my ferrari (elliptical machine)
Yesterday, a chapter closed on the long-drawn saga of my elliptical machine. Three weeks ago, when I started looking for gyms I found they had all been sealed — i.e. the police had shut them down for operating out of residences. (Idiots!) So I did some research and found that the cost of 5 months of membership to one of these home-grown gyms pretty much equaled the cost of a mid-level elliptical machine (the only machine I do at the gym b/c of my feet.) After some serious comparison shopping, I found a good deal and paid an advance to have it sent to my house. That was more than two weeks ago. The piece “got stuck in customs,” had “trouble unloading,” “got stopped at the border,” and finally made it to Delhi, I’m told, but for some reason the dude had stopped answering my calls. Finally, I got him to commit (and that word is always used very loosely around these parts) to a time. Three more commitments later and many hours spent waiting and rearranging plans around the estimated drop-off time, I finally called off the deal and went to get my advance back. (I don’t know why I really expected the chap to show up at the time he said he would, honestly. I’m so naive sometimes.) And instead of the black model I’d chosen, I had to opt for this devilish red, flamed one instead from another vendor because it was in stock. And surprise, surprise! It actually showed up at home as promised, when promised!