Well, it's been one of those days... already. I'm trying to take it in stride, because in all honesty I should be used to these kinds of Murphy's-Law situations by now, but it still gets to me... Especially when everything seems to run together in a series of mishaps or unexpected baffling moments.
After running out the door, nearly five minutes later than planned -- as usual -- (That plan to turn over a new leaf and really allow myself more time in getting to the train station in the morning has not been working -- wonder why? Maybe because I know I'll never change...), I did still manage to get my train, but only just as the buzzer was ringing and I thought I was going to get trapped between the doors. Nothing new for me, but it still puts the fear of God in me. Which is one of the reasons why I had also recently told myself not to even run or rush anymore, because it simply isn't worth it, not for a train for goodness' sake, even if it means getting to work late. Life is too short and far more valuable...
But anyway, I digress. I got this train, but had to make a change at the next station. Once I arrive there, I know things should go pretty smoothly, which they did. But I have to say, in line with some of my expat friends out there, that there truly is some région parisienne behavior that will remain a mystery to me to the end of my days... Granted, we're all harried and tired, from the start of the day to the end, but some people have longer commutes than others (ahem, Jenn?) and some people have more stressful jobs as well. I can't honestly claim to have either one of those at this point, but of course I like to be able to sit down and rest my feet a bit as much as the next guy. And I'm at that stage where absolutely no one knows that I'm pregnant yet anyway, so it's not as if that would help matters. Although from past experience, and from what people have told me over the years, I know that doesn't tend to faze most commuters anyway. They want that sacred seat, come hell or high water!
This morning's hilarious observation really took the cake, though: as the next train pulled into the station, we all quietly ushered into the train as usual, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed it wasn't all that crowded -- a rarity! Out of the corner of my eye, I caught this one guy, middle-aged, perfectly healthy-looking (although I do realize looks can be deceiving...), literally racing down the train aisle to the only empty seat available. I almost laughed out loud! It was so utterly ridiculous, and yet entirely typical. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I have to admit that I was... It's times like those when I literally want to lean down and say, "Hey buddy, it's all yours! If it's that important to you, please, by my guest -- enjoy that comfortable seat for the next 15 minutes!" But of course I keep my trap shut... Making any commentary is pointless, and not to mention inappropriate, according to the unwritten but perfectly understood Paris commuting "rules".
So having caught the right train, I managed to make it down the Avenue a bit earlier than usual, allowing me just enough time to stop into the local Franprix market to pick up a few necessities -- listen, a girl has to have her snacks and French yogurts nearby, especially when she's constantly hungry! I figured I had just enough time to snatch up a few items, run through the cash register, and still make it to the office by 9:30. That, of course, was a pipedream, and certainly not counting on the behavior, once again, of those around me. Now, when I'm in a hurry, I know I can be a bit of a pain too, but I sincerely try to be respectful of those around me. I stood behind the guy in front of me at the cash register, who was apparently doing his WEEKLY SHOPPING TRIP at the local miniscule Franprix, his shopping cart overflowing with bottles, boxes and pretty much half the shop (I know it's a free country, but STILL). Not only that, but his attitude was incredible -- apparently the gal at the cash register was on her own, the only cashier available, which is not surprising either. They're usually stocking the shelves at that hour of the morning, and are often short-staffed. And, well, they didn't have any plastic bags -- and to be perfectly frank, I think that people should not be surprised by that these days. And if I'm not mistaken, I believe a new law is going to be passed in the next year or so eliminating the distribution of plastic bags in grocery stores -- about time, really (do we really need any more of those environmentally destructive things?!). I try to carry my own shopping bag folded up in my purse at all times, for emergency runs like this (but I do sometimes forget it!), and in la province, anywhere outside of Paris, I know that when you make hefty, major grocery shopping trips, you're expected to bring your own bags and boxes to places like Carrefour and Auchan. I think they still HAVE bags on offer, but you have to pay for them. It's only here in the city that people still expect plastic bags to be overflowing and aplenty. This guy was nasty about it, too -- the fact that there weren't any bags on offer. And so his groceries were piling up at the end of the register, and he was shrugging, expecting someone else to find him a solution, refusing to put his things back in the shopping cart or to step aside for a moment.
At this point, I realized that my arriving-on-time plan was pretty much shot -- I quickly thought to call a colleague to punch in for me (because, yes, that's right -- we have to punch in! And no, I don't work in a factory...hmph), exceptionally, something I don't usually like to do. As the cashier ran my purchases through, I popped them into my own bag, paid quickly, and ran out the door. I did manage to arrive only a few minutes late, but it was ironic that on one of the days that I was actually running early, I still appeared to be late. And then, just after I walked through the office door and prepared to settle into my daily quiet, low-key office routine, one of my bosses sprinted right up to me and proceeded to make a random immediate request (this rarely happens). Of course, entirely normal -- to be expected, right? Yeah, sure, except that I still had my coat on my back and my purse on my shoulder -- I hadn't even had a chance to sit down yet. I looked at her a bit incredulously, nodded my assent, and turned on my computer. It was no problem, an absolutely trivial, small request, but the irony of these kinds of tasks is that my bosses always precede them with "When you have time, will you...?" Instead of saying, "This is kindof urgent..." When I'm fully aware that they pretty much expect it to be done pronto. This lack of communication and straightforwardness (or shall we call it beating around the bush?) irks me, but it's one of the few small pesky aspects of my job, so honestly, I can't complain.
And that brings me to now, a few hours later, quietly assessing the day ahead of me, and hoping that it will speed by so I can enjoy my evening at home with my boy and perhaps a good movie. Oh, except for lunchtime, of course -- I'm lucky enough to have a lunch date with my dear friend Jenn, so of course I'd like for that part to stretch out and last as long as possible (hey, we've got LOTS to talk about)! And at least I won't have to rehash this whole morning all over again -- she'll already know about it! Then again, hold on a sec -- I think her days are a bit busier than mine, so she may only read about it later...
In any case, an "eventful" morning, shall we say -- well, I don't know if I would go that far, but it was certainly more mouvementé than usual!
Showing posts with label Commuting.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label Commuting.... Show all posts
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Monday, November 19, 2007
Now HERE'S a Nice Way to Cheer Me Up...
He had me at "Lunch?" Talk about reading my mind... And raising my wilted spirits, boosting my morale -- all that jazz... The way to a woman's heart is apparently through her stomach as well, at least in my case anyway!
When the phone rang at my desk around 12:30, I picked it up expectantly, recognizing my boyfriend's cell phone number on the raised screen. Perfect timing. It was so nice to hear from him, and even though most of our calls and exchanges throughout the day are completely mundane and inconsequential, this one bode well: he wanted to know if I would like to join him for lunch. After a dentist's appointment in the morning, he had decided to stay in the city a bit longer before taking his time getting back to our apartment in the western suburbs. He had a day off for once, a rarity, and it felt like a real luxury for us to share this time together. We hardly ever go to lunch together, as our lunch hours never coincide and I have to take the métro or bus to get to him anyway, but this time was an exception. Plus, most days I bring some leftovers from home, easier to warm up in our office kitchen and enjoy quietly with a book or with a few colleagues (plus, far more economical, of course!).
We felt like naughty schoolchildren -- or at least I did... When he suggested the brasserie, I couldn't help but say, "Is that really reasonable?" I knew it was exceptional, but it still felt forbidden somehow... But really, how often do we do this? We've been trying to pay attention to our budget, but some days just call for a treat. Today was definitely one of them. After grumbling into work this morning, fighting the crowds at St. Lazare along with hundreds of thousands of other commuters, I definitely needed something to cheer me up. Le Diplomate fit the bill, as it has a couple other times in the past (I'll never forget the time the waitress managed to save me a slice of rapidly-disappearing strawberry tart -- she will forever remain a favorite in my heart! And she still remembers it too...).
