Aesthetics Gone too Far?

The other day I was buying produce at the vegetable stand, and I handed the woman at the cash register a 10 euro note by way of payment. Normally, this woman glares and huffs if you are unable to conjure up exact change, so along with the 10, I also gave her 43 centimes (my bill came to 7,43). All things considered, I thought the interaction was shaping up to be another positive event on what had already proved quite the successful outing.

Well, I thought too soon.

As it happened, I had enjoyed some very pleasant conversing and purchasing preceding this produce adventure--with both the man at the wine store and the woman at the Italian trateur. These two anomalys of French friendliness had served to instill me with a false sense of confidence. I assumed that a positive experience at the produce stand was a sure thing, as it would result in a trifecta of loveliness (don't good things always come in threes?).

That assumption was my first mistake. Never get cocky when dealing with the French. They can sniff out your confidence the way they can sniff out a ripe cantaloupe, and will subsequently, swiftly, and sufficiently punish you for it.

The produce woman limply held the ten euro note between her two fingers and glared at me for what in the United States would be an uncomfortable period of time, but what is in France quite the "norm." I had no idea why she was staring at me, but as I have never known her to be either overly friendly or pleased by my presence, my first thought was not that I had committed any sort of error. Silly, silly, Maggie. will you never learn?

So then she starts waving the 10 around in front of my face, loudly asserting that it was too old to be of any use to her. I will concede that the money had seen better days, but it was neither torn nor defaced in any way, so I assumed that it was still a viable player in the commerce game. Thus, my second mistake has been identified.

Because I was feeling somewhat emboldened by the successful interactions I had already enjoyed that morning, I decided to take a French stance with this grumpy gal. I drew my facial muscles into a scowl of possibly intimidating proportions, "pfffffttt"ed with apblomb, and told her that it was not my fault that I had bad money.

Now here is where things became interesting (still humilating, mind you, but with a new cultural twist). She suddenly looked at me with something marginally bordering on respect and exclaimed that of course it was not my fault! She actually became more incensed at the fact that the money was still in circulation while she simultaneously became my ally. Now we were in it together: I was the victim of this bad money that she could not accept and she was going to vocally attest that my rights as a human being in France were being aggregiously compromised.

One emphatic "pffffft" from me and she and I were suddenly in cahoots against the French government as her outrage at allowing this decrepit 10 euro note to still exist escalated. The manager was then called over and he weighed in on the matter as well. His role within this impromptu forum was to reaffirm the unacceptability of the note, to add some of his own defamatory remarks about the French government, and to offer the advice that I needed to march to the bank tout suite and demand a replacement bill.

It seems of some importance to relay that there was a line of 4-5 people behind me as all of this was being discussed.

The woman then consulted her watch and added that I just might have time to make it to the bank before they closed for the weekend (it was like noon at the time, but so it goes in Paris on a Friday).

The only "good" aspect concerning the whole affair was that I actually did have another 10 euro note in my wallet, and it was decidedly more crisp. Had I drawn out my carte bleue to pay at that point I would have had to endure another lecture about the impossibility of taking a credit card for a purchase of under 15 euro--or whatever the rule du jour happened to be.

I handed her the newer, acceptable, money and scurried out. I would like to add, and not to toot my own horn or anything, but never once did I say: "I am sorry." I believe this elevated me in her eyes, and it certainly made me feel good about my newfound ability to resist becoming an automatic doormat for customer service people in Paris.

So then yesterday I happened into a bakery I had never before patroned to buy a dessert for dinner. My friend and I were lured in by the delectable-looking treats--which were impeccably displayed--in the window. Not that this information matters, but I decided on a caramel macaroon filled with a pastry cream and dotted with raspberries. The woman asked if I wanted it to go, to which I replied yes. She then spent a solid five minutes wrapping it up in a wax paper traingle (as they usually do) and then went above and beyond to fashion me a long white ribbon "handle" that enabled me to carry my paper prism without inflicting any damage to the dessert. My friend commented that she would like to receive such a beautiful presentation even if there was nothing inside of it (actually I think she said "even if there was just a pair of underwear inside of it," but that comment will not make sense to anyone who had not been privy to our conversations earlier in the afternoon).

Anyway, I understand the Parisian proclivity towards aesthetics, but it seemed a tad over the top to have to have good-looking money. But then as I happily walked home from the bakery yesterday, an impeccable white triangle dangling from my wrist and a curly white ribbon trailing behind me, I realized that there is something to be said for thoroughness. The French like things to look good, so who am I to complain about how far they may take it? I will just try to acquire the freshest looking euros I can and enjoy perfect prepared and packaged pastries and that will be that.