Polish beatles

October 10th 2007

Eating my lunch on a park bench in Paris today, I was thinking I should write more about little day to day stuff. But then I realized that my day to day is actually pretty boring and who wants to read that? Anyway, let’s give it a try, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Today I had to go to a hospital in Paris to pick up a special medicine that I can’t get in the pharmacies. I already mentioned this in a previous blog The witch at the pharmacy (I haven’t seen the witch in a long time).

I go in and there’s 6 people waiting. Great, I’m screwed. It’s going to take an hour I thought. See there’s no line, no “take a number”, nothing. Just a room full of strangers who are bound by the unofficial French code that forbids talking to strangers in public. It was like this at a laboratory I used to go to. Total chaos.

I remember one incident at the lab, two people came in together. My seat had an empty seat next to it so I got up to give them my seat and another. I thought it was very thoughtful. 15 minutes later when the woman says “next” I get up to go to the counter and the guy to whom I generously gave my seat goes up to the counter as well. His wife claims that he’s next, as if she’s an official judge handing out a verdict. I can’t believe what’s happening. I told them I was next and I pulled out my paperwork for the secretary so that there would be no discussion.

Were they doing it on purpose? I really don’t think so. I think the French don’t pay any attention to strangers and all they think about is being next. They probably thought I was leaving, and then saw the other me sit down after them and figured they were there before me. I know it sounds crazy but I do think that’s what happened. But then again I’m naive.

It’s sad but after a few experiences like that, one stops giving up their seat and other nice gestures. Get burned one too many times and you learn your lesson. And when you share a city with 10 million other people who’ve also learned their lesson, it can get a little unpleasant.

Back in the pharmacy, one of the employees came in to call one of the people waiting and I politely informed her that I had this special medicine which can only be dispensed by an intern (not sure why, I think it’s an attempt to make the interns do the more difficult work). A few minutes later a woman calls out “the patient with the ATU”. I heard her but before I could even think of moving a muscle a woman had practically ran to the counter. I’m not sure if she didn’t understand or if she was just trying to avoid me effectively cutting line (technically I was in a different line, one that fortunately for me happened to be empty). The intern threw a bag of medicine at me and I was out of there in no time. Cool.

I found a large quiche at the boulangerie (bakery) next door and got a piece to go, along with an almandine which is a little round tarte full of pate d’almonds (almond paste) complete with a fake cherry on top. I found a bench across the street in in the park that wasn’t occupied by drunk SDF (homeless people) like the others and had a nice relaxing lunch devoid of cigarette smoke and slow waiters. The quiche was pretty good, and the almandine better, all for 5.60 euros.

On the way to the metro I walked past a small fountain that presumedly comes from a spring under Paris. I once saw a report on tv about them, they’re all over. And the water that comes out is as good as the bottled water you buy. In fact, in some cases, it *is* the bottled water you buy. One company actually bought the rights to bottle it up and sell it. The whiff of urine kind of distracted from the experience though and I sped up as fast as I could. This is insane I thought to myself, usually the urine smell is in the metro and I’m in a hurry to get out.

As I’m writing this, On the metro back to work, a musician gets on and I instantly recognized him and his song. “Imagine” by the Beatles. It’s funny hearing a Beatles song with a Polish accent. The song instantly took me back to 4 years ago when I used to hear his music on the train to Saint-Lazare in the mornings. I know he’s Polish cause I spoke with him once as we got off the train. He seemed pretty nice and I wonder how he’s doing. Obviously he’s making money at it or he would be fixing faucets by now.

Just a few more stations until I’m back at the office where I’ll quickly post this and get back to pretending to be working (just kidding!)…

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Comments

1 Comment so far

  1. Jenny on December 21, 2008 9:33

    Well, since this was your test run for deciding whether writing about your daily life in Paris was worth about, I would like to say “yes!” Even though it was written over a year ago and I’m the first to reply, I quite enjoy reading about these sorts of goings on for Americans in France. I’ll be going back to Spain soon to study, but in between summer and fall classes I’ll be spending about 7 weeks with French friends. Anything that can help me better understand the culture to avoid faux pas as well as the “typical” mindset (as if there is such a thing really) to explain the miscommunications that we have sometimes is great!

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