I have been REALLY depressed and upset lately but I've managed to calm down somewhat with the realization that in 12 days, I will be back in the U.S. for 17 days and I CAN'T WAIT.
Part of what has been bothering me is my gluten intolerance. As it is, few people are aware of this in the U.S. but it is so much worse in France, where if you have seasonal allergies, people think it's some rare medical condition.
The thing about gluten intolerance is that even the smallest crumb can make you sick. I myself cannot even tolerate being in a bakery for more than 2 minutes - all that flour in the air irritates my throat and nose pretty badly.
A lot of people who have celiac disease or gluten intolerance go to lengths to make sure that they live in a gluten-free environment - so that their household is entirely gluten-free. No bread, no pasta, no cakes, no CRUMBS.
If only I were so lucky! The H and SIL leave crumbs everywhere and don't bother cleaning them up, even when I ask them to do so. They say, "Oh, you are just over-reacting!" The problem is, I know it is the environment and cross-contamination issues I am having as my face has been experiencing a pretty bad break-out. Gluten intolerance/celiac symptoms vary greatly in each person. Some people don't have any symptoms. I happen to have crazy acne breakouts (the painful pimple kind), a weird eczema on my arms and legs (weird because I will break out on one arm or leg, and then a week later, it will appear on the other arm or leg in more or less the same area), and major stomach and indigestion problems. I've recently cut out all dairy products as I noticed major stomach pains after eating dairy. It pretty much feels like my body is all, "Take that bitch!".
My MIL tries very hard to be understanding about the whole thing, but she just doesn't realize how serious it is. She'll bake a pie or something and then try to force me to eat just the inside part, but I just don't want to even touch the thing. And then she'll make this whole production, like "Oh, poor Parisian New Yorker! We all get to eat pie but she can't have any at ALL!!!" This past weekend when we went to visit the in-laws, I refused to eat anything except for rice. MIL wanted to make it for me, but I still got sick even after eating the rice. Little wonder because there are always little crumbs everywhere (from all those baguettes they consume) and there is most likely a cross-contamination issue with her kitchenware.
The thing is though, everyone is convinced that I am just over dramatizing the issue. They're all like, "Oh, don't be silly, one crumb isn't going to hurt!", or "Just try a bite, you'll be fine." But what really gets my goat is that in my own apartment, the H and SIL are constantly contaminating everything and when I ask them to please be careful, they think I'm crazy. H has been accusing me of over-exaggerating, like when I ask him to please wash his hands after he's eaten bread.
Another thing is that food labels in France don't seem to be as strictly regulated as in the U.S. In the U.S. is it required by law to list all allergens, so most food packages will say "This product contains wheat/milk/peanuts/shellfish/soy" or whatever. Here in France though, the most random things contain wheat and it's not evident at all - you really have to read every single label, and even then, you can get glutened. For example, all hams and sausages contain wheat. Even certain yogurts and cheeses will have them. At least in the U.S. it will be more or less properly labeled, and a lot of restaurants are now offering gluten-free options.
The other thing that has been really bothering me is that the H and the in-laws will ask me questions about the U.S., but don't want to hear the truth about anything I say. For example: "Is it true that 90% of Americans don't have healthcare? Is it true that they're not allowed to treat you at a hospital if you don't have insurance?" and when I explain that no, it's not true, then they all get very defensive. MIL for example, was all "Well, you know, you say that it is not true, but here in France, they tell us on TV that what I say is true. And they show us Americans who are not treated in the hospital because they don't have insurance. And all the Americans we see on TV are all very overweight, so this is because you are always eating out in restaurants all the time." Sigh. Or this one: "Is it true that people who come from the ghetto can go to such a college as Harvard and then become become rich?" I'll say, "Well, of course, if the person has good grades and works really hard." Then they'll say, "Well, we don't believe you because that would just be impossible. How could someone from the ghetto be smart enough to get into a school like Harvard? How would they pay for it? And even if they become rich, they can't REALLY be rich, because once you get to be president of a company, you can't go any higher than that, and then you will stay at the same salary forever!"
So, combine the whole food problems with the whole not-wanting-to-hear-the-truth thing and you can imagine that I've been pretty frustrated and upset lately. Plus, to my EXTREME dismay, the in-laws have decided to come over this weekend - they are bringing SIL's boyfriend, who has some gift certificate or something he wants to use. Which means the in-laws will be here ALL AFTERNOON and they won't leave until SIL and her boyfriend get back from shopping, which is always around 7 - 7:30 pm, and SIL will be back in our apartment on Sunday around 7pm. MIL will surely be in "plein forme" as she always is, and will immediately sit down and gossip about what the neighbors are doing in their village, and panic about everything and anything.
Aaaaargh. Again. Anyway, I have a super plan: I will say that I have a stomach ache (which will surely be true, considering that I have been having them on a daily basis) and read in bed until they are all gone.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
La grève
So, all last week, there were strikes left and right - EDF/GDF (kind of the French equivalent of ConEd), the Opéra de Paris, La Comédie Française, a bunch of students who are really mad because the government has proposed giving the underfunded universities more money via private corporations (Gasp! Can you imagine how horrible that is?? *dripping sarcasm*), and most importantly, the transit workers.
Obviously, a transit strike is no walk in the park, but frankly, it is quite reminiscent of waiting for the 6 train in NYC when it's rush hour. It just seems much more unbearable because the subway cars here are teensy compared to the NYC subway cars. Buses were running, though not very frequently, so it was very much like taking the M34 crosstown bus - a good 20 minute wait and jam-packed.
Anyway, I managed to avoid taking mass transit whenever possible, though I did get on the 63 bus on my way to Italian class (for which only 5 other people showed up). I made sure to leave at 4 pm for my 5 pm class, and though the bus was quite crowded and slow, I managed to arrive at 4:55 pm.
The H has been quite mellow about the strikes - he walked to work every day, from our apartment at Trocadéro to his office at Strasbourg St Denis. It took him about an hour each way, so it's more or less like walking from my apartment in NYC on 14th Street and 1st Avenue up to, say, 77th and Lex. The H has actually taken quite a liking to the hour long walk, though he would grumble at the TV when they mentioned the strikes on the news ("Those jerks! I'd put them all in jail! Who do they think they are?!").
So all in all, it was not that unpleasant of an experience. However, this was not so for SIL, who did not go to school for an entire week, despite her classes not having been canceled. Finally, last Wednesday she decided to go to class.
That Wednesday evening was quite strange, as MIL called me around 8:30 pm and said, "Poor SIL. She was crying at Hôtel de Ville and so she called BIL and he went to pick her up and now she is going to eat at BIL and FSIL's apartment." (FSIL is BIL's girlfriend, aka Future Sister in Law). "Um. Okay...?" I said. "So, you don't have to make dinner tonight for SIL. She'll be home around 10 pm." said MIL. "Oh. I already made my own dinner. I figured SIL could make her own dinner," I said. "Oh," started MIL, "these strikes are SO AWFUL! My poor daughter. Can you believe she waited 2 hours for the bus and it never showed up?" "No, I cannot believe it," I said. "I would have started walking after 30 minutes." "Well, my poor daughter..." started MIL. "Oh!" I interrupted. "My dinner's ready! I'm totally starving. Okay, so, thanks for calling, and see you this weekend!" I rushed.
This weekend, the H and I went to the in-laws to celebrate FSIL's 30th birthday (which is actually at the end of this week. I still don't know why we celebrated it this weekend, though, instead of the next). I asked FSIL what had happened the previous Wednesday.
Me: So, was everything ok with SIL? Did you manage to calm her down? MIL says she was crying.
FSIL: I don't know what that was all about. BIL got a phone call from her and went to pick her up by foot. We fed her dinner and then we stuck her in a cab.
Me: Oh. Okay. Well, that's nice of BIL to walk over and pick her up.
MIL: (defensively) Well, the STORY is that SIL left school at 6 p.m. and at 8:15 p.m. she was STILL at Hôtel de Ville.
FSIL and H: (at the same time) Why was she at Hôtel de Ville?
FSIL: That's not even near her school.
H: Or the apartment.
MIL: I told her to take the bus because I didn't want her in the subway. I planned everything out for her. I looked on the bus map.
Me: Oh, well, it wasn't that bad actually. It's like in NYC when you have to take the 6 train and it takes FOREVER to come and then when you get to 42nd Street, the 4/5 just totally pulled out of the station and you're all like, "Crap!" Or vice-versa. Like if you're waiting for the 4/5 and you need to catch the 6 at 42nd.
MIL: (completely ignoring me) WELL, I did NOT want MY DAUGHTER in the SUBWAY! Did you SEE what it was like on the news? I do NOT want MY DAUGHTER SMUSHED into a subway car. Did you know, SO MANY PEOPLE had to go to the ER because they got their hands STUCK in between the doors. I mean, some people ALMOST lost a FINGER!!!! Some people even FAINTED! You could DIE in a situation like that! It's REALLY DANGEROUS!!!
Me: Oh, it's not so bad. Plus the stops are all really close and everything, so you're really only smushed for like, 15 minutes. You just have to be pushy and mean. It's way better than being smushed on the 4/5 which is SUPPOSED to be EXPRESS, but it goes at a snail's pace between 14th street and 42nd. It's really annoying when the 6 train you were hoping to catch passes the 4/5 like a bullet.
