An American in Provence

I've decided to hire a cleaning lady.
Except that the cleaning lady is me.
I figure, instead of paying someone else to clean our apartment, I'll pay myself to do it.
I think 10€ net per hour is the going rate, don't you think?
I figure I am worth at least 10€ per hour.
As I have every-other Friday off, I'll use those Fridays to clean up the place and get those tiresome chores, like taking out the recycling, done, then have the entire weekend off.
The money I make will be for whatever I want – new clothes, perfume, makeup, accessories, a nice jewelery box, silk scarves, etc. And I certainly won't feel guilty about it!
Now the only problem is that 100€ = 10 hours of cleaning. Sigh.

You would have thought that a (human) dishwasher who was doing the dishes by hand for two + years would welcome the arrival of a (machine) dishwasher. But no.


I constantly have to tell my (human) dishwasher "Put the dishes in the (machine) dishwasher! That's what we bought it for, for goodness sake!'


(Human) dishwasher: Oh but it's (too time consuming, uses too much water, we don't have enough dishes...)

Ahhh!


I have to literally force (human) dishwasher to use the (machine) dishwasher.
I just don't understand it.


Then there's the whole "You run it because I don't know how."
It's really quite easy Mr. PhD. You unwrap the little square of detergent, put it in the plastic holder, close the door of the holder, close the door of the machine dishwasher, push the on button, select the Eco option, then push the Go button.

It's like Magic!

Lately the (human) dishwasher has been putting dishes in the (machine) dishwasher, but somehow I am still the one that has to start it and unload it.


I came back from two weeks away, and found that the human dishwasher had not used the machine dishwasher in the two weeks I was away. Rather, the plates that were in the machine dishwasher since before my departure were still there, unwashed, with mold growing on the bits of food left on the plates. Fabulous.

The human dishwasher had used the same plate, knife, fork, spoon, and glass the whole two weeks, washing them after each use.

Le sigh. I'm back.

Time for everyone's favorite topix (I know it's mine) : Ear Wax.
After the first episodes I have been rather diligent about cleaning my ears.

No, this time it is something different. More specifically, it's Wax in my Ears.

After just about going bonkers at work due to the street musicians (and by bonkers I mean crying in the bathroom and my boss looking at me with a concerned look and going to a psychologist for anti-anxiety medication)
I contacted some companies that make custom-made earplugs with special filters for high-noise environments. After making the order in July, I was finally contacted on Monday by a traveling ear imprint specialist. She was in the area and wanted to stop by and take my mesurements.
Um, okay, sure.
She came to my work during lunchtime and we went into the meeting room. She took out all her equipement and showed me how it works.

She started by putting a small piece of cotton, like the end of a q-tip, in my ear canal to prevent the wax from touching the ear drum.
Then she pulled out a pistol that mixes the wax with something else, and inserted the wax in each ear. I felt kinda stupid, sitting there with bright blue wax plugs in my ears, and was hoping no coworkers would come in. After a few minutes, she pulled out the plugs, a perfect shape of my inner ears. Too bad for you all I wasn't able to get a picture of them.

Personally, I think I have great looking ears.

Then it was done. She will send the imprints to the company in Germany that makes the custom silicone plugs, and I should get my earplugs in about three weeks.

Here's hoping they work. Because really, I can't handle a nervous breakdown right now.

She has been in France for five years now.

On Monday, three days before the official 5-year anniversary, she re-submitted her file to obtain French nationality, hoping that even French bureaucrats wouldn't be so picky as to send it back for being filed three whole days ahead of time.

Woke up at 5:40, did a quick ten minutes of exercise, then shower, catch up on emails and blogs while eating a yogurt, out the door at 6:30 to drive to Aix. Parks in the parking garage, gets to her office a few minutes after 7. It is her favorite part of the day- calm, no people in the streets, cool, quiet. Nobody else has arrived at the office and won't for at least another hour.
She prepares her tea, turns on her computer, then surfs the internet or writes in her journal until about five minutes before 8 when her Frenchman calls to make sure she arrived okay. A quick conversation that takes place after his shower and before his breakfast. It is a habit that they have picked up over the years of working. They don't call each other throughout the day unless it is necessary, but a quick "I made it, have a good day" every morning.

