c'e sempre domani

what I've learned about the culture of time

One of the largest cultural differences between the US and Italy is our interpretations of time. In the US, time is limited, optimized, and scheduled. Penciling in time with friends requires an executive assistant, stores are open 24/7, and meals are often skipped in favor of sad desk lunches. In Italy, time is abundant, flexible, and spontaneous. Americans in Italy, including myself, often feel bamboozled by the societal structure of time.

Recently, I’ve experienced a slew of little annoyances. I’ve gone to pick up my dry cleaning and gotten yelled at because she specifically told me to come in the afternoon. Parks seem to randomly close for things like “windy days”. The afternoon “riposa” or break time between 1 PM to 4 PM where stores close always leave me guessing. Sometimes shopfronts just leave a note on their door that they are gone at any hour of the day. What is it about the Italian sense of time that makes me so bothered?

A small saga occurred recently when we tried to have a kitchen countertop delivered from the Home Depot equivalent called, “Leroy Merlin”. Situated in the harrowing Neapolitan suburbs, the parking lot at Leroy Merlins is like a sliding block puzzle, each car trying to fit into slots that are too small. We made a trip out there a few weeks ago so my partner can feel in his element again. I was tasked as being the interpreter for the order, as we needed the countertop shipped to our house since it wouldn’t fit into our tiny car.

I was able to order the countertop without any problem: we understood each other well, I had written confirmation the countertop would be delivered, and I was enrolled in a text message system that would alert me of the delivery information. The countertop was to arrive after Friday.

Well, Friday came and went, and no word from Leroy Merlin. I should have known that if things go too smoothly, it’s not a good sign. Weeks started to roll by. My partner went back to the store and inquired about the status of our delivery. They told him to email someone. Of course, this infuriated me. Why go all the way to the store, only to be told to email someone? Using his best Google translate, he emailed the address at Leroy Merlin and received no reply. Of course!

Finally, when my partner was traveling for work, I got a text message from Leroy Merlin telling me that my delivery would be there between 9 and 1 in the morning. I re-arranged plans to remain home to prepare for the arrival. It was all rather anticlimactic, as nothing happened until 4 PM when my portiere called me. I came down and greeted the deliveryman, who was about 5 ft. 2 and 120 pounds. It was obvious the giant wooden countertop would not fit into the elevator, and I would need to ask his small man to carry this enormous and heavy wood countertop up multiple flights of stairs. Physically, I was worried for his survival, but my portiere approved the transaction with an affirmative head nod, and he heroically heaved the countertop onto his back and leaned forward so the countertop could be maneuvered up the curves of the staircase. Each step I felt an impending sense of guilt as we trudged up the stairs and he asked me how many more flights there were. Finally at the top, he caught his breath while I beamed, triumphant that we had beat the Italian system and succeeded in completing a task.

The process of waiting for this countertop was extremely frustrating. I paid money for this countertop, I’ve called you, I’ve emailed you - why can’t you just let me know when this will be arriving? Yes, I’m accustomed to convenience, but my constant need to maximize my time comes from years of working with drive of making things more efficient. The constant thrum of capitalism lures me into the productivity trap. I can’t sacrifice a day of sitting around when I could otherwise be doing something productive. I can’t operate spontaneously because I can’t let go and trust that things will work out. I need to have a plan for success. But Neapolitans don’t have a plan, except for what they’re eating for dinner tonight. Some say it’s due to the potential for Mount Vesuvius to erupt or Campi Flegrei to shower us with earthquakes, the impending threat of death leaving Neapolitans without energy for improvements. So until then, things simply won’t function well. This leaves Americans with an uncomfortable amount of “wasted time”. If we’re left with extra time, will we be forced to sit with ourselves? Relax? Take a nap? Will we always remain frustrated by the triumphant cry of the Italian? “Domani, domani, domani,” - we’ll get to it tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

The other day I met one of my Italian friends for coffee last minute. She was finishing up a pilates class and had a few hours to spare. After coffee, she asked if I wanted to come over her house for soup. I hesitated a moment: I had errands to do and there were chores that needed to happen. Eh, I’ll do it domani. Today it’s time for minestrone instead.