We first shared a foie gras aux figues -- heavenly! Really excellent, the best foie gras I've had in a long time. And then on to a fricassée de faisan avec jardinière de légumes... We enjoyed the meal with a glass of red wine, St. Emilion for me and St. Amour for him (I only opted out of the St. Amour because it was served chilled; I just don't like cool red wine! Otherwise, the romantic name is tempting, trust me. OK, you can call me cheesy, I don't care!). And then we shared a fondant au chocolat for dessert. So we managed to make the meal a bit more reasonable by sharing both the entrée and dessert. Still, it was far more expensive than anything we'd usually spend, with a hefty pricetag. But the meal was a nice moment of calm and happiness in the middle of an otherwise hectic period for me right now. So I honestly don't regret one second of it... On the contrary, it brought a broad smile to my face, and put me on a high that I'm sure will last...
At least until I make it back to the Gare St. Lazare to fight my way to the train back home tonight!
** On a sidenote, I managed to get a train around 7:00 last night, and even snagged a seat, which was darn near miraculous... But the only little bémol (I love this expression!) was that as I maneuvered my way down the train's stairs to get off at my station 20 minutes later, I only then realized that I had forgotten my umbrella under my seat (what was I thinking?!). Argh, another umbrella shot to the wind! But it's not as if it was one that I had attached any sentimental value to... I picked it up at Target in the U.S. last year, but it was super-practical in my bag and easy to use. What made me smile once again was when my boyfriend said, "Just think that someone who probably really needed that umbrella figured it was their lucky day." Isn't that a nice way to look at things?!
When the phone rang at my desk around 12:30, I picked it up expectantly, recognizing my boyfriend's cell phone number on the raised screen. Perfect timing. It was so nice to hear from him, and even though most of our calls and exchanges throughout the day are completely mundane and inconsequential, this one bode well: he wanted to know if I would like to join him for lunch. After a dentist's appointment in the morning, he had decided to stay in the city a bit longer before taking his time getting back to our apartment in the western suburbs. He had a day off for once, a rarity, and it felt like a real luxury for us to share this time together. We hardly ever go to lunch together, as our lunch hours never coincide and I have to take the métro or bus to get to him anyway, but this time was an exception. Plus, most days I bring some leftovers from home, easier to warm up in our office kitchen and enjoy quietly with a book or with a few colleagues (plus, far more economical, of course!).
We felt like naughty schoolchildren -- or at least I did... When he suggested the brasserie, I couldn't help but say, "Is that really reasonable?" I knew it was exceptional, but it still felt forbidden somehow... But really, how often do we do this? We've been trying to pay attention to our budget, but some days just call for a treat. Today was definitely one of them. After grumbling into work this morning, fighting the crowds at St. Lazare along with hundreds of thousands of other commuters, I definitely needed something to cheer me up. Le Diplomate fit the bill, as it has a couple other times in the past (I'll never forget the time the waitress managed to save me a slice of rapidly-disappearing strawberry tart -- she will forever remain a favorite in my heart! And she still remembers it too...).
We first shared a foie gras aux figues -- heavenly! Really excellent, the best foie gras I've had in a long time. And then on to a fricassée de faisan avec jardinière de légumes... We enjoyed the meal with a glass of red wine, St. Emilion for me and St. Amour for him (I only opted out of the St. Amour because it was served chilled; I just don't like cool red wine! Otherwise, the romantic name is tempting, trust me. OK, you can call me cheesy, I don't care!). And then we shared a fondant au chocolat for dessert. So we managed to make the meal a bit more reasonable by sharing both the entrée and dessert. Still, it was far more expensive than anything we'd usually spend, with a hefty pricetag. But the meal was a nice moment of calm and happiness in the middle of an otherwise hectic period for me right now. So I honestly don't regret one second of it... On the contrary, it brought a broad smile to my face, and put me on a high that I'm sure will last...
At least until I make it back to the Gare St. Lazare to fight my way to the train back home tonight!
** On a sidenote, I managed to get a train around 7:00 last night, and even snagged a seat, which was darn near miraculous... But the only little bémol (I love this expression!) was that as I maneuvered my way down the train's stairs to get off at my station 20 minutes later, I only then realized that I had forgotten my umbrella under my seat (what was I thinking?!). Argh, another umbrella shot to the wind! But it's not as if it was one that I had attached any sentimental value to... I picked it up at Target in the U.S. last year, but it was super-practical in my bag and easy to use. What made me smile once again was when my boyfriend said, "Just think that someone who probably really needed that umbrella figured it was their lucky day." Isn't that a nice way to look at things?!
Friday, October 19, 2007
Now THAT was An Adventure!
So I Vélib'ed for the first time this morning... And although there were a few small hiccups along the way, I had a great time! At least those darn strikes were good for something in the end! (and I so wish I could bicycle to work like that more often...) Now here's just hoping they don't last, because I'd like to return home and sleep in my own bed for once... Apparently the rugby game tonight may have a temporary hand in preventing further extension of the strikes, but who knows how long that will last.
The last few days have seen me trekking around the city, sleeping in friends' and colleagues' spare beds, depending therefore on their kindness and generosity, and traveling to work in the morning by bike or by foot. Wednesday night I had dinner with a friend, who generously allowed me to stay with her and her husband in their adorable apartment in the 11th. I thought I would have to walk from there (between Bastille and the Gare de Lyon) to work near the Parc Monceau on Thursday morning, but as it turns out Line 14 was working perfectly (again, automatic lines like that one seem to be the best solution for avoiding strikes in the future, if you ask me!) and there weren't even that many crowds. I think a lot of people must have ended up staying home to avoid the craziness. But there were also quite a few people on the streets, either hoofing it or cycling away. It was a beautiful, crisp fall morning, the sun was shining, and I must say that I didn't mind the walk from St. Lazare to rue de Courcelles at all... I even had time to stop for coffee and a piece of carrot cake, so I treated myself!
Last night one of my colleagues, who lives on the Left Bank near Denfert-Rochereau, told me I could stay at her place, and it worked out perfectly. I did have to walk to her apartment -- and to be honest with you, once again, I didn't really mind, because even though it was a long walk, it was a pleasant one because it wasn't raining and it wasn't that cold. It took me about an hour and a half, even though she had said it would be less -- but my colleague is a first-class athlete, participating in marathons on a regular basis and walking, running or cycling to work pretty much every day. I was stopped for directions by several befuddled people, either tourists or those who were not used to walking around the city. One poor lady stopped me at the edge of the boulevard St. Germain, just as it hits the Pont de la Concorde, and asked in a daze, "Odéon? Where's Odéon?" I explained that she must have passed it a ways back, because it was in the direction she had been walking from -- and she nodded and mumbled that she had come all the way from Duroc... Yikes! As I passed the crossroads of boulevard Raspail and rue de Rennes, a young guy who appeared to be from Eastern Europe (he had an accent, but I couldn't recognize it) asked me in broken French, "République? Je cherche République..." I was stunned, because République is all the way on the other end of the city, across the Seine, in the northeast -- I tried to explain this to him, and he just looked at me disbelievingly. I think he must have mixed up names or something...
When I got to my colleague's place, we all had couscous for dinner -- she said I was really lucky, because usually during the week she and her husband don't do much cooking (who really has time for it?!), but they had decided ahead of time to have couscous together because she's prepping for a marathon this weekend. So it was nice to enjoy the meal and chat about the strikes, our work situation, and other various and sundry everyday matters.