At around 8 she begins working- reading CaseLaw, responding to Official Notices from the Patent Offices, working on the drawings for a new patent to be filed.
The Others start arriving around 9 and say hello but no Bises here.

At around 12:30 she leaves to go to La Poste in the Centre Ville- swerving tourists with their cameras, tour groups, and the little white train, she makes it to La Poste, takes a ticket, waits to be called. One package sent to the US for 25€, then quick to Chez Paul for her favorite sandwich, tomate mozzarella as well as a macaron au chocolat to be shared that evening. At 1, her French class starts, once a week, usually the mondays, in a little café on the main square in front of the Hôtel de Ville. Dictée, verb tenses, conversation while sipping a cappucino. At 2, the official time she landed in Marseille, back to work for the rest of the afternoon. One or two Nespresso espressos throughout the day, earplugs and calming medication to try and not go nuts with the street accordion player, then around 6:30 she starts to get ready to leave. It is summer so it is still light out, but fewer tourists out in the streets now.

On the road, back to Marseille. Usually less traffic at this time of night, but can always run into heavy traffic due to concerts at the Stade Velodrome or the Dôme.

She arrives around 7:30 and luckily manages to find a parking spot right in front of their building. Getting to be quite an expert at parallel parking, as well as accepting the fact that no car remains undented for long in Marseille, she swings right into the parking spot, no problem.

For dinner, quick pasta and tuna, her Frenchman's favorite, while they watch a TV series episode together, then she heads to her desk to study for a few hours before falling into bed before 11. It is hot, so they leave the fan on and the windows open all night long.

And that is the 5-year anniversary of French residency.

She has been in France now for two years. Her part-time 5-month contract did not turn into a full-time offer, so she continued to search, month after fruitless month, for a job. She was, quite frankly, astounded that she was not snapped up right away, especially as there are many small, medium, and large businesses in the area with her specialty. When her Frenchman told her that it might be very difficult for her to find a job in France, she nodded and said "Yes, I understand"; while secretly thinking to herself "I've never had a problem finding a job before, why wouldn't they snatch up an English speaking person with a Master's?"
Only to find that while the French might lament to each other their deplorable English skills in private, in the business world they are quite offended that their speaking and writing skills are not up to snuff and that a native English speaking person might actually be able to speak and write English better. In short, they feel threatened and firmly close the door.
At the end of October, they bought their first property, and moved in the first half of November, only to be quickly confronted with major renovations.
A few weeks before Christmas, they pulled out the bathtub, and she (very naively) thought that it would only take a week or so to re-do, it should be done before they leave for the US for Christmas.
In the US, they spend an interesting two weeks snow-bound with family, but at the end, she isn't too eager to return to France- spending all day at home, in a messy apartment with no shower, trying to find a job, depressed, and having serious thoughts about killing the neighbor's dog.
She has joined a "Club de Jeunes Diplômés" whose aim is to use networking and informational interviews to try and make contacts. The idea is to contact companies that you are interested, and not say that you are looking for a job, but just that you would like to find out more about what they do, and ask to have a 30 minute discussion with someone from their company who does what you are interested in. Then, if they say okay, you go (with several copies of your resume) talk to the person, find out more about what they do, and try to find out (at the end) whether they are hiring and, if not, whether they know anyone else who is.
She scores a few interviews this way, but once she goes to them she suspects they accepted because they (youngish Frenchman) thought it would be amusing to meet une américaine.
At the end of February, she finally gets a job offer- Project Manager for an industrial company, something she has no clue about, but will take anything at this point, as it isn't teaching English to rugrats.
The first few (days, weeks, months) are very hard. She hasn't "worked" in the proper sense of the term for almost two years, and never in an industrial environment and never all in a foreign language. Plus a few train strikes added in that double the commute time and stress, and the months pass very very slowly.
The bathroom is finally finished, so she can take actual showers now, instead of taking them at the gym near her work.
Her Frenchman is going to spend August working on the apartment, as usual, and since the factory is closing for a week, she is going to stay home and help him.
She keeps sending out resumes, hoping for something else, even though, as her Frenchman reminds her, it pays well and many people would be very happy to have it, given the unemployment rate. She remembers how long it took her to find a job and how depressed she was, and agrees.

