And Learned to Love the Sound of Silence
Two black cables dangle from the utility post across the street, swaying in a tropical breeze. They’ve been snipped off four or five feet above the ground by someone eager to salvage the copper… or whatever cable TV cables are made of. Those cables had been stretched across the unpaved street to the duplex where we (Blanca and I) live. One cable served our side of a duplex and the other helped keep our neighbor, we’ll call him Jim, occupied with 95 channels, including five in English.
The Izzi Effect
I don’t remember when we first signed up for Telecable. Well over a decade ago for sure; back when we lived on a paved street. As we all know, change happens. It started with talk of Izzi on the internet… backed by advertising with bright, primary colors and young, happy looking models.
The rumor mill suggested that Izzi was taking over Telecable. The rumors weren’t clear as to when or how this would happen. The name Izzi became more familiar as tiny Honda Fit cars, with long ladders strapped to the roof, became a common site around town.
In March the first bill arrived from Izzi; stuck in my front door. That’s the way most bills are delivered here. It was a simple letter size page showing that I owed $0.00 pesos for the month. My first impression was that the bill didn’t look very professional. I had accumulated six prepaid months for 2016 as a result of a Telecable “Pay for 12 months in January and get credit for 14 months” promotion. The fact that the promotion was dropped in January 2016 should have been a clue that change was in the wind.
Jim and the Poker Connection
My neighbor Jim is 84 years old. He’s had a fascinating life; from machine shop owner, to California real estate mini-mogul, to sailing the Greek islands... all that before moving to Puerto Vallarta in 1995. I arrived the same year; with a list of three options to check out as retirement spots in Mexico. Puerto Vallarta was the first stop. After two weeks, I was hooked. The scouting trip ended.
Before long, I’d been invited to play in a weekly poker game. That’s where I met Jim and many other characters that have made for an interesting twenty plus years. Poker attracts characters. Each of the dozen or so players I got to know in that game, and in games that morphed from that game, has a story waiting to be told. Jim plays a principal role in this story.
During our poker sessions, Jim would sometimes mention a small piece of land he’d bought on the other end of town; up near the airport. He said he planned to build on the lot after he’d saved enough money. At the time, I had a car, and I hadn’t yet squandered my retirement savings in an effort to show Wall Street how smart I am.
One day Jim and I went for a ride to take a look at his lot. The location was pretty good, but the area was populated with a variety of businesses, mixed with small, basic homes. Some of the streets were paved with cobblestones… but not the ones around Jim’s lot. I didn’t see much potential as a place to build a home, so that was that.
Things Change and It’s Back to Work
Fast forward about a decade. Most of my savings had found their way into accounts held by the wolves of Wall Street. In 2003 I had gone to work for PokerStars, an online poker company that kindly allowed me to work remotely from Puerto Vallarta. I was now in a long term relationship with Blanca, who I’d met in 1996 through the wife of one of the regular poker players. We were paying rent but were still able to slowly accumulate some savings. The idea of having a little place of our own, where we could live rent free, was attractive. It was the fall of 2006. As things worked out, we were renting an apartment in the building where Jim lived.
I’d already decided that I wanted to retire... again... in 2008, when I turned 62. Thanks to a few gravy years as co-founder of a successful software company, my projected income from Social Security would be enough to live on… especially if we didn’t have to pay rent. In retrospect, my next decision was not a wise one. I asked Jim about his plan to build on that lot up by the airport. He said he had only accumulated about half of what he thought it would take.
Building for the Future
We took another ride out to see the lot. It was more overgrown than ever, as were a few other vacant lots on the street. On the other hand, more homes had sprouted up in the general area and there were no signs of serious gang activity.
I had enough saved to match what Jim had, including the value of the lot. Together we had enough to build two small (380 sq. feet of living space) units as a duplex. Each unit would have a bedroom, a bathroom and a combined living/dining/kitchen area. Construction would be such that, in the future, two more units could be added as a second story. We reached an agreement to build on the lot as co-proprietors.