My colleague loves to Vélib' in to work in the morning, so after dinner she asked me if I was up for it -- and I thought, of course, why not? I had been wanting to have the chance to try out the system for a while, so this was the perfect opportunity -- even if the strikes had crowded up the traffic in the streets, requiring us to be even more vigilant on the bikes. Of course, that's a necessity in any normal circumstances, but we just had to be extra careful. After nabbing two bikes near her building (we were really lucky in this case, because I think we arrived just in the nick of time -- several bikes were damaged, and we got the last two good ones), we set out, but about 25 minutes later we tried to switch them out at another station. For some reason the machine wouldn't accept my card identification code, and after having already locked in the other bike, I needed a new one. The check-in process was pretty simple, but I still needed another bike to make it the rest of the way to work... As luck would have it, two Vélib' employees were stacking damaged bikes on a sort of truck nearby, and we asked them for some help. They were super-friendly, but neither one of them could figure out why the machine wouldn't accept my code. Finally, one of them (a younger chap, with a friendly smile) just swiped his Carte Intégrale on the machine and told me to take one of the bikes -- I couldn't believe it! I was a bit taken aback, and didn't know what to do, because obviously I wanted to use the bike, but I didn't want him to get into any trouble. He insisted that it was okay, and just made me "promise" to return the bike once I got to work! Of course, I said -- that was the plan. Apparently my colleague later explained to me that some people have actually been STEALING the bikes! I couldn't believe that, but then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised...
So we made it to work, on-time even, and after returning our bikes we dashed into the office. I had been wearing two sweaters and a jacket, so you can imagine how sweaty I was at that point! And my colleague had been patiently waiting for me, looking back and making sure I was following closely the whole time. I know I slowed her down, but we both had a good time in the end. Like I said, a real adventure -- and the brighter side of the strikes for me. But the terrible thing is, I read about a horrible accident today on-line, and this did send chills down my spine... Please, all Vélib' riders out there, soyez vigilants ! It only takes a few seconds...
The last few days have seen me trekking around the city, sleeping in friends' and colleagues' spare beds, depending therefore on their kindness and generosity, and traveling to work in the morning by bike or by foot. Wednesday night I had dinner with a friend, who generously allowed me to stay with her and her husband in their adorable apartment in the 11th. I thought I would have to walk from there (between Bastille and the Gare de Lyon) to work near the Parc Monceau on Thursday morning, but as it turns out Line 14 was working perfectly (again, automatic lines like that one seem to be the best solution for avoiding strikes in the future, if you ask me!) and there weren't even that many crowds. I think a lot of people must have ended up staying home to avoid the craziness. But there were also quite a few people on the streets, either hoofing it or cycling away. It was a beautiful, crisp fall morning, the sun was shining, and I must say that I didn't mind the walk from St. Lazare to rue de Courcelles at all... I even had time to stop for coffee and a piece of carrot cake, so I treated myself!
Last night one of my colleagues, who lives on the Left Bank near Denfert-Rochereau, told me I could stay at her place, and it worked out perfectly. I did have to walk to her apartment -- and to be honest with you, once again, I didn't really mind, because even though it was a long walk, it was a pleasant one because it wasn't raining and it wasn't that cold. It took me about an hour and a half, even though she had said it would be less -- but my colleague is a first-class athlete, participating in marathons on a regular basis and walking, running or cycling to work pretty much every day. I was stopped for directions by several befuddled people, either tourists or those who were not used to walking around the city. One poor lady stopped me at the edge of the boulevard St. Germain, just as it hits the Pont de la Concorde, and asked in a daze, "Odéon? Where's Odéon?" I explained that she must have passed it a ways back, because it was in the direction she had been walking from -- and she nodded and mumbled that she had come all the way from Duroc... Yikes! As I passed the crossroads of boulevard Raspail and rue de Rennes, a young guy who appeared to be from Eastern Europe (he had an accent, but I couldn't recognize it) asked me in broken French, "République? Je cherche République..." I was stunned, because République is all the way on the other end of the city, across the Seine, in the northeast -- I tried to explain this to him, and he just looked at me disbelievingly. I think he must have mixed up names or something...
When I got to my colleague's place, we all had couscous for dinner -- she said I was really lucky, because usually during the week she and her husband don't do much cooking (who really has time for it?!), but they had decided ahead of time to have couscous together because she's prepping for a marathon this weekend. So it was nice to enjoy the meal and chat about the strikes, our work situation, and other various and sundry everyday matters.
My colleague loves to Vélib' in to work in the morning, so after dinner she asked me if I was up for it -- and I thought, of course, why not? I had been wanting to have the chance to try out the system for a while, so this was the perfect opportunity -- even if the strikes had crowded up the traffic in the streets, requiring us to be even more vigilant on the bikes. Of course, that's a necessity in any normal circumstances, but we just had to be extra careful. After nabbing two bikes near her building (we were really lucky in this case, because I think we arrived just in the nick of time -- several bikes were damaged, and we got the last two good ones), we set out, but about 25 minutes later we tried to switch them out at another station. For some reason the machine wouldn't accept my card identification code, and after having already locked in the other bike, I needed a new one. The check-in process was pretty simple, but I still needed another bike to make it the rest of the way to work... As luck would have it, two Vélib' employees were stacking damaged bikes on a sort of truck nearby, and we asked them for some help. They were super-friendly, but neither one of them could figure out why the machine wouldn't accept my code. Finally, one of them (a younger chap, with a friendly smile) just swiped his Carte Intégrale on the machine and told me to take one of the bikes -- I couldn't believe it! I was a bit taken aback, and didn't know what to do, because obviously I wanted to use the bike, but I didn't want him to get into any trouble. He insisted that it was okay, and just made me "promise" to return the bike once I got to work! Of course, I said -- that was the plan. Apparently my colleague later explained to me that some people have actually been STEALING the bikes! I couldn't believe that, but then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised...
So we made it to work, on-time even, and after returning our bikes we dashed into the office. I had been wearing two sweaters and a jacket, so you can imagine how sweaty I was at that point! And my colleague had been patiently waiting for me, looking back and making sure I was following closely the whole time. I know I slowed her down, but we both had a good time in the end. Like I said, a real adventure -- and the brighter side of the strikes for me. But the terrible thing is, I read about a horrible accident today on-line, and this did send chills down my spine... Please, all Vélib' riders out there, soyez vigilants ! It only takes a few seconds...
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Morning Mayhem
Ahhhhh, what a morning! And I don't mean that in a good way. I'm no longer used to 6:30 wake-up calls, and I am definitely not a morning person... Have I mentioned that before? The fact that I am decidely NOT a morning person? Well, I'm saying it again. Especially after this morning. I know that you can get a heck of a lot done by waking up early, but my body is just not cut out for it. At least not yet... Who knows, maybe one day that might change (of course, I'm not going to hold my breath!) -- or I may be forced to change myself. But in the meantime, I am fighting against it with every bone in my body.
Especially when the wake-up requires a stop at the local medical lab to get some tests done, something which can't be done directly at the doctor's office here in France. I know we have an excellent healthcare system, for the most part anyway, and trust me -- I'm not complaining. I just wish I could get the lab tests done in the same place where I have the doctor's appointment. So it didn't require crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn to have either some needles stuck in me, or other fun forays into the medical domain...
My boyfriend had gotten up yesterday morning to go have some bloodwork done himself, to check up on his cholesterol levels and make sure he was doing okay. It's a necessity after the health scare he had last April, and we have to monitor his heart condition on a regular basis. And I'm constantly feeling guilty about this, because I'm wondering if I'm not cooking the right things, if I'm not taking care of him as well as I should... Of course, I know stress doesn't help things either, and I'm not responsible for everything. I like him to be happy, so I try to treat him from time to time, but then I get the gnawing feeling that I probably shouldn't have made that sweet chocolate mousse on Sunday... Especially if I had known he was going to have tests done on Monday morning!! Even he didn't think about it, didn't make the connection until he got his results on the Internet today... Argh, the triglycerides are not looking good, and I have a feeling the chocolate mousse definitely didn't help.