H: Why didn't she just walk to school? I mean, I walked it every day and it was quite pleasant. I think I'll walk to work from time to time, even after the strike is over.
MIL: ARE YOU CRAZY? SIL CANNOT WALK TO SCHOOL! Her school is SO FAR!
H: Uh, her school is like, 2 subway stops from where I work. It's not THAT far. It's like an extra 15 minutes.
MIL: Poor thing, she can't possibly WALK to school. I mean, it's fine for YOU but SHE can't do it.
FSIL: Oh, well, she could take a Velib.
MIL: (shrieking) NO WAY! I DO NOT WANT MY DAUGHTER TO RIDE A BIKE!
FSIL: Oh. Sorry. I just thought, you know, it's faster than walking.
MIL: ARE YOU CRAZY?!??! Do you KNOW how DANGEROUS a BICYCLE is in PARIS??? She could FALL OFF THE BIKE AND DIE!!!!!!!! (scowls angrily at FSIL, who happens to be a big fan of Velib)
FSIL: (shrugging). Okay. No bikes. Sorry. (Goes back to playing her Nintendo DS)
Me: (looking longingly at her DS while MIL yells at the H about how barbaric city life is during a strike, and how dangerous everything is for SIL) Hey, can I play after you?
MIL: (very panicked) And I told her to take the 72 bus, because I looked on the map for SIL, and planned out her bus itinerary for her, and then I told her where she should transfer, so I had her take the 72 since it goes to Pont de Grenelle.
Me: Dude, the 72 never comes even when there ISN'T a strike. The 72 is like, the WORST bus ever. It's always crazy crowded 'cause there's like, 20 minutes between each bus. I bet it didn't even run during the strike. It's so the M34 crosstown. Anyway. That's life in the city. It doesn't bother me. (To FSIL) Ooh, are you playing that brain tester thing? I totally rock the brain thing. I mean, I only have like, the highest score EVER.
MIL: City life is for BARBARIANS!!! It's TOO DANGEROUS! And those horrible strikers! They don't understand the damage they are inflicting on REGULAR PEOPLE. I mean, SO MANY people LOST THEIR JOBS and I bet the elderly had HEART ATTACKS and DIED in those inhumane, crowded conditions!
FSIL: I'm playing Zelda.
Me: Um, I wouldn't worry so much about the little old people. They're pretty sturdy. I mean, they push way harder than anyone else. And they're not afraid to step on your feet while they're at it. This little frail looking old lady shoved me really hard on the bus the other day. I totally shoved her back. And it was cool because no one knew it was me since it was so crowded.
MIL: (ignoring me, moaning and possibly getting teary-eyed): I mean, they kept my daughter from going to school! These strikers are just CRUEL! My poor daughter, she could have DIED while waiting for the bus. She could have been SMOTHERED to DEATH in the subway!
FSIL: Okay, MIL. You need to stop talking about the strike. You're creating unnecessary stress for everyone.
MIL: Well, they ARE cruel people. And selfish. And rude. My poor daughter....
FSIL: Okay, you REALLY need to stop talking about the strike and SIL. You are blowing things way out of proportion. Please. Calm. Down. Now.
MIL: Those barbarians!
FSIL: MIL! STOP IT. NOW.
Me: Hey, FSIL, she's totally not listening to you. Can I play your DS now?
FIL: Hey! It's 7 PM on the dot! Time for apéro! (runs like a madman to the kitchen to open wine).
Obviously, a transit strike is no walk in the park, but frankly, it is quite reminiscent of waiting for the 6 train in NYC when it's rush hour. It just seems much more unbearable because the subway cars here are teensy compared to the NYC subway cars. Buses were running, though not very frequently, so it was very much like taking the M34 crosstown bus - a good 20 minute wait and jam-packed.
Anyway, I managed to avoid taking mass transit whenever possible, though I did get on the 63 bus on my way to Italian class (for which only 5 other people showed up). I made sure to leave at 4 pm for my 5 pm class, and though the bus was quite crowded and slow, I managed to arrive at 4:55 pm.
The H has been quite mellow about the strikes - he walked to work every day, from our apartment at Trocadéro to his office at Strasbourg St Denis. It took him about an hour each way, so it's more or less like walking from my apartment in NYC on 14th Street and 1st Avenue up to, say, 77th and Lex. The H has actually taken quite a liking to the hour long walk, though he would grumble at the TV when they mentioned the strikes on the news ("Those jerks! I'd put them all in jail! Who do they think they are?!").
So all in all, it was not that unpleasant of an experience. However, this was not so for SIL, who did not go to school for an entire week, despite her classes not having been canceled. Finally, last Wednesday she decided to go to class.
That Wednesday evening was quite strange, as MIL called me around 8:30 pm and said, "Poor SIL. She was crying at Hôtel de Ville and so she called BIL and he went to pick her up and now she is going to eat at BIL and FSIL's apartment." (FSIL is BIL's girlfriend, aka Future Sister in Law). "Um. Okay...?" I said. "So, you don't have to make dinner tonight for SIL. She'll be home around 10 pm." said MIL. "Oh. I already made my own dinner. I figured SIL could make her own dinner," I said. "Oh," started MIL, "these strikes are SO AWFUL! My poor daughter. Can you believe she waited 2 hours for the bus and it never showed up?" "No, I cannot believe it," I said. "I would have started walking after 30 minutes." "Well, my poor daughter..." started MIL. "Oh!" I interrupted. "My dinner's ready! I'm totally starving. Okay, so, thanks for calling, and see you this weekend!" I rushed.
This weekend, the H and I went to the in-laws to celebrate FSIL's 30th birthday (which is actually at the end of this week. I still don't know why we celebrated it this weekend, though, instead of the next). I asked FSIL what had happened the previous Wednesday.
Me: So, was everything ok with SIL? Did you manage to calm her down? MIL says she was crying.
FSIL: I don't know what that was all about. BIL got a phone call from her and went to pick her up by foot. We fed her dinner and then we stuck her in a cab.
Me: Oh. Okay. Well, that's nice of BIL to walk over and pick her up.
MIL: (defensively) Well, the STORY is that SIL left school at 6 p.m. and at 8:15 p.m. she was STILL at Hôtel de Ville.
FSIL and H: (at the same time) Why was she at Hôtel de Ville?
FSIL: That's not even near her school.
H: Or the apartment.
MIL: I told her to take the bus because I didn't want her in the subway. I planned everything out for her. I looked on the bus map.
Me: Oh, well, it wasn't that bad actually. It's like in NYC when you have to take the 6 train and it takes FOREVER to come and then when you get to 42nd Street, the 4/5 just totally pulled out of the station and you're all like, "Crap!" Or vice-versa. Like if you're waiting for the 4/5 and you need to catch the 6 at 42nd.
MIL: (completely ignoring me) WELL, I did NOT want MY DAUGHTER in the SUBWAY! Did you SEE what it was like on the news? I do NOT want MY DAUGHTER SMUSHED into a subway car. Did you know, SO MANY PEOPLE had to go to the ER because they got their hands STUCK in between the doors. I mean, some people ALMOST lost a FINGER!!!! Some people even FAINTED! You could DIE in a situation like that! It's REALLY DANGEROUS!!!
Me: Oh, it's not so bad. Plus the stops are all really close and everything, so you're really only smushed for like, 15 minutes. You just have to be pushy and mean. It's way better than being smushed on the 4/5 which is SUPPOSED to be EXPRESS, but it goes at a snail's pace between 14th street and 42nd. It's really annoying when the 6 train you were hoping to catch passes the 4/5 like a bullet.
H: Why didn't she just walk to school? I mean, I walked it every day and it was quite pleasant. I think I'll walk to work from time to time, even after the strike is over.
MIL: ARE YOU CRAZY? SIL CANNOT WALK TO SCHOOL! Her school is SO FAR!
H: Uh, her school is like, 2 subway stops from where I work. It's not THAT far. It's like an extra 15 minutes.
MIL: Poor thing, she can't possibly WALK to school. I mean, it's fine for YOU but SHE can't do it.
FSIL: Oh, well, she could take a Velib.
MIL: (shrieking) NO WAY! I DO NOT WANT MY DAUGHTER TO RIDE A BIKE!
FSIL: Oh. Sorry. I just thought, you know, it's faster than walking.
MIL: ARE YOU CRAZY?!??! Do you KNOW how DANGEROUS a BICYCLE is in PARIS??? She could FALL OFF THE BIKE AND DIE!!!!!!!! (scowls angrily at FSIL, who happens to be a big fan of Velib)
FSIL: (shrugging). Okay. No bikes. Sorry. (Goes back to playing her Nintendo DS)
Me: (looking longingly at her DS while MIL yells at the H about how barbaric city life is during a strike, and how dangerous everything is for SIL) Hey, can I play after you?
MIL: (very panicked) And I told her to take the 72 bus, because I looked on the map for SIL, and planned out her bus itinerary for her, and then I told her where she should transfer, so I had her take the 72 since it goes to Pont de Grenelle.
Me: Dude, the 72 never comes even when there ISN'T a strike. The 72 is like, the WORST bus ever. It's always crazy crowded 'cause there's like, 20 minutes between each bus. I bet it didn't even run during the strike. It's so the M34 crosstown. Anyway. That's life in the city. It doesn't bother me. (To FSIL) Ooh, are you playing that brain tester thing? I totally rock the brain thing. I mean, I only have like, the highest score EVER.