I had enough saved to match what Jim had, including the value of the lot. Together we had enough to build two small (380 sq. feet of living space) units as a duplex. Each unit would have a bedroom, a bathroom and a combined living/dining/kitchen area. Construction would be such that, in the future, two more units could be added as a second story. We reached an agreement to build on the lot as co-proprietors.
Under Mexican law, foreigners can’t own land near the borders or shoreline. That is commonly dealt with by setting up a trust in which a Mexican bank holds the title, but has a fiduciary duty to comply with any legal wish of the foreign owner. Jim had set up such a trust agreement when he bought the lot. We decided that the simplest, least expensive thing to do, was to modify the trust agreement to make me a co-proprietor with Blanca as my beneficiary.
The story of the construction project is a saga in itself. Suffice it to say that between November 2006 and April 2007 a duplex, with patios in back and minimal parking in front, replaced the jungle like growth. Construction finished in time for us to experience the rainy season... during which our dusty street becomes a muddy street.
As planned, I retired again in 2008. Just before I left, PokerStars generously sent me off in style by arranging for me to “work” at a live poker event they sponsored in Monaco. That trip would make a fun story if only my memory were better.
The Izzi Experience Goes from Bad to Worse
On a Thursday morning, a couple of weeks ago (June 2016), I turned on the TV expecting to hear the usual election related crap on CNN. Instead I was greeted by a blue screen with the message “No Signal”. Realizing that this is the sort of thing that could set Jim off, I got busy looking for the cause.
I was finally able to contact a human at Izzi via “live chat” support. After explaining the problem and providing the contract number from one of those Izzi bills, the person said that a set top box would be required to restore service. When I mentioned that there had been no warning, he ignored me and pasted a website address into the chat window so I could find out where I had to go to get a set top box. I’m liking Izzi less and less. Is cutting off service to customers the best form of notification they could come up with?
The map on the Izzi’s Puerto Vallarta website showed the office to be in a business/shopping complex that I’m familiar with. There’s a bus stop nearby. I left a note in Jim’s door explain why the cable was out, and that I was off to the Izzi office to deal with it. That led to the next customer service snafu.
The Izzi office was not where I thought it should be. I asked around, and a gardener told me that the place to pick up set top boxes was about a half mile back toward home. As I started walking, I happened to notice an Izzi sign on a building across the highway where people were coming and going. I was a long way to the nearest traffic light. I crossed the eight lanes without incident, went into the office and was immediately told that I needed to go to a different place. The gardener had been right. The gal at the office wasn’t clear as to exactly where the set top box operation was located. She was clear in saying it was on the other side of the highway, near a supermarket about a half mile away.
Nothing at that location looked like a place to pick up an Izzi set top box. After walking all around the area, I asked a cab driver if he had any idea. He did. He pointed to a row of buildings I’d already checked. I thanked him and walked away to check again. Sure enough there was a gap toward the end of the row of businesses. Set off the street well behind the other businesses was an unsigned, nondescript block building with a lot of people standing around. In fairness, there was a Telecable banner on a wall... facing the wrong way to be seen from the street. Nothing said Izzi.
Upon approaching the building, one might expect someone to explain the procedure. One would be wrong. I put on my best confused gringo face and finally another person waiting out front told me I should go in and get a number. There were several desks, all with customers dealing with people wearing Izzi shirts. Not a clue as to where one might get a number. Another helpful customer asked me if I needed a number. When I said yes, she pointed to one of the desks. As I approached the desk, an irritated looking Izzi person tore a number off a roll and handed it to me. By this time, I really didn’t like Izzi at all.
Finally, my number was called and an agreeable young man helped me through the process. I learned that I needed three set top boxes. The first was included in the monthly cost, which I found was more than I’d been paying Telecable. The other two would be $65 pesos (about $3.50 USD) each per month. One of those boxes was for Jim.
Issues with Jim Take a Turn for the Worse
When I got home, there was a note in my door from Jim. He thanked me for letting him know what was going on, and said he really didn’t care about having TV anyway. Very uncharacteristic.