So off I went this morning, leaving my boyfriend wandering frantically around the apartment, tearing apart every room in search of his car keys, for gosh's sakes, which he could no longer find in order to move his car from one side of the street to the other... We live in one of those neighborhoods where the cars need to be moved midway through the month for one reason or another... I can't remember why this morning, for the life of me, he has to do that. But if he can't find his keys, he can't exactly move his car, now can he? I decided not to harp on the fact that it seems incomprehensible to me that he could lose his own car keys, as I knew this wouldn't help matters much, and I also knew that if I started looking myself I would get as frantic as he already was, and that wasn't going to help either. So off I went to the lab as planned, did what I had to do, stopped by the good boulangerie near the lab, and brought home piping-hot fresh bread for us to share at breakfast. He had calmed down by then, having found his keys in the interim, but still had to go out to move the car.
While he was gone I tried to put as much of the junk back that he had taken out in his hunt, but still hadn't finished when he walked back in the door -- damn, is he quick! And I'm as slow as a snail... I don't think I was awake yet, that was part of the problem. I got the coffee going, slapped on some makeup so I wouldn't look too dead at the office today, and finally wobbled into the kitchen for breakfast. We were both in crappy moods, and the lost keys hadn't helped. I was of course relieved he had finally found them, but I was pretty sure he would anyway -- and guess where they were?? Ha ha... At the bottom of his tennis bag. I think I could have told him that ahead of time -- I don't know why I didn't think of it... (Jenn, are you reading this? What is it about men again?!?!...)
And of course you would think that getting up so early would allow me to head out of the apartment early to catch the perfect train and get to work well ahead of time, right? Well, you would think wrong... I ran out the door the same time as usual, as I got distracted in the kitchen trying to clean up after our breakfast. Old habits never die... I ran down the street and arrived, out of breath, at the train station, only to see that the train I usually take was going to be five minutes late. Well, perfect, right?! Yeah, I guess, except there was no guarantee that it would get me to work on time...
And, well, I did make it in the end, so that's certainly a relief -- but it's given me a bad taste of things to come... An ominous foreshadowing of events this Thursday in Paris, when a huge grève générale is expected on the whole métro/train/RER/bus system.
Oh, how lucky we are. We knew this was coming, but I have got a baaaaad feeling about it this time around... Anyone remember Fall 1995? Yikes!
Especially when the wake-up requires a stop at the local medical lab to get some tests done, something which can't be done directly at the doctor's office here in France. I know we have an excellent healthcare system, for the most part anyway, and trust me -- I'm not complaining. I just wish I could get the lab tests done in the same place where I have the doctor's appointment. So it didn't require crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn to have either some needles stuck in me, or other fun forays into the medical domain...
My boyfriend had gotten up yesterday morning to go have some bloodwork done himself, to check up on his cholesterol levels and make sure he was doing okay. It's a necessity after the health scare he had last April, and we have to monitor his heart condition on a regular basis. And I'm constantly feeling guilty about this, because I'm wondering if I'm not cooking the right things, if I'm not taking care of him as well as I should... Of course, I know stress doesn't help things either, and I'm not responsible for everything. I like him to be happy, so I try to treat him from time to time, but then I get the gnawing feeling that I probably shouldn't have made that sweet chocolate mousse on Sunday... Especially if I had known he was going to have tests done on Monday morning!! Even he didn't think about it, didn't make the connection until he got his results on the Internet today... Argh, the triglycerides are not looking good, and I have a feeling the chocolate mousse definitely didn't help.
So off I went this morning, leaving my boyfriend wandering frantically around the apartment, tearing apart every room in search of his car keys, for gosh's sakes, which he could no longer find in order to move his car from one side of the street to the other... We live in one of those neighborhoods where the cars need to be moved midway through the month for one reason or another... I can't remember why this morning, for the life of me, he has to do that. But if he can't find his keys, he can't exactly move his car, now can he? I decided not to harp on the fact that it seems incomprehensible to me that he could lose his own car keys, as I knew this wouldn't help matters much, and I also knew that if I started looking myself I would get as frantic as he already was, and that wasn't going to help either. So off I went to the lab as planned, did what I had to do, stopped by the good boulangerie near the lab, and brought home piping-hot fresh bread for us to share at breakfast. He had calmed down by then, having found his keys in the interim, but still had to go out to move the car.
While he was gone I tried to put as much of the junk back that he had taken out in his hunt, but still hadn't finished when he walked back in the door -- damn, is he quick! And I'm as slow as a snail... I don't think I was awake yet, that was part of the problem. I got the coffee going, slapped on some makeup so I wouldn't look too dead at the office today, and finally wobbled into the kitchen for breakfast. We were both in crappy moods, and the lost keys hadn't helped. I was of course relieved he had finally found them, but I was pretty sure he would anyway -- and guess where they were?? Ha ha... At the bottom of his tennis bag. I think I could have told him that ahead of time -- I don't know why I didn't think of it... (Jenn, are you reading this? What is it about men again?!?!...)
And of course you would think that getting up so early would allow me to head out of the apartment early to catch the perfect train and get to work well ahead of time, right? Well, you would think wrong... I ran out the door the same time as usual, as I got distracted in the kitchen trying to clean up after our breakfast. Old habits never die... I ran down the street and arrived, out of breath, at the train station, only to see that the train I usually take was going to be five minutes late. Well, perfect, right?! Yeah, I guess, except there was no guarantee that it would get me to work on time...
And, well, I did make it in the end, so that's certainly a relief -- but it's given me a bad taste of things to come... An ominous foreshadowing of events this Thursday in Paris, when a huge grève générale is expected on the whole métro/train/RER/bus system.
Oh, how lucky we are. We knew this was coming, but I have got a baaaaad feeling about it this time around... Anyone remember Fall 1995? Yikes!
Friday, September 28, 2007
A Very French Moment of Inattention
Last night I ended up staying out again after work, sharing a couple margaritas with a new friend in a nifty Mexican bar in the Marais neighborhood, followed by a couple platefuls of nachos and quesadillas. Haven't had food like that in ages! So it was well worth it, albeit completely unexpected. I had already been out the night before, 'til all hours, cavorting with several gal friends at the Burlesque Revue hosted by Gentry Lane, where I also met some other much more well-known Paris bloggers. But my intention after work yesterday was to touch base on some volunteer work I'm going to be doing for a children's book writer and illustrator organization (SCBWI France) in the coming months. I'm trying to tackle some of this work right now, and I'm just a bit nervous about the whole gig, because I don't want to let anyone down and I want to do a good job -- I just hope I'm going to be able to focus and buckle down when the time comes. But this is the kind of organization I've been wanting to get involved with for a while, so it can only be a good thing, right? Right. I just hope I'm not biting off more than I can chew...
Ahem, so the meeting was set up to touch base with a couple other gals involved in the process, and I was just meant to meet them and chat for a bit. But as they were super-busy and up to their gills in work, they didn't have time to talk logistics. So we decided to save that for another time in the near future, and my friend and I headed out to find a nearby bar to unwind after our respective long days at work (her hopping around town on a Velib' from one assignment to another, me chained to my desk...). A drink turned into a couple drinks, like I said above, and then some nibbles, which resulted in a full-fledged meal. So I didn't make it to the métro station 'til after 10:00. Not a problem under any normal circumstances, but I was really starting to feel the fatigue. I took my normal route home, with a correspondance at Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile for the RER train... And found, once again -- for the second time in less than two weeks -- that the interconnexion at Nanterre-Préfecture was down as some construction work is going on at the Nanterre-Université station. Basically this means that I'm in commuter hell, because I have to turn back around on my tracks and trudge on over to the other side of the station, take the train back in the other direction, make my way over to the Gare St. Lazare, and then take an SNCF suburb train home. Which is just fine and dandy -- when I'm not WIPED OUT and READY TO CRAWL INTO BED. I know, I know: after all, I'm the one who chose to go out, so you're not going to feel sorry for me. But this was the last thing I needed...
