Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Here is part of a letter Silvia wrote to her brother Joseph - it explains a bit about paying bills here in Turkey:
"...the utility bills...in our tiny mailslot box #16 (of the Bukulmez Sok. 28 / 16), of which 28 is the building number and 16 is the apartment number. Good. Now you know what the address means, although few, too few, have used it. The mail is another story.
Anyway, the gas, electric and water bills aren’t even mailed really, just slips of curved calculator-roll-paper-like printouts with the landlord's name (who people on the receiving end of payments usually assume is my husband), this address, our usage from such a date to another date; I haven’t really figured out the billing patterns yet. So these curved slips get stuck in the mailbox by someone, I think the door man, who we all pay a fee to, not for him to open the door for us or anything upperclass like that, but rather to take out the trash nightly (except Sunday) and wash the apt. building hallways and stairways, which I’m told an excellent kapuci does daily, a good one weekly, but ours does maybe twice monthly. And he can also go buy you fresh breakfast food, like hot rolls, if you let him know in advance and give him the money, but we haven’t tried that service yet (ed. - ours won't do this. Michael). But I believe he also reads the meters outside each of the 24 apt doors and takes that info somewhere and gets the curved printouts and sticks them in the box, which I’m very grateful for if it’s true, cuz the lines at those utility places are always long.
When you get a bill you would think you could pay it immediately. Wrong. I tried once, and was told the payment window, usually a week long and starting a week or two after you get the bill, had not yet begun. In other words, I could not pay the bill until a day or two later, but not more than 9 days later. Seems easy enough. Wrong. That weeklong paying opportunity will pass quickly, as it once did for me when I went out of town one weekend and returned to find a bill one day over the week window. Actually, I did not know it was outside the normal weeklong paying window; the bank teller told me. She shook her head no and pointed to the date and said no in Turkish, hayir (like higher). Then she pointed me out the door, around the corner, up a block, to the right, then on the left side, where I found a long line of other bill delinquents like me. And the line didn’t move for more an hour--I found out as I was leaving the line, not having paid the bill yet because a child was due home from school in half an hour--because the electricity was out and so the computers were down at this pay station. (I ended up returning the next day, with two children, having kept the earlier arriver home from school that day so that I could potentially spend all morning and early afternoon in line without feeling pressed to get home in time to meet her getting off the school bus. But that day I arrived early, the computers were up, the line was short, and the process took less than 45 minutes.)
The regular stations for utility bills are the banks. Each thin strip of a bill of curved paper has on the bottom all the banks you can pay the bill at. You show the bill, give the money, get a receipt, and are done until next time. Some of Michael’s colleagues say no one goes to the banks anymore to pay their bills, they just pay online. But they must mean no one with a computer and internet access at home and the willingness to do online banking, which might be a large population, but I would speculate must be rather narrow. For I have seen many banks, many branches, all filled with many people paying their utility bills. Just take a number. Yes, as soon as you walk into a bank, you select from a touchscreen something about what business you are there to do and it spews out your number, like 438 or 192. And you immediately look at the red digital numbers above each teller to estimate how long your wait will be. On this day I got number 128. The highest number was 112, so I knew Miguel and I would be there a while, for several dings between another number updated. We even went outside for fresh air and snacks, and I’d stick my head in the door every now and then to see how much closer we were to 128. I didn’t want to find out the penalty for missing my number, like missing my payment window opportunity. But that penalty would probably just be getting another far-off number, back at the end of the waiters.
On this day I felt grateful for having my number, my place in line. You see, I had just come from the PTT or postoffice, where I had gone to purchase 15 or 20 stamps, whatever larger number they had on hand, cuz stamp purchasing is another line task, and then mailing a stamped letter is another line task, cuz there are not PTT drop boxes to put in your stamped mail. So my goal this morning: get lotsa stamps, go to the bank to pay the two bills within their payment window and get home before noon. We left at 9:30 and on our way out the apt building I decided to retrieve a bill that had been sitting in the mailbox for many days. Today was the 15th. It’s payment window began the 16th, rats. I wanted to pay it too with the other two whose payment window began on the 14th. Slim overlap, so I decided to go anyway and pay the other two.
