OK, we got the internets.
The installation guys came this morning just as Kostia was running off to teach a lesson, and they were the sort of guys who mumble and make me feel as though I don’t understand any Russian at all, even though at other times I don’t feel that I have any serious comprehension problems. After an awkward 45 minutes, we were hooked up.
Awhile after they left, there was a knock at the door. I looked through the peephole and saw a short, stocky older woman. I opened the door and she elbowed her way into the flat. “Um, who are you?” I said. “You open the door for the men but you’re afraid of me?” “I just don’t know who you are.” “I’m the building administrator. Close the door, you’ve got a skvoznyak. Where are they? They installed the thing? ” “Yes, they left already.” “They left?? I didn’t see them.” She left the flat, muttering something about the keys to the basement.
Grrr. This is not a rental building, the administrator shouldn’t be able to think she can just push her way into the apartment. Even our landlords, the nice couple who own this flat, overly-cautiously ask us permission to come over to fix something or pick up their mail, even though I trust them and I would have no problem with them having a key and coming over whenever they want, provided they knock first. This is a clear illustration of the generation gap in Russia: Sovoks vs. normal human beings.