Lily pads at Parc de Bercy by me via Instagram
These past few weeks of my Parisian summer have been just ideal. The lingering hot days, summer chick lit reading, sporadic glasses of rosé on café terraces, and catching up with friends has put me in full vacation mode. While Paris has been good to us this summer, I really am looking forward to heading to the States in a few days, making a stop in New York to continue this summer samba.
Each day leading up to my departure has been jam-packed with errands and small tasks. Setting up the apartment for our dear friend Charles who will be house-sitting, a pre-vacation wax at Body Minute, and a trip to my local supermarket to pick up fun French stuff like wine, apéro snacks and cookies to give out to friends and family.
Crossing off the market trip today, I had the pleasure of experiencing an extremely rare occasion where there were no lines and several cash registers were open. When does this ever happen here? I guess Paris in the summer really is a ghost town.
Choosing the closest line, I stood behind a man who had a six pack of bottled water and two boxes of quinoa. Perfect. Dazing off and going over what else needed to be done before my departure, I had realized that about 5 minutes had passed and that neither he or I had had moved. Honing in on their conversation, I learned that he was making some kind of exchange or return. These kind of transactions take long almost everywhere, but listening to the complexity of his "case", it became clear that he was going to be there for a while. This aisle was out.
I turned around to the empty cash register behind me, made eye contact with the cashier, walked over and proceeded to set my items down on the conveyer belt. Bending over in my basket, I put down the final bottle of wine. Looking over at her, I had expected her to start ringing up my items. Silly me, never expect things here, especially when any level of customer service is involved. Rather than starting my purchasing process, she had gone ahead and opened her drawer to begin counting her bills. Was she not open? I didn't want to distract her from her count (there is nothing more annoying than that), so I stood there, waiting. Once I saw her going into the larger bills, I meekly asked her if she was open.
No response. Okay.
The cashier behind her was open and available, and was handing a receipt to a departing customer. As quickly as I could, I gathered my things and made my way to now my third cashier. Before making it over, a woman wheeling two of those grandma caddies (see here) exploding with groceries, swooped in before me and began to unload her seemingly two week supply of sustenance. Of course the woman didn't know that I had been attempting to make my purchases for now three aisles, but it felt good to think that she did. In response to my silent accusation, I let out a huffy sigh and a mini c'est pas possible. Ridiculous and useless, I know, but it felt satisfying to be stereotypically French and grouchy for a second.
Then, a tag team of two women stood behind me on the line, looked over the aisle of the counting cashier and asked each other if she was open. I was going to chime in
Now, I felt really fucking dumb. But there was nothing I could do other than breathe and just go back to where I came from. It was turning into a bad joke... I managed to get out of there within 35 minutes, sweating from all of the physical activity I had done while playing musical aisles with wine bottles. But I guess that's what I get for being impatient, I should have just waited at the first line! It looks I'm getting myself ready for New York, the land of folks who don't have a second to spare and who would have gone into absolute hysterics (not that I was practicing total zen over here) had this happened there. Can you imagine?
It was certainly a practice in patience, but am looking forward to the second leg of my vacation where I don't need to practice any. Can't wait to see you crazy New York!