Now our apartment is not in the most convenient location for our family without a car, as nearby there are no parks, none of our schools, no child-safe streets (but a major thoroughfare and its pollution), steeply inclining sreets with inconsistent sidewalking or none, a low-end tiny grocery market where the neighbors warn me not to buy the meats cuz they mime it stinks, and no postoffice or banks within reasonable walking distance. (Still most of the working-class families here in this neighborhood do not have cars either, so we fit right in in that respect, taking buses and walking along right with them. Taxis are a luxury, on which few of us seldom splurge.) But these unfavorable walking conditions don’t stop us from trying to get exercise while trying to accomplish our daily errands involving parks, schools, groceries, mail, and bill paying. So on this mild day, I decided to walk anyway and take along our old stroller in case Miguel’s legs tired. He alternated between walking and running and riding, depending on the sidewalk, traffic, and street-crossings. It took us about 45 minutes to get to the postoffice, our first stop.
Well after I bought all the international stamps the postman had (10--and he apologized for not having any more), I asked him if I could pay any of my bills here, as I had noticed long lines at PTTs before. He excitedly asked where I was from. Colombia, I always say, not to be falsely assumed rich or anything else unpopular, although Americans are well received too. But the Postman disagreed, he said I looked like someone from Trabzon, a coastal city on the Black Sea (Karadeniz), which I took as a compliment and thanked him. Electric I could pay here he said. So I handed him that last bill I had just gotten out of the mailbox, with the payment window date not yet upon us, and to my surprise, he accepted my money and gave me a receipt. Relief, ease, no line, no wait. He did ask if I was married to Adil Simsek, the name on the bill. Yok, I explain less and less these days. But wait, had I brought enough cash to pay for all three bills? My math mind told me probably not, and outside the PTT both Miguel and I emptied our pockets to pool the funds. I asked him for his three large 1 YTL (Turkish lira) coins in exchange for four 10-cent coins. He agreed with my deceptive exchange, thinking himself richer, and now I’m not sure if I ever told him I owed him 2.60. Guilt.
But even after this swap, I was still going to be 3 or 4 lira short to pay both of the other bills. And I surely did not want to get in line to pay one, then come back tomorrow to get in line again to pay the other, or worse let a few days pass and go over the pay window. There was only one thing left to do. Cash in some stamps. Back inside, unfortunately, the pre-lunch rush had begun, in anticipation of their 12 to 1:30 closing for lunch, which I had learned of once when I arrived mid-lunch and had to wait for an hour with three hungry kids before getting in the even longer post-lunch line. This time, only one person was ahead of me. I recount my money, I think of the gesture explanations I will use, since the Postman knows no English and I almost no Turkish. Wait, who is that woman boldly walking to the counter and standing right next to the man ahead of me?! A line cutter, not uncommon in Turkey. I ineffectively give her the mean stare but she doesn’t even turn back to receive it, she’s so bold she cuts without guilt. It takes courage for me to tap her leather-jacketed shoulder. I point, him, then me, what are you doing? She give me a blank look, “Just one envelope” she lifts and blurts something in Turkish; my look tells her I’m not happy so she uses Miguel as the deflection and smiles at him, and turns back around and a few moments later, even before the PTT man is finished serving the man, thrusts her envelope and cash into his hand.
When my turn comes, I nervously lay my two curved-paper bills side-by-side on the short service counter in that small space below the window shield separating us to our foreheads. I count out the money for each bill on top of each and show there is not (yok) enough cash (para). And like the bold woman had done, thrust a square of four stamps back at him. He was so quick that before I could figure out what he had done, he had taken a 1-lira coin from my pile and accepted back the returned four stamps and pushed me through the 5-lira bill the woman had just given him, and then started serving the next customers at my side and behind me. All without even a hesitation or pause or question. It pays to look Turkish maybe. I don’t know. Deals, transactions are made so quickly here than I feel naively unversed in this essential skill. This one was even and fair, and really a favor to me, and it makes me feel lucky today.