Saturday morning, while Alain was preparing the small bedroom for painting, I decided to make a quick trip to IKEA to pick up some more baskets to arrange things in. Now that we are (finally! knock on wood!) getting towards the end of our Odyssey, we will need to start actually arranging things. While it was fun stepping over piles of stuff on the floor for a year, now we are going to start putting the junk away. Too bad we don't actually have a storage space in the basement...

But that's another story, and one I don't particularly want to think about right now. Or ever.

So we decided to buy 4 more of a medium-sized basket that we had previously bought to put next to our couch to hold my sewing items, magazines, blanket, etc.

I left for IKEA at little after 9, planning on getting there early in order to get in and out as quickly as possible before the hordes descend. I got there, went through the mandatory route through the top of the store (living rooms, bedrooms, kitchens, etc), went downstairs and went through the self-service section (cooking supplies, linens, bathroom items, lights, paintings, kid's toys) all the way to the end where they store the decorative items (plants, candles, baskets). Got to the basket section, and all that was left was one large basket. I asked a worker what had happened to the others, and he said that they had been put on sale and that there were no more left. What a bummer! I left and returned to Marseille. I decided to call the other store right near Marseille (there are two in this area, we live about in the middle between them but usually prefer to go to the first one as it is easier to get on/off the autoroute and it doesn't have the Parking Garage from Hell). Except that I forgot that many national chains are no longer posting the individual telephone numbers of their stores- you have to call a central (toll) number for information. While I was at the store, I should have asked the guy to call the other store and find out for me.

I called and waited for about 15 minutes before finally getting through to someone. I just wanted to ask if the other store, La Valentine, had any more of these baskets in stock. After much hemming and hawing and several euros added to my phone bill, I got a firm "Je ne sais pas". So I got back in the car and headed off. By this time it was getting towards noon, so I knew it would be much more difficult to get in and out of the store. However, this time I was able to slip in to the bottom part, without having to go through the entire store. There were tons of baskets left! I picked out four medium ones, paid (39€ each), stuffed them into the backseat (just barely) and headed back towards Marseille, getting completely lost and finally taking an entirely new route back home.

We painted them white, using the spray gun, after Alain finished painting the bedroom white. Now they are drying and don't look too bad. Going to fill them up and put them on top of the armoire in our medium bedroom.

She has now been in France for exactly one year.
She and her frenchman have been married for almost TWO WHOLE MONTHS now, and she still gets a secret thrill from being called Mrs. or saying "my husband".
Her French courses are now over, and most of the friends she made have left to return to their home countries, as they were only in France for a year to be a fille au pair.
She and her frenchman have signed an agreement to buy an apartment, and plan to move in November.
She still doesn't have a job, but desperately searches the internet when she gets a chance. She has signed up with the local job search agencies. She is uneligible for unemployment, big surprise, but is able to benefit from their courses on how to write a resume, how to write a cover letter, etc.
She is also working 10 hours per week for five months, May to September, from home for a company that does technology watch. She hopes that it will turn into a full-time job once the five-month contract is over. It would consist of traveling to different conferences all over Europe, meeting with different people, talking about new technology, then writing up reports.
She spends the weekdays at home alone, sitting in front of the fan, hauling their laundry to the laundromat, lugging groceries up three flights of stairs, and going to see one of her friends for lunch every Friday. On the weekends they go to visit his family or nearby monuments and museums, which they actually have time to do since they don't have an apartment to renovate. In August, they will be going to Italy for their honeymoon.
She is starting to feel comfortable in France, and not quite so homesick.

