Is it even allowed to pray like this?
Like every year, the TÜV is due once again. I drive two hours over the mountains to the state control station for cars. There are said to be two of these in the regional capital of Abancay. But I only know the one down by the river, 80 km from Curahuasi.
Some vehicles are lined up. Nobody works. I pull up right in front of the entrance and turn down the passenger door window. An employee greets me: “Dr. Klaus, we have no electricity. We are completely paralyzed!”
I get out of the car in disbelief. It’s quite nice that he knows me. “There is no electricity in the entire city of Abancay,” his colleague explains the situation to me. “And now what?” I ask, aghast. “Just come back tomorrow!” – “It takes four hours to drive here and back from Curahuasi,” I reply indignantly. – The three employees from TÜV shrug their shoulders.
I reach for my cell phone to call the head of the state electricity company. I know the director pretty well and want to get to the bottom of it myself. – Crap, no reception. The TÜV is in the middle of a dead zone.
“Our boss drove into town earlier (20 kilometers uphill) to check things out!” – I have to grin inwardly and see his superior before my inner eye sitting on a couch with a Coke glass in the hand.
I look around. All offices are empty. “Where are the secretaries anyway?”, I want to know. “They’ve long since gone home,” is the bored reply. “At half past five, we’ll pack everything up too, and then it’s over for the day!”
“We could at least put up a poster from Diospi Suyana about our planned youth festival here!” – My suggestion meets with approval. And soon, a poster reading “Youth Festival” adorns the outside wall of Abancay’s TÜV. “Is that supposed to have been the only point of a long afternoon through the mountains?” I am totally annoyed
I flick on the light switches in the offices. It remains dark. What should I do? Ten more minutes, then the officers ring in their closing time. The cars in line give up. One by one, they turn a corner and make off. It is hopeless. – I start praying, “God, we need electricity. Now!” – Is it okay to pray like this? I am not quite sure myself. God is not a vending machine who satisfies our personal desires at the push of a button. But I just keep praying in silence.
Employees begin to turn off and cover all measuring devices. Four hours of travel for free. I flick the light switches again. Shit*!!! –
Suddenly a ceiling lamp lights up. “Luz (light),” I call so loudly that even the most tired person must hear it. The staff did not expect this. They look at me indecisively. “How about a little appreciation?” – But I don’t feel like taking a bribe. A sign on the wall indicates the end of working hours as 6 pm. Still 30 minutes missing. – I shake my head. “We treat emergencies at the hospital day and night!” My reference to fulfillment of duty is sufficient.
The devices are switched on again. The Internet activated after ten minutes with some difficulty. When I set off on my journey home shortly after 6 p.m. with the positive test report, I can hardly believe it myself. That was light at the very last moment.
Is it okay to pray like this? Yes, I think so! /KDJ