I'm not as efficient in this country as I was at home.
Thank heavens I have great friends who come to the rescue when I need help.
Before, if I needed home repairs or movers I could always do negotiations in Spanish or English and the job would be finished, no problem.
Here, I need help.
I have a Tagalog (Filipino) translator, Turkish friend and of course a French friend. Thank God for good friends!!
But sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands.
You need to feel like YOU did something for yourself, instead of others always helping you.
So, out of severe frustration, I got one thing checked off my "To Do List".
I go to the store, A LOT! I know all the ladies. I don't even want to know how much I spend on a weekly basis, Brandon would like this number, not me, I know it's a lot.
The magic number for "Livrasion" (delivery) is 50 Euros. You spend 50 Euros, you get Livrasion.
So today I pull my "chariot" (cart) up to the counter and she says, "Livrasion?". Which I say yes.
As I'm loading the cart, no they don't load it for you here, she says something and I look up. She says it again and points to a fresh new sign on the wall:
"75 euros Livrasion", my total is 68.00.
I give a puzzled look, as if to say, "Are you shitting me!? I'm here all the time and I spend a ridiculous amount of money, we can't make one exception?"
She does not respond to my look.
I ask if I can pay for delivery. She gives me a completely dumfounded look accentuated by the world's worst brows I have ever seen and eyes lines in a fresh shade of blue. I ask again. She says, No.
You know the box you were taught to think outside of in the States?
Well, that box is sealed tight here. No one gets out of the box.
I go for it.
Can I take the "chariot" home and then bring it back?
She looks puzzled again.
I swear it's the brows clouding up her thoughts.
The man behind me steps into rescue me or her, I'm not sure who needed it more.
After a moment, she agrees and then says leave a piece of identity.
I see you everyday. I know the delivery guy. He knows my door code.
Can I lock her in the BOX!?
Yes, I leave my identity and my pride at the Franprix.
Dear Chariot maker of France,
Put a bar at the bottom of the cart so one can maneuver over curbs, bumps and elevators. Also, it would help to balance the dang thing so you are not pushing a wonky cart down the sidewalk!
I now know why my guy just pushes the cart down the road and not the sidewalk. It does not roll well on the sidewalk!
Your laugh is not over yet.
That's me smashed in the tiny elevator with the cart. The acrobatics involved in opening the door and getting the cart and myself out of the elevator where worthy of an audience.