friends in the right places

It´s bad enough being insecure about my language skills here in Argentina without throwing in an incompetent taxi dispatcher. It´s enough to throw me over the edge. When I´m here in San Juan I always use the same car service - it´s the one with the newest, most reliable cars, and I even know the owner of a few of the cars. It´s been a reasonbly successful week or two with the guy who answers the phone. They always ask you the same questions: where are you? what´s the address? what´s the name of the family? Easy enough. Especially now that I can say a few of the words in the local ´´dialect´´ so that the dispatcher and the driver know exactly what I´m talking about even though it sounds like nonsense to me. BUT - today I called the car service, told them where I was, etc., etc. For whatever reason the guy on the other end was having a hard time with my accent even though he´s always understood me before. He kept asking if I was at an apartment or store and I was like, NO - it´s a house! There is no apartment number! Even I knew that the car was never going to show up when he never asked for my house number and hung up before I could tell him. This is where the housekeeper comes in. She heard my entire conversation when I was on the phone. When I hung up she said, basically, ´´what the hell was that?´´ I sighed and said that I didn´t think the car was going to come. She said that if it didn´t come in 20 minutes that SHE wanted to call. Fine. Well when the car didn´t come, she calls and pretty much reams out the dispatcher. She told them, what the hell about my conversation didn´t they understand, that she was standing in the room when I called, that I´ve been using the car service for two weeks and what the hell about the neighborhood of Barrio Del Bono didn´t they understand, that even though they didn´t have the house number they had the family name, blah, blah, blah. RAH. Gotta keep the housekeeper on your good side. And yes, the car finally showed up.