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Phone Frenzy


I’ve had two phone calls in the last two days that have utterly bewildered me.  The first was a man speaking German who sounded very friendly--as if we knew each other already.  I understood it was something about our move, but the introduction was so fast that I had no idea why he was calling.  If I could translate the conversation into English, it might have gone something like this (I’m imagining what he probably said, but only based on what I understood later).
Caller: Hello, Mrs. Stevens!  This is Schaefer from Spangenberg.  Greetings to your family.  I understand you’re moving.
Me: Ah, hello!  Yes?
Caller: I’m calling to schedule your household goods survey.
Me: Yes? Ah, who are you?
Caller: Mr. Schaefer from Spangenberg.  
Me: I’m sorry, could you say that again?
Caller: This is Mr. Shaefer from Spangenberg.  Your husband works for Baker Hughes and you are moving back, yes?  I’m calling to schedule the household goods survey.
Me: Ah! Okay, yes.  
**
Eventually we were able to arrange a time, but then five minutes later I called him back to reschedule.  I’d changed my mind (happens a lot these days).  Again he went on and on about things I couldn’t understand, but we ended with the idea that he would come on Wednesday at 8:30.  He came this morning and it all went fine.  I usually understand the important things, and I just smile if it seems to be a joke or a pleasantry.  
However, it seemed like just a few months ago that we were doing the same thing in the US--the “eyes” of the moving company, coming to see about our goods.  The gentlemen here, however, was wearing a suit, whereas in the U.S. the man probably had khakis or jeans and a short sleeved button down shirt.
**
My second bewildering call was yesterday.  The number came up on my cell phone but I didn’t recognize it.  I’ve become half German in how I answer the phone, but I haven’t gone all the way.  Germans usually answer with a short, “Stevens.”  Last name only.  I’ve changed from merely saying “Hello” to answering with, “This is Laurel.”  I just can’t bring myself to say, “Stevens” or, with a proper pronunciation, “Shtevens.”  It makes sense, but I can’t do it.
So here was the call yesterday.  It was in English, but English was not caller’s first language.
Me: This is Laurel.
Caller: blah blah blah blah Ariana blah blah blah. First of May?  But when are you going? 
Me: I’m sorry?
Caller: I’m calling blah blah blah Frau Keshavarzi blah blah. washer and dryer.
Me:  I’m sorry (and now, a convenient excuse, my son was starting to interrupt--I was completely lost.  Did she want to buy some of our wardrobes or washer and dryer?  Did she get my number from John?  Was it perhaps the realtor?  No idea).  I’m sorry, could you say that again.  My son was interrupting.
Caller: When are you actually moving?  Will you be leaving in March or May?
Me: I’m so sorry, my son was talking and I couldn’t hear you.  Um, who is this?
Caller: Ariana Farahmand, realtor.
Me: Ah!  Frau Farahmand!  I’m so sorry.  What can I do for you?
The conversation continued, better than it started, and at last we were able to get to the issue.  She was brining someone to look at the house.   We had to work around my schedule and I finally asked, 
Me: In the U.S. one is not typically present when someone comes to look at the house.  What is it like here?
Frau F: Ah yes, everything is different here.  If you aren’t there to let us in, we have no way to see the place.  
I wished that I could just give her the key.  We shall see how it goes.
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