MIL: City life is for BARBARIANS!!! It's TOO DANGEROUS! And those horrible strikers! They don't understand the damage they are inflicting on REGULAR PEOPLE. I mean, SO MANY people LOST THEIR JOBS and I bet the elderly had HEART ATTACKS and DIED in those inhumane, crowded conditions!
FSIL: I'm playing Zelda.
Me: Um, I wouldn't worry so much about the little old people. They're pretty sturdy. I mean, they push way harder than anyone else. And they're not afraid to step on your feet while they're at it. This little frail looking old lady shoved me really hard on the bus the other day. I totally shoved her back. And it was cool because no one knew it was me since it was so crowded.
MIL: (ignoring me, moaning and possibly getting teary-eyed): I mean, they kept my daughter from going to school! These strikers are just CRUEL! My poor daughter, she could have DIED while waiting for the bus. She could have been SMOTHERED to DEATH in the subway!
FSIL: Okay, MIL. You need to stop talking about the strike. You're creating unnecessary stress for everyone.
MIL: Well, they ARE cruel people. And selfish. And rude. My poor daughter....
FSIL: Okay, you REALLY need to stop talking about the strike and SIL. You are blowing things way out of proportion. Please. Calm. Down. Now.
MIL: Those barbarians!
FSIL: MIL! STOP IT. NOW.
Me: Hey, FSIL, she's totally not listening to you. Can I play your DS now?
FIL: Hey! It's 7 PM on the dot! Time for apéro! (runs like a madman to the kitchen to open wine).
Monday, November 19, 2007
Aaaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh......
Last week was not a good week - I pretty much had what could almost be called a nervous breakdown. I'm still pretty depressed right now. I won't go into details right now, but things have not been made better after my encounters with Apple France:
As I mentioned in a previous post, my Powerbook G4 was having problems starting up, so I called Apple US support and we figured out that I needed the installation CD that came with the computer...which I seem to have misplaced. So I was directed to call Apple France, a hotline with a phone number that costs like 800 euros per call, to order a CD to be delivered to me here in France, as Apple US could not deliver over to here. I had called on November 1st (I remember it perfectly, as it was Toussaint), got cut off the first time after 40 mins of waiting, then had to call back again. The bee-yotch took down my credit card number and my address, phone number, and email, and assured me the CD would be at my place within 2 weeks. On Nov 15th I called Apple France and was all, "Dude, where's my CD?" to be put on hold for literally 30 minutes and then to be told afterwards, "Uh, actually, the CD will probably arrive sometime in the next 28 days, starting from today. But we don't know exactly when it will come. It might take longer than 28 days. Sorry, but we can't confirm when it will ship out." I demanded to know why they told me 2 weeks on Nov 1st and were now telling me 28 days from Nov 15th. All I got was a defensive "Well, ma'am, I can understand your frustration but this is hardly my fault. I can't tell you when it will come. Probably sometime in the next 28 days, but I don't know. I guess you could cancel it if you wanted to." "So," I said, "what you are basically saying is, I was guaranteed it would come in the next 2 weeks starting Nov 1st, but on Nov 15th, it will take a minimum of 28 days to come, and you don't know why or how, and you can't even confirm anything, BUT this is not your fault." "That is correct, ma'am," said the French girl without a hint of irony. I hung up and fumed for about an hour. I realized that in less than 3 weeks, I would be in NYC for the holidays, so I could just order it from the US and have it ship to my mom's place.
The next day I called Apple US and ordered the CD. I explained the French problem. Apple US assured me the CD would arrive within 2 days at my US address and that it would be totally free. (As opposed to 100 euros here in France). The entire call took less than 30 minutes. Then, seeing it was 8:40 pm, I called Apple France, as the Apple US representative assured me that "All our customer service helplines around the world are open from 9 am to 9 pm." When I called Apple France, I was greeted with the following automated message: "Apple France is currently closed. We are open Monday through Friday, from 9 am to 7:45 pm and on Saturday, from 10 am to 7:45 pm." Hmmmph.
So I called Apple France on Saturday and asked to cancel the order. Upon which they put me on hold for 20 mins then the asshole came back on the phone and informed me that "we can't cancel the order". I said, "But I don't want it anymore. I'm leaving for the US and they are sending me one within 2 days. FOR FREE". "Ah," said the Frenchman. "Please hold". He put me on hold for another 15 mins (I'm pretty sure he was just off for a cigarette break) then came back and informed me, "We cannot cancel your order. But, you can refuse delivery when it arrives, and you won't be charged." I told him that didn't make any sense whatsoever. "What do you mean, you can't cancel the order? Just go into your computer and CANCEL THE ORDER" The guy said that "In Europe, we have a law where we are not allowed to cancel orders. You will just have to wait for it to be delivered and not sign for the package, then they will return it to us, and you won't be charged." "Doesn't that sound unnecessarily complicated?" I asked. "I mean, you say it won't even be ready before the next 28 days, so it just sounds like a lot of work to order it, ship it out, and then have me refuse to sign for it, and then ship it back to you. Isn't that kind of expensive for you? Wouldn't it be easier if you cancelled it now, then you could avoid all that hassle?" The French guy was all, "Please hold" and I waited another 20 minutes before he came back and said "I checked with my superior over in Cork. That's in IRELAND. We can't cancel your order because it's against the law". There was silence on my part because I was thinking "Wow, that sentence was so weird" but then I said, "Okay, fine, I am just going to note for my records here: 'Called Apple France on November 17 at 13h38 and spoke with Mr....?" French guy got all defensive: "It's not MY fault you know, it's against the law, you are just going to have to reject delivery." "Yeah I get it, it's not your fault, but I would like to note this for my records, in case something goes wrong, then I have proof. Could you tell me your name please, Mr....?" French guy was all, "No, I am not allowed to give you my name. BUT - I have noted everything in your dossier, so if there is a problem when you call, my superior's name is noted so there is proof, don't worry about that." "Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked incredulously. "No, ma'am. It is against European law for me to give you my name. I'm not allowed to." "Not allowed to, or don't want to?" I asked. "Listen," said the French guy, "imagine you go to an appliance store and buy a refrigerator..." "No, YOU listen," I said, trying to interrupt. "This is not the way you treat customers," I started, but the French guy only raised his voice louder in order to drown me out. "And you buy a refrigerator," he continued, "and they deliver it to you, and there is a leak, so you can either refuse delivery of the fridge, or you can sign for it, and then you have a fridge with a leak. You get it?" he asked triumphantly. "Uh, all I understand, Bub, is that you have my credit card number and won't cancel my order, but instead I have to make sure I don't sign for the package, and then you say you won't charge me, but I have no proof, and you don't even want to give me your name because supposedly you marked it in my dossier, but for all I know, you wrote 'God, this woman is really annoying and difficult', and then you put down your colleague's name, or a fake one," I summarized. French guy got very defensive. "I told you this is not my fault, and I told you it is against the law to cancel an order." "Look, I didn't say it was YOUR fault, so stop getting all hissy on me, and not being able to cancel an order doesn't make any sense," I said. "Anyway," I continued, "I am now writing 'Called Apple France on Nov 17, 2007, at 13h38 and now it is 14h30, and Mr. Won't Give Me His Name says it is against European law to cancel an order and to give out his name, so must wait til package arrives so I can refuse it, and I won't get charged any fees, and Monsieur checked with his supervisor in Cork which in Ireland, and Monsieur has noted everything down in my dossier number, and it is not Monsieur's fault...' There, I've noted everything down," I told him. "Have a nice day," I said, and hung up.
The H had been listening to the entire conversation. "I told you not to order the CD," he said. "Now look what's happening." "Well, excuse you," I said, "but since when do people treat customers like this? Oh wait, I forgot, this is normal in France."
As I mentioned in a previous post, my Powerbook G4 was having problems starting up, so I called Apple US support and we figured out that I needed the installation CD that came with the computer...which I seem to have misplaced. So I was directed to call Apple France, a hotline with a phone number that costs like 800 euros per call, to order a CD to be delivered to me here in France, as Apple US could not deliver over to here. I had called on November 1st (I remember it perfectly, as it was Toussaint), got cut off the first time after 40 mins of waiting, then had to call back again. The bee-yotch took down my credit card number and my address, phone number, and email, and assured me the CD would be at my place within 2 weeks. On Nov 15th I called Apple France and was all, "Dude, where's my CD?" to be put on hold for literally 30 minutes and then to be told afterwards, "Uh, actually, the CD will probably arrive sometime in the next 28 days, starting from today. But we don't know exactly when it will come. It might take longer than 28 days. Sorry, but we can't confirm when it will ship out." I demanded to know why they told me 2 weeks on Nov 1st and were now telling me 28 days from Nov 15th. All I got was a defensive "Well, ma'am, I can understand your frustration but this is hardly my fault. I can't tell you when it will come. Probably sometime in the next 28 days, but I don't know. I guess you could cancel it if you wanted to." "So," I said, "what you are basically saying is, I was guaranteed it would come in the next 2 weeks starting Nov 1st, but on Nov 15th, it will take a minimum of 28 days to come, and you don't know why or how, and you can't even confirm anything, BUT this is not your fault." "That is correct, ma'am," said the French girl without a hint of irony. I hung up and fumed for about an hour. I realized that in less than 3 weeks, I would be in NYC for the holidays, so I could just order it from the US and have it ship to my mom's place.
