pouring my frustrations out on her, she solved the problem by giving me directions to the internet store we'd tried to purchase from, but my driver, as usual, did not know where it was.
Different thoughts about the driver's competence went through my mind but I refrained from voicing them out loud. Plan C.
Having refused to be driven across town to a mall, he offered another place which may have them. The uncertainty did not bode well with me so I opted to return home and think about what to do. Perhaps the weekend would be a better time. As he drove me home, he looked around just as I did, and just about a kilometer from the tall brown building was an electronics shop where he stopped and suggested we go in for a look.
Outside the entrance, two of the shop's attendants in red T-shirts with the brand's logo were propped on makeshift seats from paint cans and a bucket enjoying a smoke break. They could have been out all day - there was no activity in the store. It was a German brand franchise store which carried vacuum cleaners in addition to other household electronic goods. I looked at the different models as I listened to the third shop attendant's spiel and eventually chose one.
'I'll take it.' I said, finally relieved I wouldn't need to go on any more rounds and sure it was one I could afford.
It was carried off the shelf and transported to a socket beside a desk manned by two ladies of different generations. The younger one in trendy skinny jeans and a tight top which left nothing to anyone's imagination, shod in flats. The other in a dress, heavily made up, sporting a hairdo showing signs of further contributing to damaging the already fragile ozone layer. I wasn't quite sure what their role in the shop was, but would soon find out.
I was reassured by the machine's powerful yet bearable sound. The driver, with the authority of one in the know, tested its sucking abilities by placing his hand at the nozzle. He nodded his head in approval. I was just happy to be going back home with a useful, reliable appliance.
'Is blue alright?' The attendant asked. By this time the other two had joined in. Given their identical looks or my tiredness, I couldn't tell who had been out smoking and who hadn't.
Before I had the chance to say, 'blue is just fine', the older lady jumped in to reassure me that 'blue is a good color'. I wondered if she would have told me if I'd chosen a 'bad' color or if there were any bad colors, but I was too tired to hold any kind of conversation relating to a subject I'd been dealing with since lunch time earlier on in the day.
I placed my debit card on the desk for payment now that we'd agreed on the model and suitability of the color. I was invited to take a seat but just stood expecting the transaction not to take anymore than a minute or so. The younger lady pressed 'print' on the computer, the older one retrieved the printed copy of the document, scribbled something on it and passed it on to me to sign.
Six times! The procedure was repeated six times and every time I signed my name I wondered if it was just for the vacuum cleaner. I had never signed my name so many times for one transaction, not even the times I bought a car, let alone just to buy a household appliance. Finally, the papers were segmented and I was given copies of what I'd signed.
As I waited for the card to be charged, I saw the driver grab it off the desk I'd left it on with the two ladies and take it across the room. My shock was indescribable, only mitigated by the familiarity between the driver and me 'What now?', I wondered.
Not understanding Azerbaijani and depending on him to help, he had been instructed to take the card to a cubicle across the showroom for the payment transaction. Next thing I know, I'm being asked for my pin number.
'What?' I asked.
'The pin number,' he repeated.
He wanted me to scream my pin number across the room. In all fairness, there were no other customers except the three male attendants, the two females and now the man in the cubicle. That's what I call division of labor. Each receipt I'd signed was for each member of staff, possibly?
I offered to punch the numbers in but was told I had to say it out loud. I kept my voice low and said it to the driver in Russian who in turn screamed it out in Azerbaijani to the man in the cubicle at the top of his voice for all to hear.
I impatiently waited for the message on my phone to inform me how much I'd been charged and was very careful about successive transactions.
TrrrrrrrrrTrrrrrrrrrrrTrrrrrrrrrrrr came out the receipt from the machine. One more signature. And another. I was given my copy and they kept theirs. I was then free to leave the store with the brand new blue vacuum cleaner.
They were all smiles and congratulated me profusely on the purchase I'd made. I was wished good health to enjoy my vacuum cleaner as the two-year warranty was stamped and handed to me. I was invited to come again as I was leaving the store. It was certainly reassuring. I don't remember a time when I pronounced 'thank you' so many times.
Shortly after we drove off, the tall brown building loomed in sight. I realized how close the store was and happy it wouldn't be long till I finally got some rest from a long day's work and the ordeal of buying a dust-sucker as it is called in Russian.
When in doubt, ask. And I did, but it didn't help much. Eventually, I got myself there.
Click here, drag there, punch in figures...we'd agreed on the model I'd like and the amount I'd like to pay.
'Name... what's your address?'
'I don't know' I responded like an illiterate.
Expecting to be reprimanded, I was surprised my colleague was not surprised. I had never seen a plaque with a street name anywhere in the vicinity or on the building. In the last few weeks since I'd moved in, I'd given directions to visitors as the tall, brown building you see once you are out of the metro, which I'd never been on. It towers over everything and is difficult to miss. My directions drew a few jocular comments but certainly got the guests to the house-warming party we'd arranged.
Unfortunately, these directions would not work for internet purchases.
I had hoped my driver would be able to help - a local who picked me up every morning and dropped me off after work was at a loss as well. He suggested I call the security officers at the door.
My colleague took charge of the conversation with the doorman, and lo and behold, there wasn't exactly an address, so she was advised to write more or less the same directions I'd given on numerous occasions and put in the doorman's phone number for the delivery crew to contact him. Not only did I not feel foolish any longer, but I was relieved to be spared the trip.
As fate would have it, the internet purchase was not meant to be and had I known, I would have invested my precious lunch time in something more productive. After three attempts, the website eventually crashed on us and that was the end. Plan B. I'd have to go to that store after all.