Alain and I have decided to have an Emergency Chocolate System installed in our apartment.
Actually, it is required as part of our Husband Life Insurance Plan.

For those of you, in particular men, who don't know what I am talking about, I will explain it to you.
All the women already know what I mean, and don't need to read any further.

Gentlemen, are you married? Do you have a girlfriend?
If so, then you should really consider having one of these installed in your home.

I've heard that there is bill before Congress that will make it a law in a few years.
Ladies, write to your representative.

This is how it works:

1) Wife buys a chocolate bar and brings it home.
2) She gives it to Husband.
3) He confirms that he has received the chocolate bar. (A log book can be used for this, with the date, event, and signature of each party)
4) He then proceeds to hide the chocolate in a secure location, unknown to Wife.
5)When an EMERGENCY situation arises, Husband retrieves chocolate bar and gives it to Wife.
Obviously, this insurance policy is null and void if Wife hides the Emergency Chocolate herself, because it will not be available when the emergency situation arises.
7) Once the Emergency Chocolate has been consumed, the process repeats.

If Husband wants a back-up insurance plan as well as extra Good Husband Points, he should secretly buy another chocolate bar, and hide it in a second secure, undisclosed location.
(These secure locations are preferably rotated on a regular basis. If wife discovers a secure location, either by accident or by intentional Search and Rescue of Chocolate Bar, then the secure location must be striken from the list.)
Here are some suggestions for secure locations where the wife is guaranteed to never find the Emergency Chocolate:
Within the sack of cement powder
Under the lawn mower
Between weights for weight lifting bench

Emergencies depend upon the peculiarities of the wife, and include but are not limited to the following:
- That Time of the Month
- Bad Day at Work
- Yet Another Question of "When Will You Have A Baby?"
- Spent All Day at the Prefecture Because of My Darn Carte de Sejour
- Dealt With French Customer Service
- Your Mother Stopped By Without Warning
- Laundry Machine Stopped Working and I Had to Wash Everything, Including Your 20 White T- Shirts, By Hand, Then Wring Them Out in the Sink and Hang Them up to Dry

If desired, Wife and Husband can agree on a Secret Passphrase, which when uttered by the Wife, the Husband is obligated to surrender the chocolate.
Here are some examples of Secret Passphrases:
"Give it to me NOW!"
"I can either bite the chocolate or your arm. It's your choice."
"I've already torn the house apart and can't find it."
"No, I don't care that your favorite football team is playing. I need my Emergency Chocolate."
"I will self-destruct in five minutes and I will take you with me."
"I will give up the chocolate if you take on my menstrual cycle in exchange."
"You deal with your emergency situations by yelling at the soccer coach on TV. I eat chocolate. Deal with it."

A Home Security Alert Warning System can be implemented, akin to the National Security Level.
Orange- Husband knows he had better watch what he says.
Red- Sirens go off, flashing red light, the works.
etc.

Further suggestions?

Where I used to go to college, the period between the return from Christmas holidays and early springtime was called "The Dark Ages".
Dark all the time, nothing to look forward to (like Christmas), nothing to stress over (like final exams), no football games, nothin' but the everyday drudgery.
Which is pretty much how I'm feelin' now.

Get up at 6 am every morning, even weekends (yeah, I'm cool like that. once Ye ol' internal alarm clock gets set there is no turning it off) in the dark. Leave at around 6:30 am in the dark. Drive to Aix in the dark. Park at the parking lot (you guessed it, in the dark).
Catch the shuttle in the dark to the centre ville.
Walk to my office, turn on my computer, make my tea, start work.
(still dark outside).

Work until 1 pm. Maybe go out for lunch, but it is rather cold and sometimes rainy, so sometimes I stay in (big mistake).

