Still not used to the rudeness...

Since moving to France, I have developed a really tenuous relationship with optimism about human kind in general.

Until I came here, and had to rely on the kindness and patience of others to accomplish even the most basic tasks, I sort of took it for granted that people, for the most part, were nice to other people. Wild idea, I know. I am full of them.

I would even go so far to say that I thought people wanted to help other people--especially when the help proffered would be utterly simple and require nothing more than minimal effort and thirty seconds of time. Doesn't it make sense that unless someone is a jerk for no provoked or discernible reason, the only way to deal with others is under the presumption that he or she is decent? Thus, if you have the opportunity to be polite, friendly, or helpful, of course you would be just that.

Except that is not always the case, as I have found out recently. It is true that I have never really had to test this assumption because, in the states where everyone speaks English (at least in the places I have lived and at least for now), I don't usually have all that much trouble getting my point across. I do not have to rely on non-verbal cues or to ever abide by a cultural coding system that is clearly different from the one to which I have grown accustomed. I rarely have to second-guess myself when I am in my "native" land speaking my "native" tongue because things are much more straightforward. Moreover, I have options: if someone seems unreasonable or unwilling to help, then I either take care of things myself or I find someone else to assist me.

Here in France, where I speak broken Franglish and am perpetually confused by the cultural "norms," it is a different story altogether.

And so I feel I ride this tsunami of emotions when I deal with other people. Like, for example, is the woman at the bakery on the corner mean to me everytime I go in because she has a particular dislike for me specifically, or does she loathe Americans in general? I know she does not despise the human race as a collective unit, because I have witnessed her being quite nice to French people on a regular basis. So did I do something offensive, of which I am unaware? Does she just hate my shoes? I mean what is going on here? And same goes for the woman at the produce store we go to multiple times a week...AND the cashier at the grocery store across the street whom we see at least twice a week. Why do these people hate us??

Because these are perplexing situation, I have run down the list of potential errors we could have made, and have come up with no plausible reason. On my checklist of "how to behave in France" I think we have done fairly well with our dealings with them.

That is to say, we announce "bonjour!" whenever we walk into the boulangerie, the fruit stand or the grocery store, even if there is no one is immediately visible in the shop. We say "merci" when it is called for (but we do not overuse the word since we have come to understand that being overly polite is not a way to win people over), and we frequently pay with exact change at the smaller places where such a practice is clearly appreciated. My pronunciation of things may be off at times, but does the boulangerie lady really have to repeat my words back to me in that evil tone and announce three times to the store at large that she has no idea what I am saying? My French is not that bad! So why does she glare at me like I am gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe?

See what I mean? I have lost my emotinal stability when it comes to dealing with others. It is a problem. I could be feeling rightly jolly about the human condition--could even be feeling wholly content with French people, after having had a nice little exchange with someone in our building and then I walk into that store, and poof! Done. Back to square one. I feel confused and glum about human beings: people here are arbitrarily mean, and I don't get it.

If this was the U.S., I could just say, "Oh these people are just looney turds who are mad at the world, it has nothing to do with me." But here I wonder: "What did I do to you, people?"

However, there is a silver lining: After five plus months of frequenting the produce shop at the end of our street, my husband has finally made progress with the grumpy produce woman!

He delivered the news with elation one day last week, and we were beyond happy at the thought that our dogged diligence at being ignored and scoffed had finally earned its reward in the form of a gruff smile and five words of recognition. Oh the joy!

Along those lines, I actually had a couple of legitimately friendly exchanges with the grocery lady recently. My husband was floored and as he noted in shock, "I think she sort of smiled at you. Twice!" my heart was practicallly bursting with love for humanity. It only took five months to be treated with a modicum of friendliness. At this rate, we might be on a hugging basis in 2060.

These are herculean progressions, and no doubt worthy of a little dance of triumph (though not for my husband, as he is not a dancer). But my reactions to these events is indicative of what happens to me thirty five times a day here in terms of my emotional roller coaster in dealing with the French. I feel disproportionately elated when someone extends a minor kindness and I feel disproportionately dejected when there is rudeness for no reason that I can understand.

It is exhausting being so emotional all the time. And bizarre too. Every interaction is subject to a scrutiny that would never occur in the U.S., where I "get" the codes of conduct. I just never know what is the random behavior of an individual and what is a cultural difference, and it is important to me to be aware of the latter, so I am on constant alert.

Just the other day, I had a delightful little exchange with a woman on the street. She was French, she needed directions, and she was gracious, smiley, and appreciative (it was really weird, pigs were flying that day too). She even complimented my French and I left the encounter feeling jazzed up about the fact that there are people who are polite and nice here and I just loved the French!!

About five minutes later, I was on the metro. The train stopped and I stepped back to make room for a father wheeling a baby in a baby carriage, who was trying to make it off the train. As I moved for him, I was jostled by about five determined Frenchies who had to push their way onto the metro car immediately, and darn that baby if she gets shoved aside. I mean what is that? I was filled with irritation for cultural "norms" such as these--where handicapped people are trampled so that the able-bodied do not miss their train (never mind that fact that another train would be along in under five minutes). Ugh, I just do not get the rudeness. And so, once again, I was filled dismal thoughts about human kind.

Not to be too dramatic.

An hour or two later, we went out to eat and halfway through the meal the power in the resto went out twice. Rather than becoming anxious or starting to freak out about their food, etc, the entire restaurant erupted into a jovial rendition of "Joyeux Anniversaire" (the Happy Birthday song). We have seen this happen before in restuarants when the power goes out, and the whole mood lifts. The diners all seem content with the knowledge that the food will arrive soemhow and they seem to feel like having a moment of anything but happiness when out to eat would be a silly waste of time. It that moment, I think: "Oh, I just love French people! They really have their priorities straight." Perpetually on the coaster, I am telling you.

So yeah, a tenuous relationship with optimism about human kind in general pretty much encapsulates my emotional standing regarding the French. I guess if you don't have the lows, you can't appreciate the highs? that said, I could do without the mean baker.