After my first transaction, the kind postman had motioned to me that in this neighborhood there was a bank where I could pay the other two bills, but since I this was my first time doing the bill-paying routine in this relatively flat neighborhood instead of in the steeply sloping one in the opposite direction from our apt, I looked and asked for the bank for 15 minutes before going further to the next neighborhood, a commercial district with lots of shops and banks, to find a bank where both bills were accepted. The first bank I found had the computers down. The second would accept only one bill, the third only the other bill, the fourth, yes, both bills. Hurrah, and it was just after 11:15, so I had less than an hour to be home. My mission looked accomplishable.
Waiting for my number at the bank to pay for the remaining two bills was no problem at all, given what could have happened (a stamps-refund refusal and another trip home for more cash, no dual-bill accepting bank found). But I did contemplate running across a freeway pushing Miguel in the stroller to try my luck at another, the biggest bank, to see what number and wait I drew from the ticketing machine, then gave up the thought of gambling any more. 20 or so minutes later 128 dings and flashes above the teller nearest the door. We paid our bills, and Miguel’s four coins outnumbered what I was left with. And we made it home by the speed of my aging jogging legs pushing Miguel the whole way except that last steeply (45-degree) inclining entrance to our neighborhood, ten minutes before a school bus brought another child home midday. It was an early school release for her due to parent conferences that day (which I preferred to do over the phone instead of the two-minibus rides and one hour each way; the other child’s school is 3 buses and 3 hours round trip for me, so I go there even less). But back to this morning without buses, a good morning of getting something done. Close call for me on both counts, the money and the time. But in the end I felt released early too of this month’s bill-paying tasks."
"...the utility bills...in our tiny mailslot box #16 (of the Bukulmez Sok. 28 / 16), of which 28 is the building number and 16 is the apartment number. Good. Now you know what the address means, although few, too few, have used it. The mail is another story.
Anyway, the gas, electric and water bills aren’t even mailed really, just slips of curved calculator-roll-paper-like printouts with the landlord's name (who people on the receiving end of payments usually assume is my husband), this address, our usage from such a date to another date; I haven’t really figured out the billing patterns yet. So these curved slips get stuck in the mailbox by someone, I think the door man, who we all pay a fee to, not for him to open the door for us or anything upperclass like that, but rather to take out the trash nightly (except Sunday) and wash the apt. building hallways and stairways, which I’m told an excellent kapuci does daily, a good one weekly, but ours does maybe twice monthly. And he can also go buy you fresh breakfast food, like hot rolls, if you let him know in advance and give him the money, but we haven’t tried that service yet (ed. - ours won't do this. Michael). But I believe he also reads the meters outside each of the 24 apt doors and takes that info somewhere and gets the curved printouts and sticks them in the box, which I’m very grateful for if it’s true, cuz the lines at those utility places are always long.
When you get a bill you would think you could pay it immediately. Wrong. I tried once, and was told the payment window, usually a week long and starting a week or two after you get the bill, had not yet begun. In other words, I could not pay the bill until a day or two later, but not more than 9 days later. Seems easy enough. Wrong. That weeklong paying opportunity will pass quickly, as it once did for me when I went out of town one weekend and returned to find a bill one day over the week window. Actually, I did not know it was outside the normal weeklong paying window; the bank teller told me. She shook her head no and pointed to the date and said no in Turkish, hayir (like higher). Then she pointed me out the door, around the corner, up a block, to the right, then on the left side, where I found a long line of other bill delinquents like me. And the line didn’t move for more an hour--I found out as I was leaving the line, not having paid the bill yet because a child was due home from school in half an hour--because the electricity was out and so the computers were down at this pay station. (I ended up returning the next day, with two children, having kept the earlier arriver home from school that day so that I could potentially spend all morning and early afternoon in line without feeling pressed to get home in time to meet her getting off the school bus. But that day I arrived early, the computers were up, the line was short, and the process took less than 45 minutes.)
