Sorry is the hardest word

Two notes have appeared in my pigeonhole in the staff room over the past few weeks. They are letters of apology written by students from one of my classes.

“To mademoiselle l’assistante,
Hello. I’m sorry. I want apologize for missing your hour one week-ago. It’s very stupid, but with the holidays, the end years parties, I forgot it. Please forgive me. I can’t find another words.”

“Madame l’assistante,
I pray you will forgive me for my absence (or blackout). Unfortunately, I forgot that my number was up. Because of, on one hand, the holidays mades me lost my head, on the other hand, I had this day the “girls thing” I had a real bad stomachach. I’d like to save myself, but how? In conclusion, I am really sorry.”

The lesson they are both referring to happened in January, during the first week back after Christmas holidays. That week was quiet; several students from different classes were no-shows. However, this one group of 1e students (equivalent to Grade 11 back home) was particularly bad: all but one student skipped the class.

Upon hearing this, their outraged English teacher instructed them to apologise to me. I suspect the method of delivery was left up to the kids, which is why I received letters (the students here being extremely self-conscious and worried about their spoken English, especially when speaking to a native English speaker). However, I have received only those two to date (a fact that has outraged their teacher even more). Still, I find them interesting, and unintentionally hilarious. The misuse of certain expressions, the willingness to talk openly of personal issues, is charming. And their rather cryptic use of English is even somewhat poetic or philosophical at times (who hasn’t asked the universe, “I’d like to save myself, but how?”).

These notes serve a dual purpose: they make me smile, and they also give a hint as to the areas of grammar we should be working on in class! But perhaps most striking is their very existence. Think about it: when was the last time you heard of a 16 year-old offering a hand-written apology to his instructor when he skips school?

On strike (again)

Another general strike has been announced for this Thursday. This will be the third general strike that’s happened since I started working here in October. This time, however, seems different.

More people have voted in favour of this strike than did for the others, and it looks like there will be more people participating. There’s a blog that’s been created for workers, a sort of call to arms meant to motivate anyone still considering not striking. There are hopes that this strike will be the biggest since the 1995 general strike that crippled the country.

Oh, joy.

At least it means that most (if not all) of my classes will be cancelled that day, giving me more time to rest and recover from the terrible cold I have…

Photo: Grève Générale du 29 janvier blog

Telecom or tele-con?

From sunny skies to stormy weather. The best place to begin is the beginning…

On January 5th, I went to the closest France Telecom shop, in the next town. After waiting in line for 45 minutes, I finally was able to speak to someone. I said I wanted to sign up for internet and a phone line. I knew that my line hadn’t been used since 2005, which would necessitate a visit by a technician, resulting in a 110€ fee (55€ for the on-site visit, 55€ “service charge”). However, if I chose to use Orange (FT’s parent company) as my internet provider, then I wouldn’t have to pay the service charge. I had heard nothing but bad things about Orange, but decided to go with them for the economic benefit.

I had brought the phone number that had previously been assigned to my line, but was told that no action could be taken unless I also had the name of the previous occupant. As luck would have it, I had found an old phone bill stuck in a book that had been left behind in my closet. I came back to the apartment, retrieved the bill, and brought it back.

After waiting in line for another 45 minutes, I met with the same assistant who had seen me earlier in the day. She had told me that she needed the name as well as the number of the previous occupant to be sure the company would “turn on” the correct line (as there are many lines coming into the building, because it’s a school), thereby removing the need for a technician to come out (and therefore saving me 55€). However, when I presented her with the information she had requested, she told me that a technician would probably have to come out anyway, due to the fact that it had been so long since the line had been in use. So much for saving money on labour…

All this talk of different offers, technician visits, and the like had me worried about money. It was just after the holidays, of course, when I had been away on vacation, and wouldn’t be paid again for another month. I was worried about having to pay in advance for some services. But the woman assured me that I didn’t have to pay anything that day, and that all charges would be included on my first month’s bill.

She then went to the back room, and returned with two boxes for me: a modem, and a TV decoder.