The next day I called Apple US and ordered the CD. I explained the French problem. Apple US assured me the CD would arrive within 2 days at my US address and that it would be totally free. (As opposed to 100 euros here in France). The entire call took less than 30 minutes. Then, seeing it was 8:40 pm, I called Apple France, as the Apple US representative assured me that "All our customer service helplines around the world are open from 9 am to 9 pm." When I called Apple France, I was greeted with the following automated message: "Apple France is currently closed. We are open Monday through Friday, from 9 am to 7:45 pm and on Saturday, from 10 am to 7:45 pm." Hmmmph.
So I called Apple France on Saturday and asked to cancel the order. Upon which they put me on hold for 20 mins then the asshole came back on the phone and informed me that "we can't cancel the order". I said, "But I don't want it anymore. I'm leaving for the US and they are sending me one within 2 days. FOR FREE". "Ah," said the Frenchman. "Please hold". He put me on hold for another 15 mins (I'm pretty sure he was just off for a cigarette break) then came back and informed me, "We cannot cancel your order. But, you can refuse delivery when it arrives, and you won't be charged." I told him that didn't make any sense whatsoever. "What do you mean, you can't cancel the order? Just go into your computer and CANCEL THE ORDER" The guy said that "In Europe, we have a law where we are not allowed to cancel orders. You will just have to wait for it to be delivered and not sign for the package, then they will return it to us, and you won't be charged." "Doesn't that sound unnecessarily complicated?" I asked. "I mean, you say it won't even be ready before the next 28 days, so it just sounds like a lot of work to order it, ship it out, and then have me refuse to sign for it, and then ship it back to you. Isn't that kind of expensive for you? Wouldn't it be easier if you cancelled it now, then you could avoid all that hassle?" The French guy was all, "Please hold" and I waited another 20 minutes before he came back and said "I checked with my superior over in Cork. That's in IRELAND. We can't cancel your order because it's against the law". There was silence on my part because I was thinking "Wow, that sentence was so weird" but then I said, "Okay, fine, I am just going to note for my records here: 'Called Apple France on November 17 at 13h38 and spoke with Mr....?" French guy got all defensive: "It's not MY fault you know, it's against the law, you are just going to have to reject delivery." "Yeah I get it, it's not your fault, but I would like to note this for my records, in case something goes wrong, then I have proof. Could you tell me your name please, Mr....?" French guy was all, "No, I am not allowed to give you my name. BUT - I have noted everything in your dossier, so if there is a problem when you call, my superior's name is noted so there is proof, don't worry about that." "Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked incredulously. "No, ma'am. It is against European law for me to give you my name. I'm not allowed to." "Not allowed to, or don't want to?" I asked. "Listen," said the French guy, "imagine you go to an appliance store and buy a refrigerator..." "No, YOU listen," I said, trying to interrupt. "This is not the way you treat customers," I started, but the French guy only raised his voice louder in order to drown me out. "And you buy a refrigerator," he continued, "and they deliver it to you, and there is a leak, so you can either refuse delivery of the fridge, or you can sign for it, and then you have a fridge with a leak. You get it?" he asked triumphantly. "Uh, all I understand, Bub, is that you have my credit card number and won't cancel my order, but instead I have to make sure I don't sign for the package, and then you say you won't charge me, but I have no proof, and you don't even want to give me your name because supposedly you marked it in my dossier, but for all I know, you wrote 'God, this woman is really annoying and difficult', and then you put down your colleague's name, or a fake one," I summarized. French guy got very defensive. "I told you this is not my fault, and I told you it is against the law to cancel an order." "Look, I didn't say it was YOUR fault, so stop getting all hissy on me, and not being able to cancel an order doesn't make any sense," I said. "Anyway," I continued, "I am now writing 'Called Apple France on Nov 17, 2007, at 13h38 and now it is 14h30, and Mr. Won't Give Me His Name says it is against European law to cancel an order and to give out his name, so must wait til package arrives so I can refuse it, and I won't get charged any fees, and Monsieur checked with his supervisor in Cork which in Ireland, and Monsieur has noted everything down in my dossier number, and it is not Monsieur's fault...' There, I've noted everything down," I told him. "Have a nice day," I said, and hung up.
The H had been listening to the entire conversation. "I told you not to order the CD," he said. "Now look what's happening." "Well, excuse you," I said, "but since when do people treat customers like this? Oh wait, I forgot, this is normal in France."
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
French "celebrity" sighting
I was planning on continuing the learning English saga with the H but then I remembered this funny anecdote from last weekend.
To make a long story short, I hadn't eaten anything all day so around 4 pm I insisted that the H and I stop at McDonald's on the way home, so I could have some fries and a milkshake. (On a side note, I hardly ever go to McDo, so I was quite surprised to see the chic new decor - looking good!)
As the H and I are standing in line, two Arab looking guys join the line next to us, carrying their scooter helmets. H looks over, then whispers to me, "Hey, I think that's Faudel!" "WHO?" I asked a little too loudly. "Shhh! Faudel! The singer!" whispered the H. I turned to have a look. Faudel and his buddy were at the front of their line, shaking hands with the cashier and chatting. "Really?" I asked. "He's a singer?" "Yes! You know! He was really famous back in 1998," said the H. "Hmmmm," I said, thinking back to 1998. "Ah, yes, didn't he warble a song called 'Dis-moi' that was half in French and half in Arab? I think I remember now," I said. "But, he wasn't like, really famous. He was just famous in France. There is a really big difference between a celebrity and a French celebrity," I pointed out. "Whatever," said the H, obviously not in the mood for a lecture on the various hierarchies of celebritydom. "But that's Faudel".
The H and I ordered our food and had to go downstairs to where there were free tables. We settled down at a sticky table, with me in the booth part facing the rest of the seating area. I dug into my fries and watched as Faudel and his pal took the large table directly behind us. It was perfect vantage point as Faudel was sitting directly behind, and slightly to the left of the H who was across from me. First the cleaning girl stopped by Faudel's table and wiped it down. Then a manager in a suit stopped by and asked Faudel if he would like to sit in a more private area in the back. Faudel reassured the manager that he was perfectly fine where he was, then dug into his Big Mac while eyeing all the teenage girls who passed by. "Wow, props to Faudel for keeping it real," I said the H. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Check it out, he eats at McDonald's. He seems to be totally into his Big Mac and he didn't even want to sit at a more private table," I said. "That's cool." "Whatever!" said the H. "He's totally not even famous anymore. He eats at McDonald's because he can't get into more fancy restaurants. And he is sitting front and center in the seating area because he's hoping people will recognize him!"
After Faudel polished off his Big Mac, large fries, and large Coke, he and his friend got up and his friend cleared the table. A girl of about 17 ran up to their table. "Hello," she said, looking at Faudel, then his friend. At this point, I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I saw Faudel lean over towards the girl, the girl totally ignored him and started talking to his friend. It turned out she wanted those sticker things they put on the soda cups - you know how when McDonald's does those promotion contest things and you can maybe win something if you have the right sticker? Well, that was pretty much all that interested the girl, as she nearly pushed Faudel and his friend over and started attacking the containers on their tray. Once she got all the stickers, she smiled, thanked them, and ran off to her own table.
As we exited McDo, I told the H the whole story, which he thought was quite amusing. "Ha!" he said, "I bet he was expecting an autograph! How embarrassing!"
To make a long story short, I hadn't eaten anything all day so around 4 pm I insisted that the H and I stop at McDonald's on the way home, so I could have some fries and a milkshake. (On a side note, I hardly ever go to McDo, so I was quite surprised to see the chic new decor - looking good!)
As the H and I are standing in line, two Arab looking guys join the line next to us, carrying their scooter helmets. H looks over, then whispers to me, "Hey, I think that's Faudel!" "WHO?" I asked a little too loudly. "Shhh! Faudel! The singer!" whispered the H. I turned to have a look. Faudel and his buddy were at the front of their line, shaking hands with the cashier and chatting. "Really?" I asked. "He's a singer?" "Yes! You know! He was really famous back in 1998," said the H. "Hmmmm," I said, thinking back to 1998. "Ah, yes, didn't he warble a song called 'Dis-moi' that was half in French and half in Arab? I think I remember now," I said. "But, he wasn't like, really famous. He was just famous in France. There is a really big difference between a celebrity and a French celebrity," I pointed out. "Whatever," said the H, obviously not in the mood for a lecture on the various hierarchies of celebritydom. "But that's Faudel".
The H and I ordered our food and had to go downstairs to where there were free tables. We settled down at a sticky table, with me in the booth part facing the rest of the seating area. I dug into my fries and watched as Faudel and his pal took the large table directly behind us. It was perfect vantage point as Faudel was sitting directly behind, and slightly to the left of the H who was across from me. First the cleaning girl stopped by Faudel's table and wiped it down. Then a manager in a suit stopped by and asked Faudel if he would like to sit in a more private area in the back. Faudel reassured the manager that he was perfectly fine where he was, then dug into his Big Mac while eyeing all the teenage girls who passed by. "Wow, props to Faudel for keeping it real," I said the H. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Check it out, he eats at McDonald's. He seems to be totally into his Big Mac and he didn't even want to sit at a more private table," I said. "That's cool." "Whatever!" said the H. "He's totally not even famous anymore. He eats at McDonald's because he can't get into more fancy restaurants. And he is sitting front and center in the seating area because he's hoping people will recognize him!"
