London: The Opposite of Easy

Before moving here, I was told all sorts of things about London - how great it was, how expensive, how diverse, how historic, etc. but there is one phrase that sticks with me now that I've been here for three weeks, and it's one that was told to me by my good friend Ashlie, who lived in London for a year, and elsewhere in England for another year. While she loves London and raves about it, her slogan for the city is "London: the opposite of easy".

And so I arrived with a little bit of dread in the back of my heart. Maybe this wasn't going to be the adventure I was hoping for - maybe it would just be one challenge after another, one bureaucratic hoop after another. But, within the first day, I was having a very different experience. Our friend Stu had found a great, cheap place to live. It's a three-bedroom flat, but because Rob and I will share a room, we can rent out the third room and cut the rental costs for everyone - three cheers for Stuart! The tube was easy to get around, the sights were great, and everything was falling into place easily. Sure, things were expensive, but I came expecting that, and it's really not much different from prices in Japan.

Getting a bank account, which I had heard horror stories about, looked like it would be no problem -- all they needed was a copy of my passport and driver's license, and I should have a cash-card account within 10 days. A lovely lady even sat me down and gave me a number to call if I hadn't received a debit card within the allotted 10 days. How simple and efficient and friendly! What did those people at home (who had lived here for thousands of days longer than I had at that point, or still have, for that matter) know about life in London?! Things are SO EASY. Just look at the simplicity of getting a bank account! Nothing to it. "London is EASY," I thought to myself.

Even getting a job seemed a piece of cake (or scone, or tea loaf, to be culturally relevant). After submitting my CV to job agencies (specializing in placing Japanese speakers), I received phone calls within HOURS, asking me to come in for an interview and computer test at the agency. One agency even hinted that they'd even like to hire me in the near future! Now, how much easier could things get! The people who had warned me about the difficulties of life in London must have simply had anomalous experiences - everything was going well for me! Look at this, apartment, bank account, job, friends to play with - it all confirmed my thoughts that "they don't know what they're talking about... London is EASY."

The next challenge of finding another flatmate quashed Ashlie's slogan as well. It appeared as though this could be our first lump in the pudding, as a mate of Stu's, who was to stay for two full weeks (and pay rent for those two weeks) found a new pad and only needed to stay for one. "Crap!" we thought, and quickly posted an ad for our last room. Well, within hours, we had calls galore, and by the end of the evening we had set up interviews with 9 potential candidates over two days - one of whom was a Japanese girl. (We were secretly hoping she'd be the best one, so that we'd live once more in a state of Japan-nostalgia and improve our Japanese whilst cooking and eating Japanese food.) And what do you know, Machiko wins! We didn't even need to interview on the second day - we knew she was the one. So what were these people talking about - "London is EASY."

So it's all figured out - I have a great, cheap place to live, with a lovely new Japanese roommate, we have all of the basic necessities for our house (and a really quiet and eco-friendly in-house washing machine to boot!) there are three reputable and professional job agencies looking for work for me, and I am jogging in the park every other day and keeping of the dreaded "Heathrow stone" (the 14-pounds that girls gain upon arriving in London). Rob is on his way to London soon, friends are visiting left, right and center, and we have a fabulous Ethiopian restaurant one block down from us -- let's say it all together -- "London is EASY."

The first indication that I am dead wrong comes while banking. I hadn't yet received my cash-card, and so I called the number given to me by the lovely lady at the bank first thing in the morning so I could avoid those terrible musak tunes whilst on hold. And I don't have to listen to the musak --- noone answers my call. It just keeps ringing and ringing. Well, not to worry, my pamphlet also has a toll-free number to call with inquiries. Now, I DO have to listen to musak, because it's already 10am and hundreds of people are phoning to complain about the number that doesn't work.

[insert musak here - classic John Tesh]

When I do get through, the person informs me that I'm calling the wrong number. "But I tried the number given to me by the lovely lady at the bank!" I cry. "Sorry, madam, I'll have to put you through to the customer service line and you'll have to wait for an operator there." Well, the politesse got me - he called me "madam" -- "Certainly, sir, that's fine. Thank you so much for your help."

[insert musak here -
by the way, it's hard-rock musak -
electronic keyboard versions of heavy metal with bell and angel sound effects]

When I finally get through, the guy at the other end searches under my name and finds nothing - nothing indicating that I've even applied for an account. "You'll have to go to your branch - we can't access your information here."

I scarf down a sandwich and head out. By 1:30, there is a line-up that weaves back and forth from the tills all the way right to the entrance of the bank. In addition, there are 6 or 7 people waiting in the "Personal Banking" area, some of whom have fallen asleep and are snoring. (All right, one is snoring, but the others didn't look very happy.) I haven't a clue whether to join the snorers or line-up, but the people in the queue seem happier (or at least, more conscious) than the people in the personal banking area, and so I wait in line... 20 minutes later, I am told by the cashier that I'll need to wait in the personal banking area.

By that time, the even the lone banker who is helping the "personal bankers" is bored, and has left his post, and there aren't any seats left for me. It's been a bit of a pain in the bum, but I'm still not frustrated - the cashier was very sympathetic and assured me that the personal banking assistant would smooth out all of my problems, as he was the "only one" who could call the number and receive more detailed information. So I pick up a magazine, "Psychologies" and hope to at least expand my mind while waiting. An older gentleman clucks his tongue to show me his disappointment in the young man opposite for not offering me his seat, and I smile as if to reassure him. "It's okay - I'll just expand my mind with this magazine, I'm fine to stay standing," my smile conveys this, and the gentleman settles back into his seat with a sigh, still disappointed in the youth of today and the length of his wait.

The theme of this month's "Psychologies" is "attractiveness" - what is the science behind two people meeting and being attracted to one another? How can we make ourselves more "charismatic", according to science? Well, science shows it's by having glowing skin, lustrous (I am quoting this word - "lustrous") hair, a good waist-to-hip ratio and being 4 inches shorter than your male partner. Article after article, the magazine plummets further and further into the depths of shallowness (is that possible?) and repeats to its female readers - "buy the shampoos advertised in this magazine, inject with the new and 'lite'-er collagen and botox, and follow our 12-step yoga workout for a higher 'attractiveness-rating'! " I am shocked, but entertained for the full hour it takes for me to get to the personal banker. I finish the whole magazine and then some.

If you have followed along this far, you are a far more patient person than I, because I almost lost it when "the one" person at the bank who can get more detailed information attempts to solve my problems by opening up the very booklet I had used that morning, searching for phone numbers to call. Even he - "the one" - has to wait in queue, listening to musak, to talk to an operator! There is no special number, no special status, other than the fact that he prefaces the exact same questions I had earlier that morning with, "Hi, this is XXXX from Barclays' in Finsbury Park". Christ... next time, I know what to do --- "Hi this is Hana from Barclay's in Finsbury Park - where the $&^%*# is my cash-card!?" Well, really, I shouldn't hold it against XXXX from Barclay's in Finsbury Park. If he's not given any sort of extra power even as an employee of the bank, then his job is probably a lot more frustrating than mine (especially since I don't have one). So by 3:00 that day, I do know a BIT more than I did that morning. Namely, that it takes four weeks (not the aforementioned 10 days) to be reviewed for a cash-card account. I'm still not sure if any head office anywhere has received my application. Oh, and I got another number to call in case I don't receive my cash-card within the alloted time.

I'm beginning to understand the phrase, London: The Opposite of Easy