So after taking the alternate route back through the train system, as I finally approached St. Lazare on foot from nearby métro Havre-Caumartin, I found myself half-asleep and somewhat distracted by the bright street lamps. My attention was momentarily diverted by the Printemps department store windows, and as I swung my head to the right in that split second, I made the huge mistake of not watching where I was going -- I became a walking hypocrite! Because, in fact, this is a crime that I have found Parisians guilty of on more than one occasion, and it drives me off my rocker... And there I was, becoming the perfect example of what I can't stand. That's right: in that split second, I rammed into a poor unsuspecting woman walking in the opposite direction. Now, I say "poor, unsuspecting" because I feel for her -- I honestly felt bad for my moment of distraction! I felt terrible... But her response shocked me even more: before I could even mumble out an apology or an explanation, she had screeched "Il faut regarder où vous allez... ou changer de lunettes !!!" And when I say screeched, I seriously mean she put a lot of volume into those two lines. I was flummoxed, and it all happened so fast, I didn't even get a chance to respond. Now, again, I know I was in the wrong -- I was perfectly ready to recognize it -- but I honestly thought that this was just a wee bit uncalled-for... Over-react much?! I didn't even get a good look at the lady, but let's just say that she walked so quickly out of my line of vision that I can only assume she was about three feet tall...
When commuting, I go out of my way to follow Paris protocol: I step off the trains to allow other passengers to get off, even when it's not yet my stop, and I do my best to be respectful of others' space. I walk quickly, but I don't push (this is particularly grating, when people shove up behind you to get off at a station). I stand when the trains are crowded, allowing the strapontins to flip back up and free up some more space. But of course I'm not perfect, and every once in a while I find myself guilty of a commuting transgression. But this was totally unlike me -- and again, it was probably a result of my long day.
In any case, in that moment I realized how much I'm becoming more and more "French". Yes, my friends, say what you will, the French are well-known for walking quickly in one direction and looking in another at the same time. I've observed this phenomenon in more than one train station over the years, as well as on the streets, so the fact that I committed this cardinal sin makes me feel even worse. I've also been complaining more and more, a sign of the one of the French culture's favorite pastimes: râler.
But oh well, you never know what the end of an evening will bring you... It didn't tarnish my soirée, not entirely, but I was too tired at that point to dwell on it. I honestly believe that fatigue played a role in my distraction as well, so I'm trying not to feel too bad about it. After all, I'm sure that that particular dame didn't even give the incident a second thought...
Ahem, so the meeting was set up to touch base with a couple other gals involved in the process, and I was just meant to meet them and chat for a bit. But as they were super-busy and up to their gills in work, they didn't have time to talk logistics. So we decided to save that for another time in the near future, and my friend and I headed out to find a nearby bar to unwind after our respective long days at work (her hopping around town on a Velib' from one assignment to another, me chained to my desk...). A drink turned into a couple drinks, like I said above, and then some nibbles, which resulted in a full-fledged meal. So I didn't make it to the métro station 'til after 10:00. Not a problem under any normal circumstances, but I was really starting to feel the fatigue. I took my normal route home, with a correspondance at Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile for the RER train... And found, once again -- for the second time in less than two weeks -- that the interconnexion at Nanterre-Préfecture was down as some construction work is going on at the Nanterre-Université station. Basically this means that I'm in commuter hell, because I have to turn back around on my tracks and trudge on over to the other side of the station, take the train back in the other direction, make my way over to the Gare St. Lazare, and then take an SNCF suburb train home. Which is just fine and dandy -- when I'm not WIPED OUT and READY TO CRAWL INTO BED. I know, I know: after all, I'm the one who chose to go out, so you're not going to feel sorry for me. But this was the last thing I needed...
So after taking the alternate route back through the train system, as I finally approached St. Lazare on foot from nearby métro Havre-Caumartin, I found myself half-asleep and somewhat distracted by the bright street lamps. My attention was momentarily diverted by the Printemps department store windows, and as I swung my head to the right in that split second, I made the huge mistake of not watching where I was going -- I became a walking hypocrite! Because, in fact, this is a crime that I have found Parisians guilty of on more than one occasion, and it drives me off my rocker... And there I was, becoming the perfect example of what I can't stand. That's right: in that split second, I rammed into a poor unsuspecting woman walking in the opposite direction. Now, I say "poor, unsuspecting" because I feel for her -- I honestly felt bad for my moment of distraction! I felt terrible... But her response shocked me even more: before I could even mumble out an apology or an explanation, she had screeched "Il faut regarder où vous allez... ou changer de lunettes !!!" And when I say screeched, I seriously mean she put a lot of volume into those two lines. I was flummoxed, and it all happened so fast, I didn't even get a chance to respond. Now, again, I know I was in the wrong -- I was perfectly ready to recognize it -- but I honestly thought that this was just a wee bit uncalled-for... Over-react much?! I didn't even get a good look at the lady, but let's just say that she walked so quickly out of my line of vision that I can only assume she was about three feet tall...
When commuting, I go out of my way to follow Paris protocol: I step off the trains to allow other passengers to get off, even when it's not yet my stop, and I do my best to be respectful of others' space. I walk quickly, but I don't push (this is particularly grating, when people shove up behind you to get off at a station). I stand when the trains are crowded, allowing the strapontins to flip back up and free up some more space. But of course I'm not perfect, and every once in a while I find myself guilty of a commuting transgression. But this was totally unlike me -- and again, it was probably a result of my long day.
In any case, in that moment I realized how much I'm becoming more and more "French". Yes, my friends, say what you will, the French are well-known for walking quickly in one direction and looking in another at the same time. I've observed this phenomenon in more than one train station over the years, as well as on the streets, so the fact that I committed this cardinal sin makes me feel even worse. I've also been complaining more and more, a sign of the one of the French culture's favorite pastimes: râler.
But oh well, you never know what the end of an evening will bring you... It didn't tarnish my soirée, not entirely, but I was too tired at that point to dwell on it. I honestly believe that fatigue played a role in my distraction as well, so I'm trying not to feel too bad about it. After all, I'm sure that that particular dame didn't even give the incident a second thought...
Monday, May 21, 2007
Shuffle Me
Yes, I hopped on the bandwagon a little over a year ago and got an iPod, actually as a gift, but mainly because I loved the idea of being able to carry around my whole music collection with me and to tune into one of my favorite songs whenever my heart so desires. I've realized, though, that I don't even end up using it as much as I thought I would, because my daily commute only lasts about 30 minutes -- and I don't always think to pull it out and turn it on! Or I find myself reading -- ever the quandary: to read or to melt into my music and forget the (jolting, noisy, angry Parisian) world around me? Usually I do a little of both, reading my latest favorite novel on the train and then pulling out the iPod as my stop approaches, the beat accompanying my walk down the avenue to the office.
And yes, I'm a fan of the Shuffle mode -- I always thought that EVERYONE liked listening to music that way, until my boy made it clear to me that it drove him crazy when I hit the Shuffle button on the stereo at home. (He literally thought it was bad for the stereo's system, like it wasn't set up to tolerate songs being played in random order...!) It appears that he likes his music preprogrammed -- he prefers knowing in advance what song is going to follow, whereas I love the unexpectedness, the randomness of the Shuffle button. It may have something to do with our natures, I don't know, although I can't exactly say he's a planner when it comes to everyday life. Much the opposite: he makes most decisions at the last minute and often changes his mind, which can be incredibly frustrating when you're trying to plan a holiday or even a weekend trip away. I love spontaneity as much as the next gal, but at least give me a chance to pack my bags!