Leave a little after 6 pm, it's already dark out.
Actually, my work day ends at 5, but I have so much to learn/study that I might as well stay. Plus, if I get on the highway at 6 pm C'est l'enfer. I prefer to wait another half an hour and be able to (usually) drive directly home.
So I leave around 6:15, walk in the dark to the bus. Usually just miss it.
I could try to plan my arrival at the bus stop for a time just before the bus arrives. That would work if they ever arrived at a predictable time. Instead, you can pretty much guarantee that at any time you arrive, you will have just missed the bus and will have to wait for the next one, usually 10-15 minutes later, but a guaranteed 20 minutes if it's raining and you forgot your umbrella.

Get to my car. In the dark.
Drive back to Marseille. In the dark.
Find an illegal parking spot (the only kind left after 6:30).
Next morning: Repeat.

A fellow bus passenger told me to watch out for a new radar that has been installed on the Aix-Marseille route.
The only problem is that I haven't driven the highway in daylight since then (mid-November) so I don't know exactly where it is, whether it is in the direction Aix-Marseille, or Marseille-Aix, or both, or before the bridge or after the bridge, or right under the bridge.
I'll let you know in May where exactly the radar is.

This is something that I have been having trouble with lately. More specifically, keeping myself decently dressed.

Case in point #1: Shoes
I basically have two pairs of black shoes that I wear to work. Both date from at least 2004 and are starting to show it. One is a pair of low boots. A few months ago, the zipper fell off the left boot. Since then I have been using a paperclip. The insole came unglued and was getting all bunched up. I finally had to superglue it back in place. Both of the heels are getting unstable, which doesn't help when walking on the cobblestones of Aix.

The right shoe of the other pair has a huge crack in the sole. This doesn't normally cause a problem, but if it is raining out my foot gets soaking wet. Thought about taking off my socks and placing them over the radiators to dry, but I am not sure everyone else in my office would appreciate that. Yesterday morning the entire heel came undone except for a small piece of rubber that was holding it on. When I walked it was flopping around. What did I do? Yep, superglue.

It would be easier if I could just bring a pair of slippers to work.
I could get both pairs re-soled and the zipper replaced, but don't know when I will be able to do that and if it is worth it financially. Plus, I would have no shoes to wear to work besides high heels and my pink boots.
At this point I am just hoping that they will hold out until Les Soldes in January because I am not in the mood to spend 50+ euros for a pair of shoes that will be half as much in a month.

Case in point #2: Buttons
Buttons seem to be popping off all over, and I can't be bothered to sew them back on.
I bought two coats this fall, one grey one and one cream-colored one. A button came off the shoulder of the grey coat. I haven't yet had the energy to sew it back on. My scarf usually covers up the missing spot, so it is okay for now.
I also have a sweater that I keep at work (because it is freezing in this old building!). One of the buttons in the middle came off. Yep, still haven't replaced that one either.

Case in point #3: Pants
This isn't the worst problem to have, but all of my pants are falling off. Plus, at least two need to be hemmed.

Case in point #4: Forgetfulness
Yesterday I was sitting on the bus with my jacket on, and could not for the life of me remember what shirt I was wearing. And this was 7 pm at night. I had spent all day wearing the same shirt, but could not tell you which one it was.
It took me a good 30 seconds to remember. And it isn't like I have 50 different shirts. I have about 6 tops that I wear in the winter, so the fact that I couldn't remember which one out of six goes to show you something.

Summary:
Head to toe: Forgetful, hair in need of a haircut (last time was June), sweater missing a button, broken belt, baggy un-hemmed pants (slightly wrinkled as well), holey socks, and superglued shoes with paperclips for zippers. Super!

