We’ve been out of gas for five days now (tea deprivation tea deprivation tea deprivation). We tried calling the man who found us gas the last time we ran out – the number was bad. We called our security guard friend – no answer. So we went out to stock up on lunchmeat and fruit last night, prepared for more cold meals (no complaints here- I just miss cooking. It’s entertaining, relaxing and makes for a happy husband).
The landlady came by yesterday to collect the rent. Our landlady is one of our favorite people. She goes out of her way to help us with anything, a lot of times before we even ask for help. She always wants to know how we’re settling in. She struck up a conversation with Brice about culture shock, curious about specific things we’d experienced since moving here and how we’d reacted to them. He told her about ridiculous taxi rides, and the hassle of finding propane gas.
She stopped him: “Why do you need propane gas?”
“…Well, for our oven.”
“There’s a gas line in the apartment that’s turned on! I already paid 5 LE (80 cents) a month for it. You don’t have it hooked up?“
And that’s how we found out, after 9 months of living in this apartment that we’ve had gas all along.