If there's one thing the French can't seem to wrap their heads around, it's the concept that the customer is always right. Though restaurants may hold the reputation, salesclerks really take the prize. I have never been to so many stores full of rude and useless workers than over these past few months. Take the vacuum shopping I did this week: I thought the challenge might lie in selecting the model. Little did I know. After coming to my decision, I spent a long time hunting for a salesclerk as no one had offered me assistance upon walking into the store. When I finally did stumble across one wandering the aisles not helping any customers, she told me she was busy and pointed me back to her co-worker flanked by a line of customers. These customers were completely clueless and the employee not much better off so I spent a good fifteen minutes waiting to purchase my vacuum only to discover upon paying that I would have to wait in yet another line to actually get my item. Here, I watched the line steadily grow as two of the three workers behind the counter wandered back and forth stacking items without the slightest concern for the increasing number of unhelped customers. When I finally reached the front of this line, I faced my most trying moment when the employee got distracted after finding my vacuum. Despite the fact that my purchase was in his hands, all of three feet away from my own, he began chatting with another customer who decided that lines really weren't for her, presumably unaware (or, more likely, unconcerned) that I might actually be interested in taking that vacuum and not spending my entire afternoon just hanging out in his electronics store.
In summary, French salespeople work something along the lines of: You want timely and helpful service? Well, I want to be skiing in the Alps, but we can't all have what we want, so deal. Arghh!
However, this weekend I had a couple of pleasant surprises. Yesterday while wandering around the rue d'Alésia I noticed a new boutique, Loulou Bazar. I'm not much for shopping but my wardrobe has yet to be enhanced by my living in Paris so I decided this would be the one stop of the day. The prices were pretty good and the clothing designed to fit tall people (finally! Despite my expectations about luck in clothes shopping in a skinnier country, many boutiques here are just teases with their great outfits designed for tiny women.) I was even pleasantly surprised by the friendly yet not overly pushy saleswoman. After I was let to decide what I wanted to buy (a cute sweater dress and the nice little coat pictured here), she proceeded to make a bit of friendly small talk about the crazy snowstorms hitting the US (in French, thank you! So many salespeople insist on forcing their English upon anyone with an accent.) It's funny how many little elements of everyday life change when you move abroad: even shopping proves to be such a foreign experience.
I capped off a satisfying Saturday with a trip to a couscous restaurant right near the Cité U, l'Olivier Restaurant, 181 boulevard Brune, 75014. Here, the waitstaff proved remarkably friendly, helpful, and willing to tolerate my accent when speaking French. The waiter promptly refilled our water each time we asked (prompt service in Paris, what?!) and even offered us extra sauces including one spicy enough to add a little zing you just can't find in most French foods. The French do not believe in spices. The meal, from the food to the service, proved so pleasant that we tossed in a full 10% tip, something actually not necessary when dining out in Paris. So yes, once more, a simple activity proves to be rich in subtle cross-cultural differences.
Getting to know the ropes of this culture should become a lot easier come June as I've just gotten myself a spot in a "colocation," as the French called shared homes. I'll be moving in with four French students living in their own house technically just outside of Paris but still on a city metro line. It'll put me even closer to my lab at the Pasteur and will finally give me a chance to start integrating into the French scene as opposed to mostly socializing in the foreign crowds, something far too easy to do in a city as full of expats as Paris.
In summary, French salespeople work something along the lines of: You want timely and helpful service? Well, I want to be skiing in the Alps, but we can't all have what we want, so deal. Arghh!
However, this weekend I had a couple of pleasant surprises. Yesterday while wandering around the rue d'Alésia I noticed a new boutique, Loulou Bazar. I'm not much for shopping but my wardrobe has yet to be enhanced by my living in Paris so I decided this would be the one stop of the day. The prices were pretty good and the clothing designed to fit tall people (finally! Despite my expectations about luck in clothes shopping in a skinnier country, many boutiques here are just teases with their great outfits designed for tiny women.) I was even pleasantly surprised by the friendly yet not overly pushy saleswoman. After I was let to decide what I wanted to buy (a cute sweater dress and the nice little coat pictured here), she proceeded to make a bit of friendly small talk about the crazy snowstorms hitting the US (in French, thank you! So many salespeople insist on forcing their English upon anyone with an accent.) It's funny how many little elements of everyday life change when you move abroad: even shopping proves to be such a foreign experience.
I capped off a satisfying Saturday with a trip to a couscous restaurant right near the Cité U, l'Olivier Restaurant, 181 boulevard Brune, 75014. Here, the waitstaff proved remarkably friendly, helpful, and willing to tolerate my accent when speaking French. The waiter promptly refilled our water each time we asked (prompt service in Paris, what?!) and even offered us extra sauces including one spicy enough to add a little zing you just can't find in most French foods. The French do not believe in spices. The meal, from the food to the service, proved so pleasant that we tossed in a full 10% tip, something actually not necessary when dining out in Paris. So yes, once more, a simple activity proves to be rich in subtle cross-cultural differences.
Getting to know the ropes of this culture should become a lot easier come June as I've just gotten myself a spot in a "colocation," as the French called shared homes. I'll be moving in with four French students living in their own house technically just outside of Paris but still on a city metro line. It'll put me even closer to my lab at the Pasteur and will finally give me a chance to start integrating into the French scene as opposed to mostly socializing in the foreign crowds, something far too easy to do in a city as full of expats as Paris.
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