My gym is closed from July 30th to August 15th, so I have signed up for a nearby indoor/outdoor pool, run by the community.
Aquagem
It has several pricing options, less expensive if one is a resident. I chose the 10 hour option for 22€ instead of the ten entry option (could stay all day if desired) for 42€. Every day I arrive, scan my card, enter through the turnstile, remove my shoes, and walk into the unisex dressing room. There are small cabins that you pass through to change, then go out into a general locker area. It is all quite open, evidenced by the direct view of the urinals one receives when walking towards the showers.
We are supposed to rinse off before going into the pool area. Then I must pass through a shallow pool, to further remove contaminents from my feet, before accessing the pools. There is a serious swimming only pool indoors with seating for matches, and then an indoor pool that is connected to the outdoor pool. The outdoor pools is nice, with jets of water in the sitting area, a waterfall to go under, little showers in the pool. There is a large grassy area where you can sit for free (and get covered in ants) otherwise you have to pay 1.30€ to use a lounge chair, which I found out when I got kicked out of mine on the third day (pretending I couldn't understand the sign didn't help). Mostly I just sit in the sun, and go in for a dip from time to time. I eat my lunch, read, listen to music, and then leave around 1:30 to rinse off (can’t get properly clean), then change as quickly as possible and get out, so as to not waste my precious minutes. Back at work, very sleepy and relaxed for the rest of the afternoon. But once the gym opens up or my hours run out, whichever comes first, I will stop going. Unfortunately for my pool habits, the heat seems to have broken. But fortunately for me in general this summer has been unusual cool, which is fine with me, seeing as how we don't have air conditioning at home.

6 am Monday-Friday: Way too early to get up for work
6 am Saturday-Sunday: Perfect time to wake up

During the weekdays, I wake up slightly before 6 am to get ready for work. This is way too early. I spend my time eating in front of the computer while checking out my favorite blogs and sending emails, getting dressed, preparing my lunch, and then head to the train station to catch the 7:04 (assuming they are not on strike).
On the weekends however, I make sure to turn off my alarm clock so that I can “sleep in”. Like clockwork though, I spring out of a bed at 6 am. Sometimes I can manage to sleep in until a whopping 7:30, but that is about max for me. Early mornings just seem the perfect time to drink a hot chocolate and surf the web. On Saturdays, I get up early in order to get in line for La Poste before it opens at 8 am. Then after usually about 15-30 minutes in line there (to deposit my paycheck, pick up packages, send letters, etc) I head over to do my grocery shopping.
I wish all the stores could come to an agreement on what time they open. Casino opens at 8 am. This is where I go to get slightly more fancy cheeses and specialty ingredients I can’t find at other stores. Monoprix opens at 8:30. They have some groceries, but also a selection of clothes, hair and beauty products, stationary, kitchen utensils, etc. ED finally opens at 9. This is where I go to get almost all fruits, vegetables, pasta, meat, cereal, milk, etc. Usually am done with all my errands by 9:30. It is best to go early on Saturdays to avoid crowds and the heat in the summer. By about 10:30, the stores are way too crowded for my tastes. Sunday mornings are when we buy two croissants and one pain au chocoat. Sometimes, when we are really feeling energetic, we go and run on the nearby track. But this isn’t very often.

Sunday evenings: reset my faithful Spanish speaking alarm clock which is about 17 years old now, it was given to us as a gift when we were in Ecuador. I have, unfortunately, forgotten almost all my Spanish but can always tell what time it is in Spanish since to find out what time it is, you have to push a button on the top and a voice tells the time in Spanish. I have looked for a French one, but have not found one yet. Cinco et cincuenta y uno pour la manana? That is way too early to wake up!

Today I was at the gym, eating lunch before it was time for the cardio class (there is a mess waiting to happen). I asked the instructor, a tall blond woman, a question about the class, and she heard that I am NOT FRENCH!! AHHH!!





This isn't even a rant for me, it is just DAILY LIFE.