After Faudel polished off his Big Mac, large fries, and large Coke, he and his friend got up and his friend cleared the table. A girl of about 17 ran up to their table. "Hello," she said, looking at Faudel, then his friend. At this point, I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I saw Faudel lean over towards the girl, the girl totally ignored him and started talking to his friend. It turned out she wanted those sticker things they put on the soda cups - you know how when McDonald's does those promotion contest things and you can maybe win something if you have the right sticker? Well, that was pretty much all that interested the girl, as she nearly pushed Faudel and his friend over and started attacking the containers on their tray. Once she got all the stickers, she smiled, thanked them, and ran off to her own table.
As we exited McDo, I told the H the whole story, which he thought was quite amusing. "Ha!" he said, "I bet he was expecting an autograph! How embarrassing!"
Monday, November 12, 2007
I Must To Do This
Approximately 2 years ago, everyone urged me to start speaking English with the H. "You have an unfair advantage," said MIL, "so now you can speak in English with my son and then he can be bilingual too." Admittedly, I resisted for awhile, though not out of meanness. It's just that there are very few Frenchies with whom I am comfortable conversing in English. And also, once you get started in one language with someone, it suddenly gets a little weird to switch languages. Finally, I relented. "Yes," said the H, "it would be good for me to practice my English. It won't be weird. You will see, my English is not so bad, I am just a little rusty."
So the day we decided to try speaking English this is more or less what happened:
H: So now we speak in Eenlgish?
Me: Okay. What's up?
H: Mmm. Eh. Tomorrow I must to go to work and I must to go to zhere, ze labo.
Me:.....Um....What?
H: I say to you, tomorrow I must to go to work and zen I must to go to zhere. Ze labo.
Me: Okay, I think we have a problem....
So that went on for a couple of weeks. The H invariably always started his sentences with "I must to..." The first day this happened, I was all, "You don't must to. You must. I must go to work. I don't must to go to work. I don't must to see this movie." The next day: "So", says the H, "I must to see if I ave light for ze lamp." "I MUST SEE" I said loudly. "Ah, uh, yes, I must to see..." "NO!!!!!" I screamed. "WHAT DID I JUST SAY?????" Then I tried a different tactic: "Forget about must. It's awfully restrictive and official. As in "Welcome to JFK International Airport! You must present this form to a U.S. Customs Officer!" Try saying "I have to go...", I suggested.
That tactic did not work. H continued with the must to be doing things, which was slowly driving me crazy. I mean, did he even HEAR me correcting him?
Then we went to New York for Christmas. H and I had given up on the speaking to each other in English because my patience had been completely drained and it always ended up with me shouting "NO!!! WHAT DID I JUST SAY??" Which admittedly was not very nice of me, but it had been a good 6 months and it was the same mistakes EVERY TIME. Plus, it was totally weird switching to English from French. So H was very excited as it would be his first trip to New York ever all by himself, and hopefully, some more patient English speakers with whom he could converse.
Now, a trip home to New York always includes a stop at Barnes & Noble. I spent the better part of an hour trying to decide which books to purchase. Of course, the H quickly got bored and I found him an hour and a half later in the Foreign Languages section. He was looking at the grammar books. "Hey," he said, "so I think maybe I should buy a book to improve my English," he said. "Well, I think that is an EXCELLENT idea," I said, plopping down on the floor. I browsed the titles and picked up a Beginner English book. "How about this one?" I suggested. "Oooh, look, it even has pictures!!!" H looked over my shoulder. "That's a beginners book!" he said accusingly. "Yeah. What's your point?" I asked. "My point," he said coldly, "is that that is a beginner book. I am not a beginner." "Um, yeah you are," I said. "No!" said H, flipping through the book. "Look, it is stuff like "what is your name?" and "where do you live?". I already know all this," he said pointedly. "Well, I don't think it would hurt for you to start at the beginning. I mean, your grammar is a huge mess. All those prepositions flying everywhere. I think you should forget everything you learned at school and start all over from the very beginning. Get off on a good start. Relearn the basics. It will give you more confidence, and it will help you with your grammar." The H scoffed at me. "I think this book is much better," he said, showing me an Advanced English book. "Mmm, okay," I said, "but the problem is, this is a book for high school seniors preparing for the SATs. I think this is going to be way too hard for you."
To be continued....
So the day we decided to try speaking English this is more or less what happened:
H: So now we speak in Eenlgish?
Me: Okay. What's up?
H: Mmm. Eh. Tomorrow I must to go to work and I must to go to zhere, ze labo.
Me:.....Um....What?
H: I say to you, tomorrow I must to go to work and zen I must to go to zhere. Ze labo.
Me: Okay, I think we have a problem....
So that went on for a couple of weeks. The H invariably always started his sentences with "I must to..." The first day this happened, I was all, "You don't must to. You must. I must go to work. I don't must to go to work. I don't must to see this movie." The next day: "So", says the H, "I must to see if I ave light for ze lamp." "I MUST SEE" I said loudly. "Ah, uh, yes, I must to see..." "NO!!!!!" I screamed. "WHAT DID I JUST SAY?????" Then I tried a different tactic: "Forget about must. It's awfully restrictive and official. As in "Welcome to JFK International Airport! You must present this form to a U.S. Customs Officer!" Try saying "I have to go...", I suggested.
That tactic did not work. H continued with the must to be doing things, which was slowly driving me crazy. I mean, did he even HEAR me correcting him?
Then we went to New York for Christmas. H and I had given up on the speaking to each other in English because my patience had been completely drained and it always ended up with me shouting "NO!!! WHAT DID I JUST SAY??" Which admittedly was not very nice of me, but it had been a good 6 months and it was the same mistakes EVERY TIME. Plus, it was totally weird switching to English from French. So H was very excited as it would be his first trip to New York ever all by himself, and hopefully, some more patient English speakers with whom he could converse.
Now, a trip home to New York always includes a stop at Barnes & Noble. I spent the better part of an hour trying to decide which books to purchase. Of course, the H quickly got bored and I found him an hour and a half later in the Foreign Languages section. He was looking at the grammar books. "Hey," he said, "so I think maybe I should buy a book to improve my English," he said. "Well, I think that is an EXCELLENT idea," I said, plopping down on the floor. I browsed the titles and picked up a Beginner English book. "How about this one?" I suggested. "Oooh, look, it even has pictures!!!" H looked over my shoulder. "That's a beginners book!" he said accusingly. "Yeah. What's your point?" I asked. "My point," he said coldly, "is that that is a beginner book. I am not a beginner." "Um, yeah you are," I said. "No!" said H, flipping through the book. "Look, it is stuff like "what is your name?" and "where do you live?". I already know all this," he said pointedly. "Well, I don't think it would hurt for you to start at the beginning. I mean, your grammar is a huge mess. All those prepositions flying everywhere. I think you should forget everything you learned at school and start all over from the very beginning. Get off on a good start. Relearn the basics. It will give you more confidence, and it will help you with your grammar." The H scoffed at me. "I think this book is much better," he said, showing me an Advanced English book. "Mmm, okay," I said, "but the problem is, this is a book for high school seniors preparing for the SATs. I think this is going to be way too hard for you."
To be continued....
Friday, November 9, 2007
Kevin Has A Mullet
All last week, the H was off shooting in Reims (shooting a movie, not wildlife).
He returned home on Wednesday and last night I brought up that NYT article that I had linked to in a previous post.
Me: I read an article in the NYT that says that French people named Kevin or Jennifer have a hard time getting a job because their names are Kevin or Jennifer. Is that for real?
H and SIL: (simultaneously) Well, duh!
H: Everyone knows that Kevin is from a poor white trash family.
SIL: Yeah, and Kevin's parents watch too much daytime TV.
H: Yeah, the same goes for Jennifer's parents. She gets her clothes from Leclerc.
SIL: Oh, and Kevin has a mullet.
Me: Why does Kevin have a mullet?
SIL: Because. He just does. Because Kevin's parents watch too much TV.
Me: So? I don't get why Kevin has a mullet because his parents watch too much TV.
H: Because Kevin's parents live in the ghetto, or they live in the trailer park. Of course Kevin is going to have a hard time getting a job! You don't call your kid Kevin.
Me: Why not? Kevin happens to be a nice name. Kevin doesn't always have a mullet. Look at Kevin Spacey. He doesn't have one.
SIL: That's different. Kevin Spacey is American.
H: You don't get it because Kevin is an anglophone name, so it's very common.
Me: Yeah, so what's your point?
H: Kevin doesn't exist in France. It's like if named your kid Brandon because you are a big fan of 90210. Or if you name your kid Phoebe because you are a fan of Friends.
Me: Well, Brandon and Phoebe are perfectly good names.
H: Ah, to you they are normal names, but to the French it just means you watch too much TV because you are from a poor family.
Me: Well, this is all just very bizarre. What if Kevin wants to work in finance, and he can't because his name is Kevin?
