Day 203: Oh Mon Dieu!

Last night, Sébastien and I went to Franprix to pick up wine, cheese and salad for dinner. With the holiday season now here, we're trying to eat light on our quiet nights in when we're not going to Christmas dinners and apéros to avoid post-season January bloat. Only in France would wine and cheese be considered a light meal. 
At first, we thought Franprix was closing because the sliding doors were open only a crack, thinking that this was posing as a deterrent from allowing new customers from coming in, but they assured us that they were ready and open for business. Ok, I'm exaggerating, they didn't assure us anything, this is Paris. When we asked them if they were still open, they looked at us, half-shrugged and nodded. In The States there would be without question, a law against having customers slide through a crack of two panels of glass that appear to be non-functioning in order to enter the supermarket.
The thing about the Franprix by his house is that without fail, every single time I have been there, there is hardcore rap blasting throughout the store - in English of course. I have heard some really offensive lyrics where it's obvious that I'm an Anglophone because my mouth is wide open in complete and total shock. The other patrons appear to be oblivious to the fact the "Face Down, Ass Up" by 2 Live Crew is playing while they are perusing the aisles and loading up their baskets.
As we were leaving, a woman who was bigger than us - and seriously not by much - got stuck in the crack of the broken sliding doors. It was horrible. Just as this mayhem was taking off, the vehement and frantic "Niggas in Paris" started playing, adding another element to this absurd situation. It wasn't funny that the woman was stuck in between the doors but her nonchalance to the situation certainly was. If it were me, I would be screaming bloody hell while flailing my arms around for dramatic measure, but this woman seemed at peace with her fate and took this opportunity to tell the employees who were trying to help her out that her carte fidelite didn't deduct the advertised 15% off her total bill. 
Customers who were now piling up by the door were getting anxious and couldn't help offering their advice and comments while the employees were stuffing the woman's puffy coat through the cracks. "Push harder!" "Get her skin through the cracks not just the coat!" as well as girlfriends hissing to their boyfriends that they "should have gone to Monoprix." and that they were going "to miss Plus belle la vie à cause de cette merde!". Our favorite comment was when someone suggested that the staff press the button to open the doors! Really? Sébastien and I just looked at each other. If it was as simple as opening the doors with "the button", none of this would have ever occurred in the first place. It's like when asking a sales associate at a clothes store to go look in "the back" to find your size. As if there is this magic place where customers are forbidden to go that have everything they're really looking for because they would hate for it to be on the selling floor for it to be actually - gasp - sold!
After ten minutes, another rap tune - this one unidentifiable to my untrained ears - and an R&B slow-jam, the woman was set free. Thank God. She didn't seem at all affected by what had happened, it was us, the other customers who were all in shock. The woman thanked the staff, wished them a good evening and went on her way.
Sébastien and I arrived at home with our "light meal" and while the woman was nowhere near obese, after seeing someone get stuck between doors at the local supermarket, we decided to skip the cheese and wine and just make a salad. I hope I never get stuck between a sliding door in France but if do, I know that I'll be as calm as the woman last night.