Yes, gentle readers, it is that time again. Time for my monthly rant. Only this time, not about La Poste. I think that a) there is nothing left to say (that hasn't already been said) about how bad it is and b) I haven’t been subjected (knock on wood) to it lately.
No, my new topic is the SNCF. Yep, the trains. They decided to strike, again. Heaven knows why. All they will say is “Due to a social movement by a certain number of our employees...”I feel like going up to the desk and saying “Please! Explain to me what your problem is. Then I can maybe understand why it has become my problem for the past two months!” So I have been taking the bus from Marseille to Toulon, which takes a good 50 minutes. So glad I bought the monthly train subscription! I really feel they should be paying me back for this. So I have to walk to the bus stop, which takes a good, 10-15 minutes I would say. I could take a bus, and then switch, but they never come on time. So I wait about five minutes past the time they say that they are going to come, start walking, and have it wizz by me several minutes later. In defiance, when I take the train to go home in the evenings, I sit in first class. It is my own personal recompense. It is not like the difference between first and economy from New York to Paris. This is slightly better seats and less grafitti. I dare any SNCF ticket collector to come along, check my ticket, and try to fine me for sitting in first when I haven’t paid for it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Oh no. Hell hath no fury like a megan forced to put up with an entire country on strike for two months.
Alain thinks it is because of the elections coming up. Certain public sectors want to show that they are important and need to be dealt with by the new government, so they do this by making the Ordinary Citizen’s life miserable until the OC complains to the government, demanding that something be done. Hey, to make things really super duper, how ‘bout you throw in a garbage collector’s strike too? Seriously, they want more people to take public transportation for pollution, traffic, and parking spots reasons, but then make it infuriatingly impossible to actually get to work on time, or get home after a long day of work. The price is reasonable, but when you can’t count on being on time for work, one gets ready to say “Screw it, we’ll just buy a second car. To hell with the environment!”
Yesterday, I was sitting on the quai, reading the newspaper and waiting for the train. A guy comes up to me, dressed in a white t shirt and khaki pants, holding a SNCF blue hat. He asks to see my ticket. He didn't look like a ticket collector, he looked and acted like a guy trying to get my number. (He said it in the way that guys do when they think they've thought up a great pick-up line). I said no. He said -No, Why? Because you don't look like a SNCF ticket collector. -But I have this hat. Then show me some ID. (You never know, he could take my ticket and run off with it). Finally another guy (dressed in the full blues) comes up and asks to see my ticket. So I show it to him and complain about the strike. Vous faites chier à tout le monde!
This afternoon, on what would have been my day to get home early, I spent an hour playing musical trains. First it was quai 1 at 17:52. Then quai 2 at 18:12. Then quai 2b at 18:30. That train was announced, but then blew right past without stopping. Another train pulls up, the announcer says that it is going to Marseille, everyone piles on. And sits there for about 10 minutes until the message gets fully passed that no, this train is not going to Marseille. Everyone piles back off, goes back to quai 2 to finally catch a train at 18:55. Apparently it is because of the elections, because I overheard another guy talking about it. Wow, one more reason to love politics!

Lack of a job or classes to take is starting to make me focus my energy towards different areas. Nothing worthwhile like bettering my French or learning how to cook of course. No, instead I prefer to learn calligraphy, take up painting again, crosstitch like crazy, start to learn shorthand, and buy a recorder (hot cross buns, one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns, yeah you know what I am talking about.) Of course, my restless state of mind means that I pursue each of these activities (in between frantically searching on the internet for new job postings) for about two days before moving onto another pursuit. So I have half-finished scrapbook pages, wedding stuff that still needs organizing, and various other projects in various states of completion all around our apartment. Which is itself in a state of confusion. But it is getting there. I keep trying to remind myself that when I do have a job (okay, if) I will look back on this time with envy, when I had enough time to go to the grocery store, wait an hour in line at the post office, etc. But I can't enjoy it now because I feel frustrated and frazzled.

I am a self-confessed train dork. For absolutely no reason, I really enjoy riding on trains, even though it stresses me. Always worried I will end up in Spain instead of my intended destination.
Though I usually like my train riding to be for a purpose (job or vacation, not just for the purpose of riding a train). This past week, I received two phone calls from two "cabinets de recruitement" head-hunting firms. One was in Paris and wanted me to come last Wednesday (Valentine's) and the one in Dijon wants me to come this coming Wednesday, the 21st. The jobs I am/was interviewing for are here in this region however.
The ANPE, which stands for who knows what, is the national job search agency. They will pay for plane or train tickets to go to an interview. The companies rather abuse this in my opinion. I think if a company is interested in a candidate, they should foot the bill. Oh well.