Me: Oh, I don’t want the TV package.
FT lady: Ah, but the service is free.
Me: Free?
FT lady: Well, it’s included in the price. If you take just the phone and internet you’ll still pay the same price, so you might as well take the TV service too.
Me: But I don’t have a TV set.
FT lady: Oh. Well, you’ll probably get one in the future.
Me: No, I won’t. I don’t need one. So I don’t want the TV service.
FT lady: You should have told me that sooner.
Me: When I came in I said I wanted to sign up for a land line and internet. I didn’t mention TV.
FT lady: Well, the offer is internet + phone + TV.
Me: But you have an offer that’s just internet + phone.
FT lady: Yes, but everyone takes the triple offer.
Me: But I don’t want that offer. I just want internet + phone.
FT lady: Well, it’s too late now. I’ve already started the order.
Me: You can modify the order.
FT lady: Oh, I can’t do that, it will bug up the computer system.
Me: But I don’t want TV.
FT lady: But the system acts up when we try modifying orders. It might kick me out and then I won’t be able to do anything for you at all today.
Me: Fine. Finish the order, and then cancel it.
FT lady: Oh no, I can’t do that. An order can’t be canceled until it’s been processed. And that takes time.
Me: (sigh)
FT lady: It’s okay, we’ll complete the order and you can return the decoder later and the rental deposit will be reimbursed.
Me: Wait, you said I don’t have to pay anything today…
FT lady: You don’t. Except for the rental fee for the decoder box.
Me: But I don’t want the decoder!
FT lady: Well you have to take it when you order the TV package.
Me: But I didn’t even want to order the TV package!
FT lady: As I said, it’s too late to change your mind now.
Me: Since I never said I wanted TV, it’s not a change of heart.
FT lady: Well you can just take it and then return it. It will be much easier that way.

So she continued with the order. And as soon as she completed it, and handed me the box, I handed it back to her and said “Okay, I’d like to return this.”

FT lady: Oh, I can’t accept this now!
Me: You said I could return it after the order had been completed.
FT lady: Yes, but not today. The order has to be processed first. You can come back tomorrow.
Me: Come back here a third time in two days?
FT lady: I’ll attend to you personally, it won’t be any trouble.
Me: Fine.

So I forked over the 50€ deposit for the decoder that I didn’t want in the first place, and left.

On the train I pulled out the printout of my order. I was bothered by the fact that I had signed the documents without seeing the contract itself. (The order form basically states that by signing the order I agree to the contract – but they don’t provide a copy of the contract. They don’t even have the contract in the store: one has to look it up online. Is that even legal? So I’m bound by a contract I didn’t read. It felt wrong signing it, but I was so fed up I just wanted to get out of there.) As I looked over the printout I saw the details of the TV offer for which she had signed me up. I hadn’t read it earlier, because I knew I wouldn’t be taking it. Still, I was surprised to see that she had signed me up for a series of specialty channels and movie packages, totaling 15€/month over and above the regular monthly fee – despite the fact that she had never asked me about any “extras” at all!

The next day I returned with my poor, unwanted decoder. Stood in line for another 40 minutes. Saw a different assistant (so much for “I’ll attend to you personally”), who at first didn’t want to allow me to return the decoder. (“But you just ordered this yesterday! Give it some time, you might want to keep it.”) I started in on my story, when the assistant who had seen me the previous day appeared, and explained the situation to Assistant #2. (Of course, she flat-out lied and said it was my fault for having changed my mind about what services I wanted, and had neglected to tell her until after the order was done!) Assistant #2 finally accepted my return, and gave me the necessary documents releasing me from any financial obligations for TV services, and stating the decoder was no longer in my possession. Then she said “good day.” To which I replied, “Uh, my money?”

FT lady: Ah! We don’t reimburse here.
Me: Excuse me?
FT lady: We accept returns of products and cancellation of services, but we are not allowed to give you your money back.
Me: So, um, how do I go about doing that?
FT lady: Reimbursements are handled by head office, and are paid exclusively by cheque.
Me: And how do I go about receiving mine?
FT lady: Oh, you don’t have to do anything! It will be mailed directly to you.
Me: And when will this happen?
FT lady: Returns take three weeks to process.
Me: It takes one day to process an order, and three weeks to process a return?
FT lady: (shrugs)
Me: So it will be about 4 weeks before I see the money that I didn’t want to spend in the first place?
FT lady: (shrugs)

End of Episode 1. Stay tuned for further adventures…

Rejoice…

I’m back, after a two-week-long display of French arrogance and utter incompetence. Government bureaucracy and red tape? The plodding national education system? Rude strangers in the streets? Unfriendly coworkers? Not at all… I am of course talking about France Telecom, the national phone company.

Just thinking about them makes me want to scream. Or cry. I am so thankful that my dealings with them are over (for now).

But first, a moment to think about the good things: fresh baguette in my kitchen, bought minutes ago when it was still warm from the bakery’s ovens; fresh oranges and apples and the biggest pomegranate I’ve ever seen, bought Saturday at market; a new bottle of wine, just opened; and some rare sunlight, shining down on the town. The rainbow appeared in the morning the other day, and was gone mere seconds after I caught it on camera.

Oh and another good thing: I have steady access to the Internet again!

Coming soon: Adventures in telecom-land, Episode 1…

Merry Christmas (bis)

I added vinegar, dill, and onions to some French sauerkraut – that’s about as Ukrainian as I could get for dinner today!

