Working Overtime

Hello All,

So I worked forty hours last week, again, which will cause problems. Full time is 38 hours even at 8 hours a day (I don’t understand it either, I guess there’s no point pretending the last two hours on Friday accomplish anything), which I knew, but I didn’t realize I would get paid for a holiday. This has less to do with the French system I think than with the fact that I have never had a “real job” in the white collar sense of the term. But since I am technically still a temp it is still surprising.

On to more ‘livejournal’ items, since that is what everyone is clamouring for, I wager. Springtime officially arrived in Paris on Friday, when I stripped down to a T-shirt and the sun beat down through the concrete walls and into the office. The change in weather brought about some quick results in social interactions here, and I renewed contact with many people I haven’t seen in a long time and met new people, too.

Friday wasn’t meant to be for people, though. It was for replicants. All week I looked forward to seeing Blade Runner in a theatre, figuring it could only disappoint. It didn’t disappoint me, though it did drive all three females accompanying me out of the place after twenty minutes. Supposedly, it was the “cardboard cars” and “bad effects.” I can be a big apologist for CGI, but their counterexample was the lion in the latest Narnia movie, as a believable effect. I suspect there are other factors, but I was surprised and pleased that they waited the whole two hours for me in the café across the street. Ah, Europeans.

Saturday was more eventful. I’ll make it more entertaining by making a list.

13h : A good kick start was actually making it to the Barbès market for once, which is quite the feat. I didn’t have the money or appetite to buy all that much, as anything fresh looked ready to rot in my fridge by the end of the week and not much else.

14h30 : Meet up with Victoria “Not Tori Melnikow” at the visibly bourgeois Parc Monceau. Thankfully it didn’t get too boring in the sun because she brought English translations to work on once we lost interest in each others’ sordid dating life stories. Not too long after the homework reminded me how lucky I am to only work on weekdays, my ‘flatmates’ show up in full picnic gear. We drank Pimm’s until we ran out of Limonade and I volunteer to go get some more since I had brought nothing to this little get together.

So begins another adventure in Killiam!! First, I wait in line at the overpriced park stand only to find out they don’t take cards and I have no cash. I then leave the park and look for an ATM or the first shop I see, but I decide to go in the most residential direction possible somehow. Since the neighbourhood is so nice the residential areas are absolutely barren of commerce. Finally, I go back to the start and in the opposite direction and find a supermarket. Then I wait in line and notice another aspect of this ‘quartier’—old ladies everywhere. One of them starts to argue with the cashier about whether she gave her or ten or a twenty: sound familiar?

An hour later, I return with the one drink item which is now utterly irrelevant. Victoria, surely disgusted with my ineptness at this point, immediately leaves, and the whole group gets up to move to a café not too long afterwards. Efficiency is my area of expertise.

18h00 : This is the time I was supposed to show up under the Eiffel Tower to play “footie and drink wine” with friends of an American girl I met from the rival town to my dad’s Connecticut hometown. I believe I got back from the drink errand at about 18h30, and that was across town. Fashionably late was an understatement as I strolled over at about…

20h30 : Hey guys! So there were only four people left at this point, but it was nice because the Eiffel Tower started its big flashing lights thing every hour for the night. To get an idea of the kind of crowd this was, just know that every time the flashing lights turned on there was a big round of applause and cheers. Lights! Amazing! Even more juvenile, one of the girls suggested playing Never Have I Ever to finish off the cider and wine. I should probably hang out with people a bit closer to my age, but really we all know what’s more entertaining.

23h30 : Around this time the groups of kids on the lawn were friendlier than sobriety dictates, and groups disintegrated a bit. A small group of French girls taunted me about my blazer hanging off me like a coat on a kid, but still asked me to sit down with them. I wasn’t the only one, though, and I was only allowed to stick around because I was able to chase away the Jesus freak when necessary by sitting between him and his female recruit. I ended up going to a café with this group because I had to kill time while waiting for Roxana who had invited me to…

0h30 : Her friend’s place before going to a Britpop night at a rock club, Truskel. Inevitable awkwardness ensued as I watched the end of Prison Break with two strangers. At least, the guy had a Fender strat and decent effects set-up which awakened old, buried desires within me. For the guy, of course.

2h00 : We finally make it into the club at about this time after waiting in line twenty minutes. No cover charge, though, and what do I hear playing as I walk in but a New Order song off of Technique! Jackpot! Eureka! Not a bad start and most of the rest of the night was good, even if I couldn’t do vodka caramel shots with the young kids because they are disgusting. I settle for a beer, and proceed to navigate through a crowd thicker than a mosh pit with compacted people. Three highlights of the evening:

1) My pathetic, generic, and failed attempt at seduction while dancing with a girl during “Do You Remember the First Time?” by Pulp. Great song choice, right? It wasn’t the first time a girl has told me she came to a place “only to dance.”

2) Intervening in a conversation between above girl and two ‘britishers’ just to indulge in the power to “cockblock,” which I rarely have access to. As soon as one of them finds out I’m American he tells me to “piss off” and ignores me! His friend assumes the role of America-apologist and tells me his girlfriend is a Yank, as if I care. More interesting was to hear them matter-of-factly state that everyone feels that way, but wouldn’t act on it at such an individual level. One would expect that from French people, but the English? Interesting.

3) SWEET CHILD O’ MINE PLAYED BY THE DJ AND THEN CUT OFF RIGHT BEFORE THE MOST AMAZING SOLO OF ALL TIME STARTS. I don’t know what song he transitioned to but it definitely didn’t have Slash soloing in it. Needless to say, we were all screaming our heads off. To top it off, on our way out I thought I was about to hear the third New Order song of the night, “World in Motion,” but after 30 seconds it cuts out. I guess if amateur djs weren’t amateur then the music would be crap. Compromise sucks.

5h30 : Everyone else goes home and as their taxi pulls away and I prepare to go into the Metro, I see the familiar crowd pull of middle-school fights and their audiences. People are ooh-ing and aah-ing, “il l’a shooté!” and I see a black guy and a white guy running across the sidewalk sideways while swinging at each other. Then I see a group of guys basically kicking a guy on the ground, pretty much straight out of the movies. Traffic is stopped from the crowd gathered to watch the show. It’s funny how much less scary something like that is when the likelihood of a gun popping out is so diminished. Though I’m not sure if the loud noise I heard wasn’t a gunshot, I somehow don’t think so. I’d be curious to know what it was about, but I bet I’d be disappointed. The large women next to me seemed to think it had something to do with them.

What a day! In order to type all this I’ve brought the risk of falling asleep during the Jean-Luc Godard I’m going to tomorrow night from ‘possible’ up to ‘almost certain.’ I hope it was worth it!