There comes a time in every relationship when things that used to seem charming become downright annoying. It used to be cute when I’d try to go to a shop on Wednesday afternoon and found everything closed, for example. Ah, those French, I’d say to myself, They work to live; they obviously don’t live to work. How refreshing. How quaint.
But today as I’m rushing to the library across town to return my overdue books before I have an appointment with Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrement, I was not at all pleased to find it closed. On a Thursday. Apparremently it’s closed all day every Thursday. And Monday. And of course Sunday. I guess being open four days a week for eight hours gives the people who work there almost the full 35 hour French work week, if you count opening and closing.
No big deal. It’s not like lots of libraries at home don’t keep weird hours. I’ll just drop off my books in the drop box. And I start looking for one.
There is none.
No drop box. No drop box. Who on earth would think to build a library without a drop box? They can’t be that expensive. They don’t create any more work really. Maintenance costs virtually nothing. And they make life so much easier! I thought maybe it was just the one library. Nope. I asked Professor McGonagal and she said that they don’t have anything like that. Not even in England or Scotland!
France has imported Marilyn Manson, Coca Cola, and Pizza Hut. I even saw a kid wearing tennis shoes with $100 bills printed all over them (it’s all about the Benjamins, baby.) I heard at a party here once the dictum “Culture is like jelly- the less you have, the more you spread it.” And wondered whether they were talking about the US. Well, one is not forced to import anything. Why on Earth do other countries insist on importing the most fattening, tasteless, violent, money-worshipping exhibits of culture America has to offer? It’s almost as if we completely ignored champagne but were all about promoting the use of the guillotine, then went around talking about how macabre and violent the French are. (ok, it’s a stretch, but you get the point.)
I have a plan to ease international tension. I propose that they close down just a few McDonalds in the area and send all the employees all around France to various local libraries promoting the elegantly ingenious device in use all over the States: The drop box. “It will save your clients time and trouble!” they will say. “Wow,” the bibliotechaires will say. “Americans aren’t so stupid after all. This makes a lot of sense!” Perhaps in a counter-gesture of goodwill they will send someone over to teach all the Starbucks people how to make coffee.
Things really aren’t so bad here. I ran into the nice lady who lent me the money to dry my laundry last year. Apparently it was just closing time but because she trusts me she’s letting me stay with the doors locked until my laundry is dry as long as I don’t let anyone in. She has four grandchildren, two still in the oven. She knows one is a boy, as are the two she’s already seen and she’s pulling for another girl. Is there a patron saint of baby’s sexes, anybody?
But today as I’m rushing to the library across town to return my overdue books before I have an appointment with Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrement, I was not at all pleased to find it closed. On a Thursday. Apparremently it’s closed all day every Thursday. And Monday. And of course Sunday. I guess being open four days a week for eight hours gives the people who work there almost the full 35 hour French work week, if you count opening and closing.
No big deal. It’s not like lots of libraries at home don’t keep weird hours. I’ll just drop off my books in the drop box. And I start looking for one.
There is none.
No drop box. No drop box. Who on earth would think to build a library without a drop box? They can’t be that expensive. They don’t create any more work really. Maintenance costs virtually nothing. And they make life so much easier! I thought maybe it was just the one library. Nope. I asked Professor McGonagal and she said that they don’t have anything like that. Not even in England or Scotland!
France has imported Marilyn Manson, Coca Cola, and Pizza Hut. I even saw a kid wearing tennis shoes with $100 bills printed all over them (it’s all about the Benjamins, baby.) I heard at a party here once the dictum “Culture is like jelly- the less you have, the more you spread it.” And wondered whether they were talking about the US. Well, one is not forced to import anything. Why on Earth do other countries insist on importing the most fattening, tasteless, violent, money-worshipping exhibits of culture America has to offer? It’s almost as if we completely ignored champagne but were all about promoting the use of the guillotine, then went around talking about how macabre and violent the French are. (ok, it’s a stretch, but you get the point.)
I have a plan to ease international tension. I propose that they close down just a few McDonalds in the area and send all the employees all around France to various local libraries promoting the elegantly ingenious device in use all over the States: The drop box. “It will save your clients time and trouble!” they will say. “Wow,” the bibliotechaires will say. “Americans aren’t so stupid after all. This makes a lot of sense!” Perhaps in a counter-gesture of goodwill they will send someone over to teach all the Starbucks people how to make coffee.
Things really aren’t so bad here. I ran into the nice lady who lent me the money to dry my laundry last year. Apparently it was just closing time but because she trusts me she’s letting me stay with the doors locked until my laundry is dry as long as I don’t let anyone in. She has four grandchildren, two still in the oven. She knows one is a boy, as are the two she’s already seen and she’s pulling for another girl. Is there a patron saint of baby’s sexes, anybody?
posted by Etrangère | 2:07 AM
1 Comments:
tell me about it! but apparently it's the same in Jolly Old England, so professor McGonagall tells me...
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