H: Oh, Kevin doesn't want to work in finance.
Me: Well how do you know? Maybe Kevin has a passion for numbers. Maybe he likes math and he likes money. Let's say Kevin gets rid of the mullet and goes to HEC and graduates at the top of his class, cause he's really good at business but then he can't get a job because his name is Kevin, so his parents are from a poor family. Isn't that kind of unfair?
H: Kevin doesn't want to go to HEC.
Me: How do you know?
H: Because Kevin knows he has no chance of getting into HEC. Kevin's dad doesn't work in finance, so Kevin will not be working in finance.
SIL: Yeah. Kevin's going to keep his mullet and he'll probably be on welfare like his parents. No one is going to hire Kevin.
H: Yeah, Kevin wouldn't dream of working in finance. He doesn't aspire to things like that because he knows it's not going to happen.
Me: Maybe Kevin doesn't like living in the trailer park. I don't get why he wouldn't want to leave and work in finance if he likes numbers.
H: No. Kevin doesn't dream about stuff like that. He's never going to have a cool job where he makes tons of money. It's just impossible. That's just the way life is here. Kevin is from a poor family, and he is going to stay that way.
SIL: Yeah, 'cause his name is Kevin, so Kevin is going to be just like his parents. And even if he was good at numbers and stuff, he still doesn't have a chance.
Me: What about Jean-Pierre?
H: Oh, Jean-Pierre totally goes to HEC and is going to be like, the president of Crédit Lyonnais. Or Airbus.
SIL: Yeah, Jean-Pierre's dad is in finance already. So Jean-Pierre can work in finance too.
Me: Doesn't all this bother you?
H: No, it doesn't bother us because this is how it is in France. See, you're American, so you are considered naive, because you firmly believe that Kevin with the poor parents can become rich if he works really hard. But the truth is, that is almost impossible for Kevin. His dad doesn't work in finance. So Kevin doesn't know the right people. This is just the way life is.
Me: Ugh, how depressing. You are all just mean, MEAN people.
H: Um, you realize that "Kevin" doesn't actually exist? As in, you don't actually know any French Kevins?
Me: (all huffy) It's the PRINCIPLE that counts.
He returned home on Wednesday and last night I brought up that NYT article that I had linked to in a previous post.
Me: I read an article in the NYT that says that French people named Kevin or Jennifer have a hard time getting a job because their names are Kevin or Jennifer. Is that for real?
H and SIL: (simultaneously) Well, duh!
H: Everyone knows that Kevin is from a poor white trash family.
SIL: Yeah, and Kevin's parents watch too much daytime TV.
H: Yeah, the same goes for Jennifer's parents. She gets her clothes from Leclerc.
SIL: Oh, and Kevin has a mullet.
Me: Why does Kevin have a mullet?
SIL: Because. He just does. Because Kevin's parents watch too much TV.
Me: So? I don't get why Kevin has a mullet because his parents watch too much TV.
H: Because Kevin's parents live in the ghetto, or they live in the trailer park. Of course Kevin is going to have a hard time getting a job! You don't call your kid Kevin.
Me: Why not? Kevin happens to be a nice name. Kevin doesn't always have a mullet. Look at Kevin Spacey. He doesn't have one.
SIL: That's different. Kevin Spacey is American.
H: You don't get it because Kevin is an anglophone name, so it's very common.
Me: Yeah, so what's your point?
H: Kevin doesn't exist in France. It's like if named your kid Brandon because you are a big fan of 90210. Or if you name your kid Phoebe because you are a fan of Friends.
Me: Well, Brandon and Phoebe are perfectly good names.
H: Ah, to you they are normal names, but to the French it just means you watch too much TV because you are from a poor family.
Me: Well, this is all just very bizarre. What if Kevin wants to work in finance, and he can't because his name is Kevin?
H: Oh, Kevin doesn't want to work in finance.
Me: Well how do you know? Maybe Kevin has a passion for numbers. Maybe he likes math and he likes money. Let's say Kevin gets rid of the mullet and goes to HEC and graduates at the top of his class, cause he's really good at business but then he can't get a job because his name is Kevin, so his parents are from a poor family. Isn't that kind of unfair?
H: Kevin doesn't want to go to HEC.
Me: How do you know?
H: Because Kevin knows he has no chance of getting into HEC. Kevin's dad doesn't work in finance, so Kevin will not be working in finance.
SIL: Yeah. Kevin's going to keep his mullet and he'll probably be on welfare like his parents. No one is going to hire Kevin.
H: Yeah, Kevin wouldn't dream of working in finance. He doesn't aspire to things like that because he knows it's not going to happen.
Me: Maybe Kevin doesn't like living in the trailer park. I don't get why he wouldn't want to leave and work in finance if he likes numbers.
H: No. Kevin doesn't dream about stuff like that. He's never going to have a cool job where he makes tons of money. It's just impossible. That's just the way life is here. Kevin is from a poor family, and he is going to stay that way.
SIL: Yeah, 'cause his name is Kevin, so Kevin is going to be just like his parents. And even if he was good at numbers and stuff, he still doesn't have a chance.
Me: What about Jean-Pierre?
H: Oh, Jean-Pierre totally goes to HEC and is going to be like, the president of Crédit Lyonnais. Or Airbus.
SIL: Yeah, Jean-Pierre's dad is in finance already. So Jean-Pierre can work in finance too.
Me: Doesn't all this bother you?
H: No, it doesn't bother us because this is how it is in France. See, you're American, so you are considered naive, because you firmly believe that Kevin with the poor parents can become rich if he works really hard. But the truth is, that is almost impossible for Kevin. His dad doesn't work in finance. So Kevin doesn't know the right people. This is just the way life is.
Me: Ugh, how depressing. You are all just mean, MEAN people.
H: Um, you realize that "Kevin" doesn't actually exist? As in, you don't actually know any French Kevins?
Me: (all huffy) It's the PRINCIPLE that counts.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Guess who's coming...?
My MIL!
The in-laws are coming over on Saturday.
This is a very strange turn of events as they generally don't come to Paris unless it is important - like if they need to do work on the apartment, or dropping SIL (yes, the SIL lives with us - don't get me started) and all her stuff off at the apartment.
But apparently the in-laws are not planning to do any work on the apartment this weekend, so I'm not sure what the motive behind this visit is. I just hope she is not coming solely to tell us about yet another flaw in the American health care system.
Oh, well. At least MIL will bring us stuff like laundry detergent, dishwasher detergent, and olive oil. And she most likely will have some gluten-free cookies for me. Yum. Except she always puts coconuts in them and I hate coconuts, but haven't worked up the nerve to tell her this. (I hate the taste and even the smell of them and don't get me started on the texture...it gives me the creeps). See, I'm pretty sure I must have mentioned the whole coconut-hating thing like maybe two years ago, but I guess she forgot. So one day she made a nice batch of freshly baked gluten free coconut vanilla cookies and she went on this whole speech about how she made them "especially for Parisian NewYorker, poor thing, she can't eat normal cookies like the rest of us". I was actually very touched by the gesture, so I couldn't really bring up my passionate loathing of all things coconut, because not only did I not want to hurt her feelings, but I felt like it would be very rude of me.
This has thus led to like, 25 batches of coconut cookies and while I appreciate this extremely kind gesture (because, aside from the coconuts, they are the best gluten free cookies I have ever eaten) I have been forced to eat all the cookies when I all I really want to do is have some sort of magical power where I can just extract all those coconut shreds and make them disappear. I even pleaded with the H for him to gently break it to his mom that I hate coconuts, but he has steadfastly refused. Now it's been almost 2 years of coconut cookies and it is way too late for me to tell her, "Hey MIL, love those cookies, but I happen to have an extreme hatred for all things coconut, so next time, could you just not use them? Thanks, that'd be great!"
I don't know, I mean if I were in her shoes, I'd be pretty pissed off at me too.
EDIT: Just found out that the in-laws have cancelled for this weekend. I must admit that I am quite relieved - no coconuts!
The in-laws are coming over on Saturday.
This is a very strange turn of events as they generally don't come to Paris unless it is important - like if they need to do work on the apartment, or dropping SIL (yes, the SIL lives with us - don't get me started) and all her stuff off at the apartment.
But apparently the in-laws are not planning to do any work on the apartment this weekend, so I'm not sure what the motive behind this visit is. I just hope she is not coming solely to tell us about yet another flaw in the American health care system.
Oh, well. At least MIL will bring us stuff like laundry detergent, dishwasher detergent, and olive oil. And she most likely will have some gluten-free cookies for me. Yum. Except she always puts coconuts in them and I hate coconuts, but haven't worked up the nerve to tell her this. (I hate the taste and even the smell of them and don't get me started on the texture...it gives me the creeps). See, I'm pretty sure I must have mentioned the whole coconut-hating thing like maybe two years ago, but I guess she forgot. So one day she made a nice batch of freshly baked gluten free coconut vanilla cookies and she went on this whole speech about how she made them "especially for Parisian NewYorker, poor thing, she can't eat normal cookies like the rest of us". I was actually very touched by the gesture, so I couldn't really bring up my passionate loathing of all things coconut, because not only did I not want to hurt her feelings, but I felt like it would be very rude of me.