I went into my place and hooked up one of the boxes to see how it worked. It worked fine… but the five English language channels we had with Telecable were gone. I let Jim know the bad news... higher cost, no English channels except Faux News. He came to my door later with wire cutters and said he was cutting the cable. I explained that it had already been cut electronically, so there was no need to physically cut the cable.
Half an hour later, I heard honking on the street. I looked out and saw a truck that couldn’t pass due to low hanging cables. Both of our TV cables had been cut where they entered the house. Jim, who doesn’t like heights, had climbed up on the roof and cut the cables. Both his and mine. I pulled the cables down so the truck could pass. I didn’t say anything to Jim; seeing this as a chance to put Izzi in the rear view mirror.
Blanca and I talked about the situation that evening. We agreed that the best thing to do was cancel the cable service. She expressed a dislike for Izzy based on bad things she'd heard, so she was happy we weren’t going to be doing business with them.
The next morning, after Blanca had left for work, I heard loud banging and shattering glass. Jim was breaking out the glass and hard plastic in both the front door and front window on his side of the building. I went out and asked him though the broken window if he wanted me to call the police again. He said “Sure, bring ‘em on”.
After some thought, I told him wouldn’t unless he broke the agreement he’d made after earlier rampages involving the water, gas and electric service. After the last one, he’d spent 12 hours in jail… before they had to release him due to his age. Those hours in the slammer seemed to get his attention. He’d agreed with investigators that he wouldn’t touch the utilities, wouldn’t talk to Blanca, and wouldn’t threaten me with various tools. That was the deal. After previous incidents, the police had, oddly enough, always left his “weapon” with me.
I waited to see what would happen, fully expecting that I’d soon be making a call to the police. The sound of more banging and things breaking could be heard… but he never came out of the house. The next morning, as I got ready to take the set top boxes back and cancel the service, Jim incessantly pounded on his steel door and on the iron bars protecting his window. He was using a metal tool of some sort. I ignored him.
When I arrived at the building where I’d picked up the boxes, I stood out because I was carrying three cloth Telecable bags like those everyone else carried as they left. I went in and approached a desk to get a number. There were customers sitting at desks, arranging to get their set top boxes, just as I had done the day before. The Izzi people in the room pointedly ignored me. The most interesting part was that one of the customers had a pig on a leash. The pig was contentedly rooting around in the guy’s backpack when someone’s chihuahua got loose, walked over, and started sniffing the pig’s butt. That in itself made the trip worthwhile.
I finally got the attention of an Izzi person and explained that we’d decided to cancel our service. Naturally, I learned that they don’t handle that at this location. I’d have to walk back to the other office on the other side of the highway. I did, and the service is cancelled. I generally try to be understanding, but now I felt genuine hate for Izzi and the crappy way it treats customers.
Now you know, in lurid detail, how I cut the cable… with the help of an unstable neighbor.
Loving the Sound of Silence
Learning to love the sound of silence has been simple. No more CNN yammering in the background while I eat, feed the animals, or do chores around the house. We have a service called ClaroVideo available with our fiber internet access. A few months ago it was added at no cost for the first year. Until the events described above, it had gone unused. We now use it to watch movies, documentaries, series, concerts and more when and where we want. I hooked up an old Chromebook to the bedroom TV so Blanca can watch what she wants there. I can watch what I want on my computer monitor in the front room. A lot of the content is dubbed in Spanish and the rest is in English with Spanish subtitles. New releases are available as pay per view at about $2.50 USD for 24 hours of access. We use it in the evenings. Silence prevails during the day. It’s been well over a week now, and we don’t miss the cable service at all. I for one, love the silence.
Just When You Thought the Story Was Over
Breaking News… and other stuff. Jim’s descent into the bowels of insanity continues. Our electric bills came a few days after the cable cutting and breaking glass episodes that triggered this post. I asked Jim if he wanted to give me the money for his bill so Blanca could pay it for him when she pays ours. That’s been the normal procedure since we (thank goodness) had a separate meter installed for our side following the utility conflicts mentioned above. He said “No!” in an angry tone, “I’m not paying it.” His power will be cut off a day or two after I post this.