I’ve been rather silent lately because I’ve lost the internet connection in my apartment. As you may or may not know, I’ve been using my neighbours’ connection since I moved in. Well, my days of free internet are over: my neighbours moved! I’ve been without internet at my place since Friday.

I’ve finally started the process of getting my own connection. (And what a fun process it is!) Just thinking about it makes my head hurt. I can fully sympathise with the former assistants who have written about being thrilled when their contracts were up, because it meant leaving France and never having to work or live here again…

Many happy returns

Everything I know I learned after I was thirty. -Georges Clemenceau

I guess this means your education officially began yesterday…
Happy (belated) birthday!

Out with the old…

I’m back in France, exhausted and still a little ill. But thrilled! In the last few days I’ve been to two countries I had never visited before (three if you count yesterday’s airport layover). I had a wonderful time, despite my terrible head cold. I saw many things, and have the pictures (and blisters) to prove it. But I haven’t the energy for all that now.

It’s 18:19 and I’m still in my pyjamas, and don’t plan on getting out of them at all today. One day soon I’ll start chronicling my recent adventures; until then, you’ll have to content yourself with my newly-created Flickr photostream. (Just click on the link here, or find it in the sidebar to the right.) Yes, despite my sore muscles and stuffy nose, I have been busy uploading pictures today. So go ahead and take a look, and leave a comment if something inspires you.

Do you see the “snow” falling on the blog? You see, I have to get my snow where I can, as there’s absolutely none to be found around here! But if you find it annoying, don’t worry: it will disappear in a few days…

Happy new year! A bientôt

Holly Days

Here I sit in my kitchen, at 9:44 on Christmas morning, a box of tissues beside me. I have a cough, some very angry sinuses, and a slight wheeze when I breathe. Isn’t it a lovely time of year to get sick?

Regardless of my state of health, I still made an attempt at creating a festive atmosphere for my favourite holiday of the year. Since I’m in Europe this Christmas, I figured I should celebrate in the European way – that is, putting the spotlight on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Day. Of course, in the French tradition, this involves many platters of finger foods, foie gras, and copious amounts of wine. In my apartment, it meant plates of cheese, crackers, dried fruit and nuts, fresh baguette, fresh fruit and veggies, and various types of chocolate – with some cheese ravioli thrown in for good measure. (One does what one can with what one has. )

My place being rather small, there wasn’t much room for a buffet-style set-up, but Slawek had the idea to take an old board that was stored atop my armoire and clean it up and place it between two chairs to act as a table. We ate, exchanged gifts, and watched Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean, among other things. Then came the champagne!

Several bottles around here were going for up to 200€… We opted for a much less extravagant, but still delicious bubbly (in a small bottle), which you can see above.

And this is the mess it left on my floor after Slawek popped the cork (which went flying, bouncing off the wall and ceiling, before landing on the floor, under the bed).

All in all, it was a quiet evening, but that was fine by me. In the day, we went around town to several shops, collecting food for the evening. We ran into the town’s Christmas procession in the afternoon: a horse-drawn cart containing several musicians playing Christmas carols, with a choir of children dressed as angels singing as they followed behind. The procession made its way to the church down the crowded pedestrian-only street lined with shops, which was already bustling with shoppers picking up last-minute gifts and foodstuffs. This is my first non-white Christmas in years, and that, along with the different ‘culture of Christmas’ here (compared to home), and being away from family, makes this a very different holiday. But I’m also glad to be able to experience a French Christmas – even if it is modified to suit the tastes and habits of a couple of Canadians.

There’s still one more gift to open this morning (I can’t give up all my Christmas traditions at once, after all!), and then it will be a day of rest and snacking – and I’ll get down to the business of ridding my body of these pesky microbes. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good day!

The never-ending story

I’m watching last night’s CBC Winnipeg supper-hour newscast. “A steady falling temperature right through to the weekend.” Meanwhile, on this side of the planet, ground is clear, save for a thin layer of frost. So far this fall, the coldest it’s been was -1 degree. My colleagues laugh at me, because while they are all bundled up in parkas and fuzzy hoods and thick gloves and boots, I’m wandering around in regular clothes with just a pair of gloves and a scarf to keep me warm.

I’m eating a brunch of chèvre chaud (my new favourite food) with a chunk of baguette and a small glass of wine. Yes, it’s only 10:30 in the morning, but after the week I’ve had, I figure I deserve it.

I’m happy to be teaching all day today; it means I have a break from government incompetence.