After work, I joined others in the rush hour traffic in the opposite direction of my usual homebound route to Ram Store instead, as I've been told it is called, though I have never seen a sign anywhere confirming the name. This big warehouse-like building, sprawling over an extended area sold all household goods, or so I thought, until I walked in various directions looking for the section which would have a vacuum cleaner.
My failure at finding one eventually compelled me to ask one of the attendants who were busy commenting on and giggling at my appearance rather than offering their help to a customer who in all likelihood seemed to be looking for an item she couldn't find.
A big no, no is what I was told. I couldn't hide my disbelief. Thinking she had misunderstood my query, I asked her again and demonstrated. She reiterated her response. Not knowing whether to believe her or not, I took one last walk again around. Satisfied at last that she was right, I proceeded to walk through the checkout with nothing to check out.
As I stood outside looking around collecting my thoughts about the experience I'd just had, I wondered where else I could go, not knowing the city very well and not having received any assistance from the sales people I'd just left behind.
The driver, once again, was not helpful either. All he could do, he said, was to take me to the mall across town. After a full day's work, a mall was not high on my list, especially when I didn't know where to find what I needed. My only resort was my colleague. Pouring my frustrations out on her, she solved the problem by giving me directions to the internet store we'd tried to purchase from, but my driver, as usual, did not know where it was.
Different thoughts about the driver's competence went through my mind but I refrained from voicing them out loud. Plan C.
Having refused to be driven across town to a mall, he offered another place which may have them. The uncertainty did not bode well with me so I opted to return home and think about what to do. Perhaps the weekend would be a better time. As he drove me home, he looked around just as I did, and just about a kilometer from the tall brown building was an electronics shop where he stopped and suggested we go in for a look.
Outside the entrance, two of the shop's attendants in red T-shirts with the brand's logo were propped on makeshift seats from paint cans and a bucket enjoying a smoke break. They could have been out all day - there was no activity in the store. It was a German brand franchise store which carried vacuum cleaners in addition to other household electronic goods. I looked at the different models as I listened to the third shop attendant's spiel and eventually chose one.
'I'll take it.' I said, finally relieved I wouldn't need to go on any more rounds and sure it was one I could afford.
It was carried off the shelf and transported to a socket beside a desk manned by two ladies of different generations. The younger one in trendy skinny jeans and a tight top which left nothing to anyone's imagination, shod in flats. The other in a dress, heavily made up, sporting a hairdo showing signs of further contributing to damaging the already fragile ozone layer. I wasn't quite sure what their role in the shop was, but would soon find out.
I was reassured by the machine's powerful yet bearable sound. The driver, with the authority of one in the know, tested its sucking abilities by placing his hand at the nozzle. He nodded his head in approval. I was just happy to be going back home with a useful, reliable appliance.
'Is blue alright?' The attendant asked. By this time the other two had joined in. Given their identical looks or my tiredness, I couldn't tell who had been out smoking and who hadn't.
Before I had the chance to say, 'blue is just fine', the older lady jumped in to reassure me that 'blue is a good color'. I wondered if she would have told me if I'd chosen a 'bad' color or if there were any bad colors, but I was too tired to hold any kind of conversation relating to a subject I'd been dealing with since lunch time earlier on in the day.
I placed my debit card on the desk for payment now that we'd agreed on the model and suitability of the color. I was invited to take a seat but just stood expecting the transaction not to take anymore than a minute or so. The younger lady pressed 'print' on the computer, the older one retrieved the printed copy of the document, scribbled something on it and passed it on to me to sign.
Six times! The procedure was repeated six times and every time I signed my name I wondered if it was just for the vacuum cleaner. I had never signed my name so many times for one transaction, not even the times I bought a car, let alone just to buy a household appliance. Finally, the papers were segmented and I was given copies of what I'd signed.
As I waited for the card to be charged, I saw the driver grab it off the desk I'd left it on with the two ladies and take it across the room. My shock was indescribable, only mitigated by the familiarity between the driver and me 'What now?', I wondered.
Not understanding Azerbaijani and depending on him to help, he had been instructed to take the card to a cubicle across the showroom for the payment transaction. Next thing I know, I'm being asked for my pin number.
'What?' I asked.
'The pin number,' he repeated.
He wanted me to scream my pin number across the room. In all fairness, there were no other customers except the three male attendants, the two females and now the man in the cubicle. That's what I call division of labor. Each receipt I'd signed was for each member of staff, possibly?
I offered to punch the numbers in but was told I had to say it out loud. I kept my voice low and said it to the driver in Russian who in turn screamed it out in Azerbaijani to the man in the cubicle at the top of his voice for all to hear.
I impatiently waited for the message on my phone to inform me how much I'd been charged and was very careful about successive transactions.
TrrrrrrrrrTrrrrrrrrrrrTrrrrrrrrrrrr came out the receipt from the machine. One more signature. And another. I was given my copy and they kept theirs. I was then free to leave the store with the brand new blue vacuum cleaner.
They were all smiles and congratulated me profusely on the purchase I'd made. I was wished good health to enjoy my vacuum cleaner as the two-year warranty was stamped and handed to me. I was invited to come again as I was leaving the store. It was certainly reassuring. I don't remember a time when I pronounced 'thank you' so many times.
Shortly after we drove off, the tall brown building loomed in sight. I realized how close the store was and happy it wouldn't be long till I finally got some rest from a long day's work and the ordeal of buying a dust-sucker as it is called in Russian.
When in doubt, ask. And I did, but it didn't help much. Eventually, I got myself there.
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