Two days later, Jim lost it to the point that he came out of his place wearing only his underwear and carrying a foot long plumber’s wrench. He came to my door, told me he was fed up, and dared me to come out. I told him ”I’m really busy” and “It would be better if you could come by tomorrow. We can have a big fight then.” He failed to see the humor.
He gave my door a solid whack with his “weapon”, and I called the police. I expected him to retreat to his place, where he knows the police can’t touch him. He didn’t. Instead he whacked the door again and stood outside. Fortunately, we have a double door, so he couldn’t break the glass. I picked up my own weapon, a 1x3 piece of wood about four feet long, with a handle of sorts to make it hard to pull out of my hands. I’d also wrapped the business end with duct tape to reduce the chance of serious damage in case I accidentally hit Jim instead of his weapon. Yes, I had prepared for the possibility that it would come to this again.
The battle was short and totally unfair. At 70, I’m fifteen years younger and quite a bit stronger. A few well placed whacks, and I knocked his weapon to the ground. I tossed it into my place, closed the door, and ran back to his side so he couldn’t get back inside before the police arrived.
The municipal police truck showed up after about ten minutes. Much better than the hour plus we waited the last time he was locked up. I showed the officers documentation of our earlier conflicts; they did some cursory questioning and asked me if I wanted them to take him in. I said yes, and away he went... after they went inside to find a shirt and shorts for him to wear. They left his weapon outside; I added it to my collection as shown earlier.
While he was gone, I used my cell phone to record the damage he’d done to his place. The same police truck that took him away, dropped Jim off about three hours later. The police didn’t stop to chat. I didn’t expect them to lock him up, but I had hoped someone would realize that he needed help after seeing the damage he’d done to his own home... maybe take him somewhere for psychiatric evaluation. That was pretty silly of me in retrospect. Bureaucracies don’t work that way.
Epilogue
Knowing what I know now, I should have just ignored Jim’s bangs on my door. The worst he could have done would have left a few nicks in the paint and dents in the door. Ignoring him is my plan going forward. I still have no idea why he decided to break out the windows or any of the rest. I suspect that I’ll never know.
Before you ask, the U.S. bureaucracy is just as bad as the Mexican. The first time he was taken to jail, I went to the U.S. consulate looking for a way to help him. I was on the verge of being thrown out after getting agitated when they insisted that they could do nothing for him unless he asked for help. Nor could they do anything about his threats to my life and well being... unless they were invited to take action by the Mexican authorities.
Oh… did I mention that Jim’s residency card expired years ago? Blanca and I went to the Mexican immigration office after Jim’s first trip to the jail house; thinking that if he were deported, he could get help in the states based on his military service. We were met by a different roadblock. I was escorted out after failing to show proper respect when told that, for some bureaucratic reason, there was nothing they could do. Blanca was embarrassed. From now on, I will be respectfully ignoring my old poker buddy Jim.
Yesterday Jim left a note in my door... which I ignored. I'm sharing it to show how futile it has been trying to deal with him as a reasonable, logical person.
"This is to help you and eliminate work for me. Everything I have says that what I have done is very normal regardless of your dreaming up imaginary thoughts. It has been, and is, totally logical. Continue if you want. I don't care. Good bye."
This morning he was back to his usual routine of yelling drunken obscenities at me, humming loudly, yelling cat calls at any attractive woman/girl who walks by on the street, and occasionally banging on something. All this as he stands just inside his front door in his underwear, worn over an adult diaper. No one pays any attention to it anymore.
Yesterday Jim left a note in my door... which I ignored. I'm sharing it to show how futile it has been trying to deal with him as a reasonable, logical person.
"This is to help you and eliminate work for me. Everything I have says that what I have done is very normal regardless of your dreaming up imaginary thoughts. It has been, and is, totally logical. Continue if you want. I don't care. Good bye."
This morning he was back to his usual routine of yelling drunken obscenities at me, humming loudly, yelling cat calls at any attractive woman/girl who walks by on the street, and occasionally banging on something. All this as he stands just inside his front door in his underwear, worn over an adult diaper. No one pays any attention to it anymore.