This has thus led to like, 25 batches of coconut cookies and while I appreciate this extremely kind gesture (because, aside from the coconuts, they are the best gluten free cookies I have ever eaten) I have been forced to eat all the cookies when I all I really want to do is have some sort of magical power where I can just extract all those coconut shreds and make them disappear. I even pleaded with the H for him to gently break it to his mom that I hate coconuts, but he has steadfastly refused. Now it's been almost 2 years of coconut cookies and it is way too late for me to tell her, "Hey MIL, love those cookies, but I happen to have an extreme hatred for all things coconut, so next time, could you just not use them? Thanks, that'd be great!"
I don't know, I mean if I were in her shoes, I'd be pretty pissed off at me too.
EDIT: Just found out that the in-laws have cancelled for this weekend. I must admit that I am quite relieved - no coconuts!
Monday, November 5, 2007
Let The Panic Begin
I like my MIL. Really, I do. She is a good person, has a kind heart, and goes out of her way to bake me gluten-free treats like cakes and cookies.
But despite all this, I just cannot take going to the in-laws every weekend. It always turns into one giant stress-fest.
My MIL like to panic about things. I get the distinct impression that she needs to panic about something, anything. I guess it gives her something to do?
The last time we went to the in-laws for the weekend, I walked into the kitchen in the morning to get coffee only to find MIL seated with the H at the kitchen table. MIL was saying, "We have to find a way for you to have health insurance coverage from Frane, and which will cover you in the U.S. Did you know that 64 million people don't have health insurance in America? And you know, you can't even go to the emergency room to be treated because they have to call your insurance before they treat you in the ER to make sure they will cover you. Otherwise, they are not allowed to treat you! I mean, god forbid you have to go to the ER! You could die while they are waiting for approval from the insurance company! And if you don't have insurance they won't treat you AT ALL!!!!!!!" I decided at this point to have my coffee in the living room.
At lunchtime, MIL said, "You know, all this technology is just so bad. I mean, they say that cell phones give you cancer! And can you imagine what Wi-Fi internet waves do? I mean, they can kill you ten times worse than cell phones! You young people really should not be using wireless internet at all, and you all really need to be careful about cell phone use." To which I replied, "Okay, first of all, we are all going to die at some point. It could be tomorrow, it could be in 50 years. It could be from cancer, or it could be just from crossing the street. You can't pick where, how, and when you are going to die, so why should anyone deprive themselves of anything? I say live life to the fullest and don't worry about dying. In any case, when your time comes, your time comes, and you don't really have a say in the matter. Besides, no one knows anything yet about wi-fi internet or cell phone cancer cells, so I don't think anyone should spend their time worrying about things like that."
MIL got very upset. "This is not the way you should be thinking," she lectured me. "You should take precautions to take care of yourself. I mean, you are very morbid with your thinking that everyone is going to die someday, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't take care of yourself. I mean, really, I am just SHOCKED by your MORBID thinking. You think it's fine to die, but what about your loved ones? Imagine you should die tomorrow, what would happen to my son? What if you had children and you died when they were young? Don't you think it's selfish to deprive your loved ones of your presence? You should be thinking about how to PROLONG your life for the sake of your family. You should WANT to live to be as old as possible. You should NOT be thinking that you will die someday!"
"Well," I said calmly (as MIL had worked herself up into quite a state), "It's not like I really have a choice..." "But YOU DO!!" screeched MIL. "Don't you see? You need to limit your internet and cell phone use!" "Whatever," I said dismissively. "I am not going to deny myself the pleasures in life. And I do not want to live to be 125 years old. I should think I would be very tired and I hope that my children would be mature enough to take care of themselves by then. When my time comes, I'm not going to argue about it. Death is a natural part of living." I figured the subject was finished, but that didn't stop MIL from muttering about how wrong and morbid and selfish I was throughout the rest of lunch.
After lunch, MIL went back to worrying about the health insurance issue. She told her son, "Make sure you get a webcam when you are in America, so I can see for myself that you are alive and well. I mean, what if you get into an accident and you have to go to the ER? They won't treat you because your insurance might not accept the treatment, and then you will die! Oh my god, I can't bear the thought of it! You know, those Americans are such barbarians. Did you know you can get vitamins over the counter WITHOUT A PRESCRIPTION? I mean, so many people die every year because they diagnose themselves and BUY VITAMINS and they overdose on them and kill themselves! Did you know that 64 million Americans don't even have basic health insurance from the government? I mean, this is a country where their government doesn't even CARE ABOUT ITS OWN CITIZENS! They don't provide even the most basic, necessary services like welfare and unemployment, let alone HEALTH CARE. Parisian NewYorker says people order food from restaurants to be delivered to their apartments! Talk about barbaric! You make sure you do not let her order food every night. Eating food from restaurants is really bad for you - you could die from eating too much restaurant food and not enough home cooking...that's why everyone is so fat in America..."
Ironically enough though, the H tells me she has been hard-core pushing the idea of 18 year old SIL and her boyfriend coming to stay with us for the summer once we move to New York. It's really funny all of sudden, it has become quite an advantage to have a barbaric American in the family. Now the two 18 year olds can visit another country for the first time in their lives and have some international exposure - I am loving how the MIL spends the day explaining all the barbaric aspects of America, with its population of morbidly fat, stupid non-French speaking people neglected by their own government, yet it is the epicenter of culture and learning and a great place for her daughter to spend an entire summer.
Of course, now the MIL is panicking about the youngsters getting their passports.
But despite all this, I just cannot take going to the in-laws every weekend. It always turns into one giant stress-fest.
My MIL like to panic about things. I get the distinct impression that she needs to panic about something, anything. I guess it gives her something to do?
The last time we went to the in-laws for the weekend, I walked into the kitchen in the morning to get coffee only to find MIL seated with the H at the kitchen table. MIL was saying, "We have to find a way for you to have health insurance coverage from Frane, and which will cover you in the U.S. Did you know that 64 million people don't have health insurance in America? And you know, you can't even go to the emergency room to be treated because they have to call your insurance before they treat you in the ER to make sure they will cover you. Otherwise, they are not allowed to treat you! I mean, god forbid you have to go to the ER! You could die while they are waiting for approval from the insurance company! And if you don't have insurance they won't treat you AT ALL!!!!!!!" I decided at this point to have my coffee in the living room.
At lunchtime, MIL said, "You know, all this technology is just so bad. I mean, they say that cell phones give you cancer! And can you imagine what Wi-Fi internet waves do? I mean, they can kill you ten times worse than cell phones! You young people really should not be using wireless internet at all, and you all really need to be careful about cell phone use." To which I replied, "Okay, first of all, we are all going to die at some point. It could be tomorrow, it could be in 50 years. It could be from cancer, or it could be just from crossing the street. You can't pick where, how, and when you are going to die, so why should anyone deprive themselves of anything? I say live life to the fullest and don't worry about dying. In any case, when your time comes, your time comes, and you don't really have a say in the matter. Besides, no one knows anything yet about wi-fi internet or cell phone cancer cells, so I don't think anyone should spend their time worrying about things like that."
MIL got very upset. "This is not the way you should be thinking," she lectured me. "You should take precautions to take care of yourself. I mean, you are very morbid with your thinking that everyone is going to die someday, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't take care of yourself. I mean, really, I am just SHOCKED by your MORBID thinking. You think it's fine to die, but what about your loved ones? Imagine you should die tomorrow, what would happen to my son? What if you had children and you died when they were young? Don't you think it's selfish to deprive your loved ones of your presence? You should be thinking about how to PROLONG your life for the sake of your family. You should WANT to live to be as old as possible. You should NOT be thinking that you will die someday!"
"Well," I said calmly (as MIL had worked herself up into quite a state), "It's not like I really have a choice..." "But YOU DO!!" screeched MIL. "Don't you see? You need to limit your internet and cell phone use!" "Whatever," I said dismissively. "I am not going to deny myself the pleasures in life. And I do not want to live to be 125 years old. I should think I would be very tired and I hope that my children would be mature enough to take care of themselves by then. When my time comes, I'm not going to argue about it. Death is a natural part of living." I figured the subject was finished, but that didn't stop MIL from muttering about how wrong and morbid and selfish I was throughout the rest of lunch.
After lunch, MIL went back to worrying about the health insurance issue. She told her son, "Make sure you get a webcam when you are in America, so I can see for myself that you are alive and well. I mean, what if you get into an accident and you have to go to the ER? They won't treat you because your insurance might not accept the treatment, and then you will die! Oh my god, I can't bear the thought of it! You know, those Americans are such barbarians. Did you know you can get vitamins over the counter WITHOUT A PRESCRIPTION? I mean, so many people die every year because they diagnose themselves and BUY VITAMINS and they overdose on them and kill themselves! Did you know that 64 million Americans don't even have basic health insurance from the government? I mean, this is a country where their government doesn't even CARE ABOUT ITS OWN CITIZENS! They don't provide even the most basic, necessary services like welfare and unemployment, let alone HEALTH CARE. Parisian NewYorker says people order food from restaurants to be delivered to their apartments! Talk about barbaric! You make sure you do not let her order food every night. Eating food from restaurants is really bad for you - you could die from eating too much restaurant food and not enough home cooking...that's why everyone is so fat in America..."