As you know, on Tuesday I was told by the person manning the information desk at the sous-préfecture to return the following morning at 8:45 to pick up a ticket. So yesterday morning I got an early start, but because my first train was 2 minutes late, I missed my second train. Still, I arrived at the sous-préfecture at 8:40. There was a man at the front door handing out tickets; when I arrived, there were only a few left! He handed me a slip of paper with the number 843 on it, and he told me to come back at 15:00. So once again, I turned around and went back to my town. (I’ve become well acquainted with the various train lines around here…)

I came back to the office at 15:05 – and saw that they were serving number 805… An hour and 40 minutes later, it was my turn. I went up to the desk, told the woman why I was there, and started handing over all my documents. She collected them all and looked them over, and told me that all of my documents were correctly filled out and that nothing was missing. Relief washed over me… until she handed everything back to me.

It was then that I was informed that “on mais non,” my type of visa is only dealt with on Mondays at 14:00.

Sigh.

However, the day was not a complete waste. I did find out that I have all the necessary documents, and was assured that everything would be completed on Monday afternoon when I returned (though I’m not sure that really matters, considering how things work here).

I’m not sure if this level of utter ridiculousness exists for French citizens, or if it’s simply a product of the way they handle foreigners here. Obviously, it would have been quite simple to let me know that my case could only be handled on a specific day at a specific time – if only someone had known what my case was. The trouble with the services des étrangers in France is that all dealings with the government are put under one roof, so to speak. All foreigners, regardless of status, are lumped together. I would think it would be infinitely easier to break things down: either by status (students vs. workers vs. refugees) or by services required (visas vs. work permits vs. immigration issues). But then, maybe that’s just an “anglo-saxon idea,” as my French colleagues say whenever I propose some way to streamline or speed up a process…

Either way, I have a few days’ reprieve before having to head back to the sous-préfecture yet again. But hopefully this time will be the last time (wishful thinking, I’m sure).

(More) red tape adventures

I feel like crawling in to bed and never getting out again.

Shortly after I finished work this morning, I made my way to the sous-préfecture, having been redirected there after my maraton 5-hour wait at the préfecture yesterday. I checked the hours and services beforehand (not that that makes any difference…). When I spoke to someone at the office, I was told I could indeed drop off my papers there, and that the office is open until 4pm on weekdays.

I arrived around 1:00. Unlike the préfecture, this sous-préfecture had a waiting room with chairs, and a take-a-number system, plus an information desk! I dutifully walk up to the machine and take a number. However, when my ticket pops out, there’s no number printed on it. Instead, it says “Due to high volume, the service is closed for the day.” I go to the information desk, to confirm that this does indeed mean I will be unable to speak to someone today, and the woman looks at me as though I’ve just crawled out from under a rock.

“Of course, we never give out tickets in the afternoon!”

- Um, why not?

“That’s just the way it is. You have to come in the morning.”

- But I called and was told I could come any time before 4…

“Oh yes, you can. But the tickets are only available at 8:45.”

- It’s impossible to get a ticket after that time?

“Yes. You must line up outside before the office opens, and get a ticket. Then you return later to speak to someone.”

- Could no one have told me this on the phone when I asked specifically about the process?

(No reply. She just shrugged.)

So I turned around and went back out into the rain. But wait! The fun wasn’t over…

As I was waiting at the train station, an elderly woman approached me and asked if I would mind helping her on to the train. She was very small, shorter than I, and shuffled along very slowly. Of course I agreed, and she took my arm and leaned on me while we waited for the train. She also asked if I would carry her bag for her; it was a large bag but was very light. Trouble was, I was carrying my own things too. So while she used one of my arms, I had my purse, her bag, my umbrella, and my folder filled with all my documents all under my other arm (because I needed to keep my hand free to hold the train doors open). The train approached, and although we set off for it immediately, the woman walked so slowly that we barely made it to the train before the doors closed. The woman needed an extra “boost” to get up on the train, and in doing so I dropped everything. The doors were already starting to close; I tried to pass the woman her bag but it was too late… And at the same time, my folder – filled with all of my official documents, plus my passport – slid under the train.

The train sped away, and I stood in the rain on the platform, with the woman’s bag in my hand. My purse and umbrella were on the ground beside me, while my folder – still intact – was lying between the train tracks, far out of reach. I ran down to the ticket booth to explain the situation, and a kind RATP worker pulled my folder to safety, using super-long pincers. All of my documents are safe and sound (if a little soggy and muddy). I then offered to take the woman’s bag to her (she had told me her stop earlier), but the officials said it would be best to leave the bag with them, and that they would call the other station to leave a message for the woman. I felt bad, but there was nothing else I could do.

So that was my afternoon. I arrived home soaking wet, exhausted, frustrated, and no closer to obtaining my work papers. Something tells me that tomorrow is going to be a long day…

Yes, the photo is of a giant chocolate bear. It’s in the window of one of the local chocolate shops nearby. But as he’s got his head in his paw, I thought he neatly summed up my sentiments on the day.