It’s my first day with my ski poles and they very nearly killed me. I’d like to say it’s because I went out for some heroic or potentially insane double pole workout, but instead it is because I simply tried to get them home from the post office. A task which turned into a two day marathon.
On the first day, having discussed with my family where the post office was, I rode to the next train station over, about 15 minutes by bike, and took the train from there because that is where the post office is. That way, when I took the train home at night I could go to the post office and bike home with the package. I explained, apparently not to clearly, that I was picking up my ski poles, so it would be a large package, but I for some unknown reason, was easily convinced that it would be no problem. I could certainly bike home with a box with my ski poles in it-my first false assumption.
Day one continues with my attempt to make it to the post office before it closed at five. I have class until 4:10, but figured, assuming class ended on time (the second false assumption, while Danes stress their punctuality this seems not to apply to end times…) I would be able to make a train that would get me to the post office before five. But, class went over and one of the trains didn’t come, so I ended up getting to the station at 5, only to walk around realizing that my host family and I had miss-communicated on where the post office was, because the butcher didn’t seem to think he had a package for me.
Regardless, while day one was a disappointing attempt I was more optimistic about day two. My classes end earlier and I now knew the real location of the post office. At the end of the day I made it to the post office without a hitch and with 20 minutes to spare. I grabbed a number, hoping I was looking for the same service as the person in front of me, waited to be called and walked up to the counter. Once there I handed over my information, she went and got the package...etc. all was going well.
All was going well, UNTIL, she mentioned that I had to pay 460 DKK to pick up the package. 460 kroner! That’s just under $100!!! Apparently the Danes have to pay 25% tax on packages they receive when sent to their addresses at home. I need to change my address listed so that people will send packages to DIS instead, where apparently there is no tax. I’m already bumming that my mom sent my ipod here a few days ago. There goes another 100 bucks.
Anyway…not only was I floored that I had to spend so much to pick up the package, but I also had to leave, go to a bank, take out money, come back and THEN pick up my now VERY expensive ski poles, AND I still had to figure out how I was going to bike home with a box as tall as I was.
Seriously annoyed, I bustled out of the post office, found my bike at the station and walked for a quarter of a mile before I got up the guts to try and mount the bike with the long box. I chose a jousting technique. Putting my book bag in the basket on the front of the bike, I balanced the box over the handle bars so that at least 75% of it extended out over the bike in front of me. I then used my free hand, the one not holding on to the handle bars, in an attempt to hold the box in one place as I inched home through the blustery Denmark conditions that, along with the traffic and other pedestrians, threatened to blow the box and myself over.
Needless to say, the neighbors think I’m crazy, I’m exhausted from trying to get home, and my wallet will soon be empty due to taxes, BUT now I have my ski poles. Although I am not nearly as happy about it as I intended. My family is going to help me see if I can somehow get refunded on the taxes, but in the mean time, this one goes down in the history books-another priceless experience.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Post a Comment