The Eighth Plague

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs, which can now be seen online  (in Spanish) as well. 

It reminded me of one of the first places I lived when I first moved to Spain. An old seven floor walk up in the centre of Madrid with ornate wrought-iron railings and wooden stairs so polished by years of feet that they looked like polished marble. Carrying groceries home you began to feel like the mother in Barefoot in the Park and wished you knew the neighbours on the third floor so that you had a reason to take a break. The other day I was sitting in the Alfonoso IX having a midday caña and everyone at the bar was talking about the recent reopening of Alzapiernas, a narrow street that literally translates as 'lift your legs' (you get the drift). In between the ridicule and biting irony I love so much about the Spanish, the waiter said, “It’s like building an elevator that only goes from the sixth to the seventh floor.” I smiled to myself and thought, well I guess it would have been welcome when loaded with groceries but it would also be a ridiculous waste. Not a positive word was said about what may be the world’s shortest escalator that they have since built 3/4 up the lane and even less than positive words were reserved for the politicians and technicians responsible for the mess. But what surprised me is that there was no general feeling that anyone would or even could be held account for the mess. It was as if incompetence of this sort was some sort of biblical curse that we had been condemned to suffer. We could say a rosary or pray to one of the virgins in hopes stop the locusts from coming, but demand responsibilities? Better pray to another god because it seems that once you reach a certain level in the administration in Spain an immunity to responsibility kicks in. If the waiter had made an equivalent mistake, you can be sure the next line he sees will be the unemployment line but if an alto cargo authorizes an elevator or airport to nowhere, runs a perfectly viable institutos de idiomas into the ground, or fails to form a coalition government after having promised they would, and the only queue they see is the one to pick up their next check. If we not only expected a little more from those in power but demanded it, I know, I for one, would sleep better at night.