So this leads me to the companionship of my music this morning... Lately I've found that my iPod is misreading me and my desires, pumping out any ol' song from my collection and disappointing me at every turn. But for once it was like the jukebox of my soul, reading my mind and tuning into my emotional wavelength. The ten songs that kept me company this morning were as follows (and these really randomly popped up!):
1. Baker Baker ~ Tori Amos (Any past readers will recognize my predilection for fab female voices, as well as a great piano sound -- and my love of Tori; countdown to the upcoming concert: T-minus 12 days!)
2. Be Yourself ~ Audioslave (Picked this up from my younger brother when back home in the States last summer; they sound similar to Red Hot Chili Peppers to me...)
3. Tigers ~ Rickie Lee Jones (Now this album brings back memories... An overnight train ride to Nice back in my student days, mid-'90s, sharing a cabin with some Frenchmen celebrating an enterrement de vie de garçon... Don't ask! Turns out the French like this gal quite a lot, though...)
4. Intermission ~ Scissor Sisters (This group has been exploding lately, and it doesn't take much to warm up to them -- a good energizer for me!)
5. More Than This ~ Peter Gabriel (Another walk down memory lane: I saw him in concert when I was 19, and it was AMAZING. He's an incredible performer, and I've always loved his voice, no matter what anyone says. He will forever be my favorite former Genesis member...)
6. This is My Song ~ Carbon Leaf (This group is a gift from my brother; I didn't know a thing about them until he shared them with me... And I just love the feel of their music. Plus, now they always remind me of my big brother and listening to tunes together back home!)
7. Desecration Smile ~ Red Hot Chili Peppers (Now, admittedly, I'm more of an old-school fan of RHCP; most of their recent albums haven't hit home with me. But once again my little brother convinced me to take a listen to Stadium Arcadium, and there are definitely some good ones on there...)
8. XXL ~ Mylène Farmer (I'm not a steady fan of this gal either, but her first few albums were genius, and I like to pull them out from time to time.)
9. Good People ~ Jack Johnson (I think I have my brothers to thank for a lot of recent musical discoveries, including Jack Johnson -- although I guess his latest album was hard to miss last year, playing in shops all over Paris. But my favorite album of his is definitely In Between Dreams. Last summer I listened to it over and over again when driving from my parents' to my brother's place and back again...)
10. Penitent ~ Suzanne Vega (As you can see, I probably have more gals on my playlists than guys, there's no denying that. And some of them come and go, like Suzanne Vega, Cowboy Junkies, Indigo Girls, Edie Brickell, Rickie Lee jones, Heather Nova -- ah, the list goes on. Others are constant companions, and this list is pretty much limited to Tori, Sarah McLachlan, and Annie Lennox. I've also made some more recent discoveries that I can't get enough of, and those include Regina Spektor -- that voice! that piano!-- Kate Havnevik, and Feist.)
And this playlist is, most definitely, a reflection of my "eclectic" if jumbled taste; I like a little bit of everything, although I find that certain tunes and styles of music suit certain times of day, as well as certain moods. Case in point: on a Saturday morning, when I'm having a hard time waking up and motivating myself to do some housecleaning, "energetic" is my mot d'ordre, and the only way to get me going is to pop in a CD that wakes me up and puts me in a positive mood. There are a few albums of late that will do this for me, but this can also change from one week to the next (can anyone say MIKA?). Again, I never said I was consistent! I've found that a rare few artists have stayed with me over the years, and some come back to me as echos in new music that I've discovered. But bluesy jazz is not gonna do the trick on a Saturday morning, at least not in my case, and on that my boy and I have a hard time agreeing. Every once in a while we find an artist that we both like, but we do actually have very different musical tastes, and he's often surprised when I admit that I don't recognize certain French artists that he grew up with, or that one of his favorites is far from my kind of thing. At the same time, though, he'll be stunned when I know a particular obscure song, and I can't even explain why it is that it's stored in my mental library.
But oh well, that's what makes us tick, I guess. And opposites attract, n'est-ce pas ? At least, I like to think so... And if our varied musical taste is any reflection of that, then we're definitely on the right track!
So OK, who would like to join in and share their latest Shuffle List? What have you been tuning into on YOUR MP3 player? Or on your computer, for that matter, or in the car... Do tell!
And yes, I'm a fan of the Shuffle mode -- I always thought that EVERYONE liked listening to music that way, until my boy made it clear to me that it drove him crazy when I hit the Shuffle button on the stereo at home. (He literally thought it was bad for the stereo's system, like it wasn't set up to tolerate songs being played in random order...!) It appears that he likes his music preprogrammed -- he prefers knowing in advance what song is going to follow, whereas I love the unexpectedness, the randomness of the Shuffle button. It may have something to do with our natures, I don't know, although I can't exactly say he's a planner when it comes to everyday life. Much the opposite: he makes most decisions at the last minute and often changes his mind, which can be incredibly frustrating when you're trying to plan a holiday or even a weekend trip away. I love spontaneity as much as the next gal, but at least give me a chance to pack my bags!
So this leads me to the companionship of my music this morning... Lately I've found that my iPod is misreading me and my desires, pumping out any ol' song from my collection and disappointing me at every turn. But for once it was like the jukebox of my soul, reading my mind and tuning into my emotional wavelength. The ten songs that kept me company this morning were as follows (and these really randomly popped up!):
1. Baker Baker ~ Tori Amos (Any past readers will recognize my predilection for fab female voices, as well as a great piano sound -- and my love of Tori; countdown to the upcoming concert: T-minus 12 days!)
2. Be Yourself ~ Audioslave (Picked this up from my younger brother when back home in the States last summer; they sound similar to Red Hot Chili Peppers to me...)
3. Tigers ~ Rickie Lee Jones (Now this album brings back memories... An overnight train ride to Nice back in my student days, mid-'90s, sharing a cabin with some Frenchmen celebrating an enterrement de vie de garçon... Don't ask! Turns out the French like this gal quite a lot, though...)
4. Intermission ~ Scissor Sisters (This group has been exploding lately, and it doesn't take much to warm up to them -- a good energizer for me!)
5. More Than This ~ Peter Gabriel (Another walk down memory lane: I saw him in concert when I was 19, and it was AMAZING. He's an incredible performer, and I've always loved his voice, no matter what anyone says. He will forever be my favorite former Genesis member...)
6. This is My Song ~ Carbon Leaf (This group is a gift from my brother; I didn't know a thing about them until he shared them with me... And I just love the feel of their music. Plus, now they always remind me of my big brother and listening to tunes together back home!)
7. Desecration Smile ~ Red Hot Chili Peppers (Now, admittedly, I'm more of an old-school fan of RHCP; most of their recent albums haven't hit home with me. But once again my little brother convinced me to take a listen to Stadium Arcadium, and there are definitely some good ones on there...)
8. XXL ~ Mylène Farmer (I'm not a steady fan of this gal either, but her first few albums were genius, and I like to pull them out from time to time.)
9. Good People ~ Jack Johnson (I think I have my brothers to thank for a lot of recent musical discoveries, including Jack Johnson -- although I guess his latest album was hard to miss last year, playing in shops all over Paris. But my favorite album of his is definitely In Between Dreams. Last summer I listened to it over and over again when driving from my parents' to my brother's place and back again...)