The regular stations for utility bills are the banks. Each thin strip of a bill of curved paper has on the bottom all the banks you can pay the bill at. You show the bill, give the money, get a receipt, and are done until next time. Some of Michael’s colleagues say no one goes to the banks anymore to pay their bills, they just pay online. But they must mean no one with a computer and internet access at home and the willingness to do online banking, which might be a large population, but I would speculate must be rather narrow. For I have seen many banks, many branches, all filled with many people paying their utility bills. Just take a number. Yes, as soon as you walk into a bank, you select from a touchscreen something about what business you are there to do and it spews out your number, like 438 or 192. And you immediately look at the red digital numbers above each teller to estimate how long your wait will be. On this day I got number 128. The highest number was 112, so I knew Miguel and I would be there a while, for several dings between another number updated. We even went outside for fresh air and snacks, and I’d stick my head in the door every now and then to see how much closer we were to 128. I didn’t want to find out the penalty for missing my number, like missing my payment window opportunity. But that penalty would probably just be getting another far-off number, back at the end of the waiters.
On this day I felt grateful for having my number, my place in line. You see, I had just come from the PTT or postoffice, where I had gone to purchase 15 or 20 stamps, whatever larger number they had on hand, cuz stamp purchasing is another line task, and then mailing a stamped letter is another line task, cuz there are not PTT drop boxes to put in your stamped mail. So my goal this morning: get lotsa stamps, go to the bank to pay the two bills within their payment window and get home before noon. We left at 9:30 and on our way out the apt building I decided to retrieve a bill that had been sitting in the mailbox for many days. Today was the 15th. It’s payment window began the 16th, rats. I wanted to pay it too with the other two whose payment window began on the 14th. Slim overlap, so I decided to go anyway and pay the other two.
Now our apartment is not in the most convenient location for our family without a car, as nearby there are no parks, none of our schools, no child-safe streets (but a major thoroughfare and its pollution), steeply inclining sreets with inconsistent sidewalking or none, a low-end tiny grocery market where the neighbors warn me not to buy the meats cuz they mime it stinks, and no postoffice or banks within reasonable walking distance. (Still most of the working-class families here in this neighborhood do not have cars either, so we fit right in in that respect, taking buses and walking along right with them. Taxis are a luxury, on which few of us seldom splurge.) But these unfavorable walking conditions don’t stop us from trying to get exercise while trying to accomplish our daily errands involving parks, schools, groceries, mail, and bill paying. So on this mild day, I decided to walk anyway and take along our old stroller in case Miguel’s legs tired. He alternated between walking and running and riding, depending on the sidewalk, traffic, and street-crossings. It took us about 45 minutes to get to the postoffice, our first stop.
Well after I bought all the international stamps the postman had (10--and he apologized for not having any more), I asked him if I could pay any of my bills here, as I had noticed long lines at PTTs before. He excitedly asked where I was from. Colombia, I always say, not to be falsely assumed rich or anything else unpopular, although Americans are well received too. But the Postman disagreed, he said I looked like someone from Trabzon, a coastal city on the Black Sea (Karadeniz), which I took as a compliment and thanked him. Electric I could pay here he said. So I handed him that last bill I had just gotten out of the mailbox, with the payment window date not yet upon us, and to my surprise, he accepted my money and gave me a receipt. Relief, ease, no line, no wait. He did ask if I was married to Adil Simsek, the name on the bill. Yok, I explain less and less these days. But wait, had I brought enough cash to pay for all three bills? My math mind told me probably not, and outside the PTT both Miguel and I emptied our pockets to pool the funds. I asked him for his three large 1 YTL (Turkish lira) coins in exchange for four 10-cent coins. He agreed with my deceptive exchange, thinking himself richer, and now I’m not sure if I ever told him I owed him 2.60. Guilt.