Ironically enough though, the H tells me she has been hard-core pushing the idea of 18 year old SIL and her boyfriend coming to stay with us for the summer once we move to New York. It's really funny all of sudden, it has become quite an advantage to have a barbaric American in the family. Now the two 18 year olds can visit another country for the first time in their lives and have some international exposure - I am loving how the MIL spends the day explaining all the barbaric aspects of America, with its population of morbidly fat, stupid non-French speaking people neglected by their own government, yet it is the epicenter of culture and learning and a great place for her daughter to spend an entire summer.
Of course, now the MIL is panicking about the youngsters getting their passports.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
The Name Game....again
Here's a link to an interesting article in the NY Times today.
It discusses the trends of first names in France, which are a pretty good indicator of your class, social status, and background, and how it can be a hindrance when job-hunting.
I happen to know a guy who is of Arab origin, with an Arab first name, who attended HEC (France's equivalent of something like Wharton Business School). He even comes from a somewhat wealthy family; yet upon graduation from HEC he couldn't get a job. He finally had his first name officially changed to Marc and voilà, he landed a job almost right away.
It discusses the trends of first names in France, which are a pretty good indicator of your class, social status, and background, and how it can be a hindrance when job-hunting.
I happen to know a guy who is of Arab origin, with an Arab first name, who attended HEC (France's equivalent of something like Wharton Business School). He even comes from a somewhat wealthy family; yet upon graduation from HEC he couldn't get a job. He finally had his first name officially changed to Marc and voilà, he landed a job almost right away.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Computer woes
Oh dear....yesterday, my lovely Powerbook G4 died on me....
It was quite frustrating. In fact, I had been wipping around the internet, doing my usual daily tour (NY Times, WWD, etc) when all of a sudden my computer froze. I left it alone for awhile, vacuumed the apartment, then came back to find it was still stuck. I tried to force quit, but that didn't work. I finally had to just press the power button for awhile until the computer shut off.
Then I turned on the computer again - to find that I was perpetually stuck at the login screen! I went and turned on the H's computer, a now ancient Power Mac G4, and scanned the apple.com support pages. I tried everything to turn on my computer - meaning a various cocktail of buttons such as command-shift-power button, etc etc etc. I finally managed to get the computer past the login screen, but then everytime I clicked on something (hard drive icon, Mail icon, etc) the computer would freeze.
Finally in sheer desperation, I called the Mac Customer Support line in the U.S. The technician informed me that my Apple Care Extension Plan (the one that costs like $300 or something) had expired back in February and I would have to pay a whoppig $50 for her to solve my problems over the phone. I said fine, whatever, and gave her my credit card number.
After a good 45 minutes, she couldn't get the computer to start either, and said I needed my installation CD in order to get the computer to start again, and to run disk aid on it. I explained that I didn't know where the CD was - I was pretty sure I had brought it to France awhile back, but I turned the entire apartment upside down looking for the damn thing, with the sinking realisation that the CD just might be at my mom's house in the U.S.! She saaid it would be possible to send me a new installation CD at a small price, but wasn't sure she could send it to France from the U.S. She put me on hold for 15 minutes and then came back to tell me that I would be transferred to Apple France customer support. Unfortunately after a good 10 minutes, the line was still busy, so she gave me the Apple France phone number, said she wouldn't charge me the $50 for the non-help, and hung up (after wishing me a nice day, of course).
And so I had to call Apple France, one of those horrible 0825 numbers that costs a zllion dollars a minute. In typical French fashion? I waited a good 15 minutes before someone picked up the phone on their end; I explained that I needed an installation CD mailed to me and the technician was all "Well, it will cost you mone, you know." "Yes," I said, "but could you tell me how much?" The technician sighed and said, "Well, I can't tell you that right now, it's very complicated to just check the price." "Yes," I replied, patience wearing thin, "but if I order the CD, you're going to have to tell me how much it costs anyway, no? I mean, I'm not going to just buy something without knowing the price!" "Yes, yes, of course," she muttered. "Hold on while I check." Of course, I was then put on hold for 10 minutes before I GOT CUT OFF!!!!!! I was really miffed about it, and then I ended up calling back a couple of hours later to explain how I was so rudely cut off after 30 minutes on the phone on a very expensive phone number, then I ordered the CD (it only cost €95) and it should arrive here soon via UPS.
The H is pretty annoyed about the whole thing, pointing out that I am going to buy another computer soon for sure now, so why bother paying for the CD, until I explained that lazy person I am, I had not gotten around to backing up all the wedding pictures, which are ALL in my computer.
Now I am stuck using the H's giant mammoth of a computer - not only is it an inconvenient desktop, but it is so old that it runs on OS 10.2! Granted, my Powerbook is only on 10.3, but still...10.2 seems so outdated compared to 10.3. The H is once again furious with Apple, raging that the whole thing is a rip-off what with their stupid OS systems and how you get screwed over when they come out with a new OS - your computer becomes unbelievably outdated in a matter of 2 years. Plus I guess I am just so used to working on a laptop now, plus my computer is so organized in its files and programs that everything is basically all linked together (my email accounts, etc - now I have to log into like 3 different sites just to check all my of email accounts). I guess I will be pretty scarce for the next few days until the CD gets here.
Oh, Mac. How I love your computers, but why do they always literally die on me after about 3 1/2 years? I love how I spent the $300 for the Apple Care Plan, which lasts 3 years, yet I never have an issue where I need to call in for help, but bam! Just slightly after the 3 year mark is when I start having problems, and then you all charge me for customer support! Not cool, Mac, not cool.
It was quite frustrating. In fact, I had been wipping around the internet, doing my usual daily tour (NY Times, WWD, etc) when all of a sudden my computer froze. I left it alone for awhile, vacuumed the apartment, then came back to find it was still stuck. I tried to force quit, but that didn't work. I finally had to just press the power button for awhile until the computer shut off.
Then I turned on the computer again - to find that I was perpetually stuck at the login screen! I went and turned on the H's computer, a now ancient Power Mac G4, and scanned the apple.com support pages. I tried everything to turn on my computer - meaning a various cocktail of buttons such as command-shift-power button, etc etc etc. I finally managed to get the computer past the login screen, but then everytime I clicked on something (hard drive icon, Mail icon, etc) the computer would freeze.
Finally in sheer desperation, I called the Mac Customer Support line in the U.S. The technician informed me that my Apple Care Extension Plan (the one that costs like $300 or something) had expired back in February and I would have to pay a whoppig $50 for her to solve my problems over the phone. I said fine, whatever, and gave her my credit card number.
After a good 45 minutes, she couldn't get the computer to start either, and said I needed my installation CD in order to get the computer to start again, and to run disk aid on it. I explained that I didn't know where the CD was - I was pretty sure I had brought it to France awhile back, but I turned the entire apartment upside down looking for the damn thing, with the sinking realisation that the CD just might be at my mom's house in the U.S.! She saaid it would be possible to send me a new installation CD at a small price, but wasn't sure she could send it to France from the U.S. She put me on hold for 15 minutes and then came back to tell me that I would be transferred to Apple France customer support. Unfortunately after a good 10 minutes, the line was still busy, so she gave me the Apple France phone number, said she wouldn't charge me the $50 for the non-help, and hung up (after wishing me a nice day, of course).
And so I had to call Apple France, one of those horrible 0825 numbers that costs a zllion dollars a minute. In typical French fashion? I waited a good 15 minutes before someone picked up the phone on their end; I explained that I needed an installation CD mailed to me and the technician was all "Well, it will cost you mone, you know." "Yes," I said, "but could you tell me how much?" The technician sighed and said, "Well, I can't tell you that right now, it's very complicated to just check the price." "Yes," I replied, patience wearing thin, "but if I order the CD, you're going to have to tell me how much it costs anyway, no? I mean, I'm not going to just buy something without knowing the price!" "Yes, yes, of course," she muttered. "Hold on while I check." Of course, I was then put on hold for 10 minutes before I GOT CUT OFF!!!!!! I was really miffed about it, and then I ended up calling back a couple of hours later to explain how I was so rudely cut off after 30 minutes on the phone on a very expensive phone number, then I ordered the CD (it only cost €95) and it should arrive here soon via UPS.
The H is pretty annoyed about the whole thing, pointing out that I am going to buy another computer soon for sure now, so why bother paying for the CD, until I explained that lazy person I am, I had not gotten around to backing up all the wedding pictures, which are ALL in my computer.
Now I am stuck using the H's giant mammoth of a computer - not only is it an inconvenient desktop, but it is so old that it runs on OS 10.2! Granted, my Powerbook is only on 10.3, but still...10.2 seems so outdated compared to 10.3. The H is once again furious with Apple, raging that the whole thing is a rip-off what with their stupid OS systems and how you get screwed over when they come out with a new OS - your computer becomes unbelievably outdated in a matter of 2 years. Plus I guess I am just so used to working on a laptop now, plus my computer is so organized in its files and programs that everything is basically all linked together (my email accounts, etc - now I have to log into like 3 different sites just to check all my of email accounts). I guess I will be pretty scarce for the next few days until the CD gets here.
Oh, Mac. How I love your computers, but why do they always literally die on me after about 3 1/2 years? I love how I spent the $300 for the Apple Care Plan, which lasts 3 years, yet I never have an issue where I need to call in for help, but bam! Just slightly after the 3 year mark is when I start having problems, and then you all charge me for customer support! Not cool, Mac, not cool.
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