10. Penitent ~ Suzanne Vega (As you can see, I probably have more gals on my playlists than guys, there's no denying that. And some of them come and go, like Suzanne Vega, Cowboy Junkies, Indigo Girls, Edie Brickell, Rickie Lee jones, Heather Nova -- ah, the list goes on. Others are constant companions, and this list is pretty much limited to Tori, Sarah McLachlan, and Annie Lennox. I've also made some more recent discoveries that I can't get enough of, and those include Regina Spektor -- that voice! that piano!-- Kate Havnevik, and Feist.)
And this playlist is, most definitely, a reflection of my "eclectic" if jumbled taste; I like a little bit of everything, although I find that certain tunes and styles of music suit certain times of day, as well as certain moods. Case in point: on a Saturday morning, when I'm having a hard time waking up and motivating myself to do some housecleaning, "energetic" is my mot d'ordre, and the only way to get me going is to pop in a CD that wakes me up and puts me in a positive mood. There are a few albums of late that will do this for me, but this can also change from one week to the next (can anyone say MIKA?). Again, I never said I was consistent! I've found that a rare few artists have stayed with me over the years, and some come back to me as echos in new music that I've discovered. But bluesy jazz is not gonna do the trick on a Saturday morning, at least not in my case, and on that my boy and I have a hard time agreeing. Every once in a while we find an artist that we both like, but we do actually have very different musical tastes, and he's often surprised when I admit that I don't recognize certain French artists that he grew up with, or that one of his favorites is far from my kind of thing. At the same time, though, he'll be stunned when I know a particular obscure song, and I can't even explain why it is that it's stored in my mental library.
But oh well, that's what makes us tick, I guess. And opposites attract, n'est-ce pas ? At least, I like to think so... And if our varied musical taste is any reflection of that, then we're definitely on the right track!
So OK, who would like to join in and share their latest Shuffle List? What have you been tuning into on YOUR MP3 player? Or on your computer, for that matter, or in the car... Do tell!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Métro Magic
You know, a funny thing happened to me on the métro last night...
I was on my way home after an unexpectedly longer-than-usual stop at the Monoprix at Péreire-Levallois, as I needed a few things in order to assemble a halfway decent meal for my boy and me. I had also just come from my regular weekly English lessons with the little French boy from hell, and although things pretty much seemed to be going wrong all around (including the mile-long lines at the caisses in the supermarket) I was still in a fairly decent mood. I refused to allow myself to be pulled down by any negativity -- something I've really been working on lately -- and I wanted to enjoy every positive moment of my evening, in spite of whatever life decided to throw my way.
After tumbling out the market door and down the street to the subway stop, salmon, white wine and mesclun green salad (along with some other random comestibles) in tow, I waited patiently on the quai for the train to arrive. For some bizarre reason, every time I stop for groceries after my English lesson, the wait at the station afterwards always seems interminably long. Once the train showed up, I squeezed onto the rush-hour-packed car and tried to keep my balance with both hands full. Normally I would have set one bag down and grabbed the bar in the middle, but I (mistakenly) assumed that this particular métro line wasn't as violent as some others, and that by some miracle I wouldn't collide into the person next to me. Ahem. Again, mistakenly. As the train screeched to one of those completely inexplicable halts, the conductor hitting the brakes as hard as possible, I careened forward, and out of the blue a petite gal with long, curly dark hair next to me held my arm and acted as a sort of pillar for me for the next station or two.
She smiled knowingly and said, "T'inquiète pas. Pleins de sacs, heure de pointe, beaucoup de monde -- je sais ce que c'est !" No worries -- you've got arms full of bags, it's rush hour and the train is super-crowded. I couldn't help but laugh and smile back, nodding in agreement, and from that point foward the mundane métro ride became enjoyable somehow. A bit further along, after shifting around the train carriage a bit to allow more passengers to climb on, she looked down and said, "En plus vous lisez de la super bonne littérature ! J'ai adoré ce roman... Je n'ai lu que deux de ses livres, mais c'est génial." She was admiring my choice of reading, which again was unexpected, because most people usually don't say a thing -- they just stare at your reading material, or read over your shoulder. I had one of my recent purchases with me, Nancy Huston's Dolce Agonia. I started to answer, wanting to add my agreement on how I was enjoying the novel so far, but suddenly I realized I had reached my stop.
Oh, this is me! Merde ! And I had to hop off the train, awkwardly, arms and hands fumbling with my bags. "Bonne soirée !" And that was it. Such a nice interlude, a great parentheses in the middle of an ordinary day.
And there you have it, folks: proof that Parisians really can be kind and lots of fun! I wanted to stay on that train and get to know her better... Shame I didn't have a few more stops...
I was on my way home after an unexpectedly longer-than-usual stop at the Monoprix at Péreire-Levallois, as I needed a few things in order to assemble a halfway decent meal for my boy and me. I had also just come from my regular weekly English lessons with the little French boy from hell, and although things pretty much seemed to be going wrong all around (including the mile-long lines at the caisses in the supermarket) I was still in a fairly decent mood. I refused to allow myself to be pulled down by any negativity -- something I've really been working on lately -- and I wanted to enjoy every positive moment of my evening, in spite of whatever life decided to throw my way.
After tumbling out the market door and down the street to the subway stop, salmon, white wine and mesclun green salad (along with some other random comestibles) in tow, I waited patiently on the quai for the train to arrive. For some bizarre reason, every time I stop for groceries after my English lesson, the wait at the station afterwards always seems interminably long. Once the train showed up, I squeezed onto the rush-hour-packed car and tried to keep my balance with both hands full. Normally I would have set one bag down and grabbed the bar in the middle, but I (mistakenly) assumed that this particular métro line wasn't as violent as some others, and that by some miracle I wouldn't collide into the person next to me. Ahem. Again, mistakenly. As the train screeched to one of those completely inexplicable halts, the conductor hitting the brakes as hard as possible, I careened forward, and out of the blue a petite gal with long, curly dark hair next to me held my arm and acted as a sort of pillar for me for the next station or two.
She smiled knowingly and said, "T'inquiète pas. Pleins de sacs, heure de pointe, beaucoup de monde -- je sais ce que c'est !" No worries -- you've got arms full of bags, it's rush hour and the train is super-crowded. I couldn't help but laugh and smile back, nodding in agreement, and from that point foward the mundane métro ride became enjoyable somehow. A bit further along, after shifting around the train carriage a bit to allow more passengers to climb on, she looked down and said, "En plus vous lisez de la super bonne littérature ! J'ai adoré ce roman... Je n'ai lu que deux de ses livres, mais c'est génial." She was admiring my choice of reading, which again was unexpected, because most people usually don't say a thing -- they just stare at your reading material, or read over your shoulder. I had one of my recent purchases with me, Nancy Huston's Dolce Agonia. I started to answer, wanting to add my agreement on how I was enjoying the novel so far, but suddenly I realized I had reached my stop.
Oh, this is me! Merde ! And I had to hop off the train, awkwardly, arms and hands fumbling with my bags. "Bonne soirée !" And that was it. Such a nice interlude, a great parentheses in the middle of an ordinary day.
And there you have it, folks: proof that Parisians really can be kind and lots of fun! I wanted to stay on that train and get to know her better... Shame I didn't have a few more stops...
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Stocking Up
All right, here's a little entertaining tidbit for all you morning voyeurs out there...
So it's perhaps not one of the most advisable things to admit early on in a blog, but I hereby declare myself to be a fan of the stocking -- that's right; not tights, my dear friends, but stockings. You know, the ones that either are attached to a garter belt (oh, the daring!), or those that manage to hold themselves up on their own, or what my sweet boyfriend likes to refer to as les Dim'Up, after that one grocery-store-bought brand of leg binding...