But even after this swap, I was still going to be 3 or 4 lira short to pay both of the other bills. And I surely did not want to get in line to pay one, then come back tomorrow to get in line again to pay the other, or worse let a few days pass and go over the pay window. There was only one thing left to do. Cash in some stamps. Back inside, unfortunately, the pre-lunch rush had begun, in anticipation of their 12 to 1:30 closing for lunch, which I had learned of once when I arrived mid-lunch and had to wait for an hour with three hungry kids before getting in the even longer post-lunch line. This time, only one person was ahead of me. I recount my money, I think of the gesture explanations I will use, since the Postman knows no English and I almost no Turkish. Wait, who is that woman boldly walking to the counter and standing right next to the man ahead of me?! A line cutter, not uncommon in Turkey. I ineffectively give her the mean stare but she doesn’t even turn back to receive it, she’s so bold she cuts without guilt. It takes courage for me to tap her leather-jacketed shoulder. I point, him, then me, what are you doing? She give me a blank look, “Just one envelope” she lifts and blurts something in Turkish; my look tells her I’m not happy so she uses Miguel as the deflection and smiles at him, and turns back around and a few moments later, even before the PTT man is finished serving the man, thrusts her envelope and cash into his hand.
When my turn comes, I nervously lay my two curved-paper bills side-by-side on the short service counter in that small space below the window shield separating us to our foreheads. I count out the money for each bill on top of each and show there is not (yok) enough cash (para). And like the bold woman had done, thrust a square of four stamps back at him. He was so quick that before I could figure out what he had done, he had taken a 1-lira coin from my pile and accepted back the returned four stamps and pushed me through the 5-lira bill the woman had just given him, and then started serving the next customers at my side and behind me. All without even a hesitation or pause or question. It pays to look Turkish maybe. I don’t know. Deals, transactions are made so quickly here than I feel naively unversed in this essential skill. This one was even and fair, and really a favor to me, and it makes me feel lucky today.
After my first transaction, the kind postman had motioned to me that in this neighborhood there was a bank where I could pay the other two bills, but since I this was my first time doing the bill-paying routine in this relatively flat neighborhood instead of in the steeply sloping one in the opposite direction from our apt, I looked and asked for the bank for 15 minutes before going further to the next neighborhood, a commercial district with lots of shops and banks, to find a bank where both bills were accepted. The first bank I found had the computers down. The second would accept only one bill, the third only the other bill, the fourth, yes, both bills. Hurrah, and it was just after 11:15, so I had less than an hour to be home. My mission looked accomplishable.
Waiting for my number at the bank to pay for the remaining two bills was no problem at all, given what could have happened (a stamps-refund refusal and another trip home for more cash, no dual-bill accepting bank found). But I did contemplate running across a freeway pushing Miguel in the stroller to try my luck at another, the biggest bank, to see what number and wait I drew from the ticketing machine, then gave up the thought of gambling any more. 20 or so minutes later 128 dings and flashes above the teller nearest the door. We paid our bills, and Miguel’s four coins outnumbered what I was left with. And we made it home by the speed of my aging jogging legs pushing Miguel the whole way except that last steeply (45-degree) inclining entrance to our neighborhood, ten minutes before a school bus brought another child home midday. It was an early school release for her due to parent conferences that day (which I preferred to do over the phone instead of the two-minibus rides and one hour each way; the other child’s school is 3 buses and 3 hours round trip for me, so I go there even less). But back to this morning without buses, a good morning of getting something done. Close call for me on both counts, the money and the time. But in the end I felt released early too of this month’s bill-paying tasks."
# posted by Michael Strich @ 5:00 AM 