So I went the next day to the ANPE office to get the forms to then go to the train station and reserve my tickets. I spent several hours at the ANPE because the companies had not sent me the correct attestations. The attestation needed to list the time, CORRECT date, name of the post, the company, location of the interview, whether it is for a permanent post or not, etc. So I made some calls to the recruiment agencies, asking them to please fax the correct information to the ANPE. Furthermore, I had two interviews that afternoon, one information and one for a position that afternoon, so as much as I would have LOVED to spend all day at the ANPE, I couldn't. Finally I got the forms and headed off to the train station, Gare St. Charles, waited in line for about 15 minutes, got my tickets (paid 20 euros for my free tickets. Basically you have to pay the reservation which I am guessing means for them to hold the spot, not for the trip itself). Got home and got ready for my interviews and found out that I didn't need to go to the one in Paris the next day (bye 10 euros!). Would have been fun to go up there, but not just for a day.
We live closeby to the other train station in Marseille, Marseille Gare de la Blancarde. It is about a ten-minute walk from our apartment and serves the areas east of Marseille- Toulon, Nice, and further out.
On Friday I had another interview with a company in Aubagne, so I decided I would try to take the train and see how that worked. I left at 3 for my 5 p.m. interview. The trains are fairly regular, but not the buses. Paid my 5.40 for my aller-retour (round trip ticket), and took the ten minute commuter (stuffy, crowded) train to Aubagne. Got off, realized that I had just missed the 3:30 bus to where I needed to go. Got some information on the bus routes, got on the 4 p.m. bus to go to my interview. Was sitting there (another 1.10 down the drain) when I got a call from the secretary, saying that they needed to reschedule my interview for next week. Got off the bus before it left, took the train back to Marseille, walked home.
So today I got to repeat the whole procedure (actually made it to the interview this time), and then am going up to Dijon on Wednesday, which I am looking forward to. I have never been there, and planning on spending the afternoon wandering around Dijon before taking the TGV back (3:40 hours direct).

(photo courtesy of www.train-suisse.ch/)

So if I should get this job in Aubagne, I will be quite pleased to take the train every day. A monthly ticket is 28.40 euros, which is much cheaper than gas would be, without the added pain of traffic jams and searching 20 minutes for a parking spot.

These two books "A Year in the Merde" and "Merde Actually" by Stephen Clarke are about an Englishman named Paul West, who moves to France. They were recommended to me by my friend Hanna.
(Merde, for anyone who doesn't know, means s***)
You can "être dans la merde" to be in the s***
"merde alors!" Oh s***!
J'ai merdé à l'examen! I really screwed up the exam
merdeux/merdeuse: to feel s***ty
un petit merde: a little s*** (like the annoying kids next to me on the Metro the other day)
merdique: s***ty
emmerder: to get on someone's nerves
emmerdeur/emmerdeuse (make sure you get the right form for the right gender) someone who is a big pain
demerder: to get by, manage, get yourself out of s***

All of these definitions I took from the French-English dictionary. They take their s*** seriously.

I ended up reading the second one first, as I had bought it thinking that it was the first one. I finished it and went out and bought the first. So it is a bit disconcerting to read the first knowing what is going to happen (ie which girl he will end up with) but entertaining nevertheless. I am quite pleased to see some familiar themes explored- namely, frustrations with the Prefecture, french drivers, french food mishaps, strikes (namely transportation and garbage collectors), stepping in the merde, and trying to make oneself understood. Haven't read anything about La Poste yet, but perhaps the post offices are better in Paris. Also made me glad that I am not living in Paris. Marseille is big enough and culturally enough for me. It has enough museums, theaters, an opera, original version movie theaters, etc. to keep me happy. Furthermore, housing prices aren't sky-high (only skyscraper high) and it is close to other nice places to visit.


However, I do miss the American community.