And I have to admit that these have always been a preference for me, for various reasons, not the least being that I find them comfortable, moreso than those sausage-like things that wrap around my stomach and cut off my breathing for hours at a time. Plus, heck, a girl can use a little je-ne-sais-quoi on a daily basis, n'est-ce pas ? I like that feeling of mystery and intrigue, that I'm wearing something that could possibly be perceived as devilishly provocative -- when in fact, my reasoning is much more practical. Plus, they really are much prettier than tights (even if you can't see them)! If I can't manage to take risks in my life on a higher level, at least I can take risks in the choice of my garde-robe.
So they have never failed me, have always stood up (*literally!*) to the test of time, and made me feel confident rather than self-conscious, feminine rather than school-marmish.
That is, up until now -- enfin, I'm beginning to question my judgment on this one, after this morning's antics. And trust me, I'm fully capable of embarrassing myself in more than one way, as my readers will soon find out. But this one just takes the cake. Of course, it could have been worse (it always can), but just imagining my observers makes me cringe...
Because I should have nipped this one in the bud, but unfortunately my ill-advised penchant for stockings caught me up short, if you will. As I exited my morning train and ascended the escalator to the street which leads to my office, I felt the pinching at first -- an uncomfortable feeling at the top of my leg which should have been a warning sign for me to act quickly. But no, I figured I had ample time to make my way down the street before the stocking slid all the way down my leg, to oblivion...
And of course, per my usual, I was running under the wire -- that is, I needed to walk quickly to make it on time -- which was not very helpful for my predicament. But as I stumbled my way down the avenue, I had a reassuring thought: ah, I had at least had the foresight to wear a longer winter coat today, so in fact I was fully protected. No one walking behind me would know, and I could hold the coat tightly around me to prevent it from billowing out. Because, after all, I couldn't see myself stopping in the middle of the street to hike up the stockings at that point; it would have to wait until I was in the safety of a restroom...
So as the stocking slid, I kept up my clipped pace and figured I'd be home free in no time. Er, but, in my haste I had completely forgotten that in fact my lovely winter coat has a SLIT up the back, or what some may refer to as a "vent." So I stopped dead in my tracks, halfway down the street, the realization sending chills down my spine. Here I had been thinking the world was oblivious to my embarrassment, but NO, in fact all passersby were fully aware of my dilemma -- and were probably snickering to themselves as they made their way to their own offices, the end of their morning commute, fully enjoying the street entertainment in front of them.
And to add insult to injury, just as I resigned myself to the fact that I had no other solution than to slink my way forward and hope not to run into anyone who actually KNEW me, a fresh-faced young lady pulling along a suitcase made a signal as she passed by that my stocking had reached the top of my slim suede boot -- that's right, she wanted to let me know that I was no longer fully clothed, JUST IN CASE I DIDN'T REALIZE IT MYSELF!
OK, here's where I have to admit that I should have been grateful, that I should have gracefully acknowledged her tip and smiled with surprise, or simply slipped out a meek merci... But for God's sake, do you think I didn't feel that thing falling down? Do you think I could have managed to be oblivious to the fact that I was losing a leg covering in this chill (albeit humid) morning air?
Er, so yeah, thanks suitcase-lady, you brought my attention to something that I hadn't even noticed, and now that makes me feel a heck of a lot better about myself.
Harumph. So of course now I'm settled into my desk for the day, stocking stretched all the way up to my ear, and I plan on yanking at that thing all day long to be sure this doesn't happen again.
But do you think this will stop me from wearing my favorite hosiery again in the future? Ah, how little you know me... It's a rare occasion when I actually learn from my mistakes or my misjudgments. I tend to like to repeat them on occasion, just to remind myself how much more I still have to learn, how very human and truly flawed I am.
So it's perhaps not one of the most advisable things to admit early on in a blog, but I hereby declare myself to be a fan of the stocking -- that's right; not tights, my dear friends, but stockings. You know, the ones that either are attached to a garter belt (oh, the daring!), or those that manage to hold themselves up on their own, or what my sweet boyfriend likes to refer to as les Dim'Up, after that one grocery-store-bought brand of leg binding...
And I have to admit that these have always been a preference for me, for various reasons, not the least being that I find them comfortable, moreso than those sausage-like things that wrap around my stomach and cut off my breathing for hours at a time. Plus, heck, a girl can use a little je-ne-sais-quoi on a daily basis, n'est-ce pas ? I like that feeling of mystery and intrigue, that I'm wearing something that could possibly be perceived as devilishly provocative -- when in fact, my reasoning is much more practical. Plus, they really are much prettier than tights (even if you can't see them)! If I can't manage to take risks in my life on a higher level, at least I can take risks in the choice of my garde-robe.
So they have never failed me, have always stood up (*literally!*) to the test of time, and made me feel confident rather than self-conscious, feminine rather than school-marmish.
That is, up until now -- enfin, I'm beginning to question my judgment on this one, after this morning's antics. And trust me, I'm fully capable of embarrassing myself in more than one way, as my readers will soon find out. But this one just takes the cake. Of course, it could have been worse (it always can), but just imagining my observers makes me cringe...
Because I should have nipped this one in the bud, but unfortunately my ill-advised penchant for stockings caught me up short, if you will. As I exited my morning train and ascended the escalator to the street which leads to my office, I felt the pinching at first -- an uncomfortable feeling at the top of my leg which should have been a warning sign for me to act quickly. But no, I figured I had ample time to make my way down the street before the stocking slid all the way down my leg, to oblivion...
And of course, per my usual, I was running under the wire -- that is, I needed to walk quickly to make it on time -- which was not very helpful for my predicament. But as I stumbled my way down the avenue, I had a reassuring thought: ah, I had at least had the foresight to wear a longer winter coat today, so in fact I was fully protected. No one walking behind me would know, and I could hold the coat tightly around me to prevent it from billowing out. Because, after all, I couldn't see myself stopping in the middle of the street to hike up the stockings at that point; it would have to wait until I was in the safety of a restroom...
So as the stocking slid, I kept up my clipped pace and figured I'd be home free in no time. Er, but, in my haste I had completely forgotten that in fact my lovely winter coat has a SLIT up the back, or what some may refer to as a "vent." So I stopped dead in my tracks, halfway down the street, the realization sending chills down my spine. Here I had been thinking the world was oblivious to my embarrassment, but NO, in fact all passersby were fully aware of my dilemma -- and were probably snickering to themselves as they made their way to their own offices, the end of their morning commute, fully enjoying the street entertainment in front of them.
And to add insult to injury, just as I resigned myself to the fact that I had no other solution than to slink my way forward and hope not to run into anyone who actually KNEW me, a fresh-faced young lady pulling along a suitcase made a signal as she passed by that my stocking had reached the top of my slim suede boot -- that's right, she wanted to let me know that I was no longer fully clothed, JUST IN CASE I DIDN'T REALIZE IT MYSELF!
OK, here's where I have to admit that I should have been grateful, that I should have gracefully acknowledged her tip and smiled with surprise, or simply slipped out a meek merci... But for God's sake, do you think I didn't feel that thing falling down? Do you think I could have managed to be oblivious to the fact that I was losing a leg covering in this chill (albeit humid) morning air?
Er, so yeah, thanks suitcase-lady, you brought my attention to something that I hadn't even noticed, and now that makes me feel a heck of a lot better about myself.
Harumph. So of course now I'm settled into my desk for the day, stocking stretched all the way up to my ear, and I plan on yanking at that thing all day long to be sure this doesn't happen again.
But do you think this will stop me from wearing my favorite hosiery again in the future? Ah, how little you know me... It's a rare occasion when I actually learn from my mistakes or my misjudgments. I tend to like to repeat them on occasion, just to remind myself how much more I still have to learn, how very human and truly flawed I am.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
