Well, that was quick.
Crisp, smoky Paris with all its red and yellow leaves artistically scattered on the sidewalks has given way to rainy, chilly Paris, with the aforementioned leaves now acting as sludgy, hazardous land-mines waiting to clump on the bottom of your shoe and send you, flailing and awkwardly trying to right yourself, skidding to the ground in a very un-French manner.
This all means that flopping out of bed on any given morning to join the cramped Metro commuters journey into the real world is doubly as difficult, that lunch breaks are longer and cozier and that piping hot café crèmes are numerous throughout the day.
My umbrella—a flimsy, three euro contraption that would probably constantly break down in asthma attacks if it could breathe and backs down from a fight with a big bad rainstorm quicker than a schoolyard wimp faced with the 160 pound bully looking for lunch money—is not helping.
After powering through the first week of November in the Parisian workforce, I’ve learned two important things: First and most useful, the three no’s, one yes rule. Second, smoking can improve your life. Also, always say yes to coffee. So, three important things.
Really, the only thing you need to know about the smoking thing is that it buys you a break every 10 minutes, approximately. Take a phone call, take a smoke break. Write a paragraph, take a smoke break. I can’t help but be envious as I watch them effortlessly roll their cigs with one hand and stand outside, quietly pondering their next move.
So, in a warped, slightly manipulative sense of politeness, the French have an unspoken rule regarding the acceptance of small things; a coffee, a cookie, anything that in a normal red-blooded American setting would be wolfed down without a second thought. In following with this custom, the French usually refuse about three times, before giving in and accepting whatever it is you’re offering.
I’ve heard it said that the American willingness to say yes upon the first round of this game is often shocking to our baguette-wielding allies. This has been in the back of my head for quite some time now, and naturally, my first week of interaction with my coworkers proved that even if I’m prepared for these rules, I will still trip over my feet and metaphorically make an ass of myself, wet-leaves-on-shoe style.
Case file #1: I return from my lunch break with a packet of Fig Newton-style cookies. Looking to be friendly and non-piggish, I cheerily offer them to my colleagues. Translated accurately, of course, with my language barriers intact.
Me: “Anyone want fig cookie?”
Coworker1: “Oh no, no, that’s okay, thanks.”
Coworker2: “I’m good, thanks though!”
(Here I remember the rule and think with a Yoda-style intuition, “Aaaahh yes, lying they are. Cookies they want…”)
Me: “You sure? (shake of the cookie package) Big deal it’s not. I can’t eat all!”
Coworker1: “No, no, I couldn’t.”
Coworker2: “I just ate, really.”
Me: "It's not serious. I have lots."
Coworker1: (hesitant) "Well....no, no."
Me: (third time’s the charm) “Have cookie…”
Coworkers1 and 2: “We’d love one!!”
Honestly. Same situation, in an American office:
“Anyone want a cookie?”
“Cookies? Oh hell yes.”
End of story.
1 comments:
(Here I remember the rule and think with a Yoda-style intuition, “Aaaahh yes, lying they are. Cookies they want…”)
Me: “You sure? (shake of the cookie package) Big deal it’s not. I can’t eat all!”
I am rehving so hard at work. Also next time get Cadbury's luxury cookies... ive had about 5 today.
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