i learned something really valuable in france: patience. no longer do i mind waiting in line at the grocery store or the post office, and i don’t care if i stand in line at ken’s for 15 minutes, because i know at the end of the 15 minutes i’ll have a warm croissant in my bag. i think this patience clicked into place for me after waiting in line for 25 minutes one day at la poste, behind crying kids and women checking their bank accounts (the post offices in france often double as banks) and men mailing large packages to japan and budapest. (you can read that entry here.) anyway, after experiencing that particular level of hell, waiting in line for 10 mintues anywhere doesn’t seem so bad. there’s lots to see: all the different types of gum one can buy, all the variations on old candy bars (reese’s peanut butter with caramel bar, anyone?), all the trashy magazines, martha stewart and real simple. i tend to tune out in line at the grocery store; i go into my “this line will end soon” zone/daze and don’t get all twitchy anymore.
sadly, dear boyfriend B has not yet reached this state of sublime. while buying food for my birthday barbecue last week, i waited in line for about 20 mintues before even getting to the register to pay. B had grabbed a shortcase of corona from the cart to buy it at another cashier so he could get some cash back; i’d unloaded all the rest of the groceries and was second in line behind a young mother who was talking to the polite, chatty cashier. the cashier would scan an item with her right hand, put it in her left hand, put her right hand on her hip and make whatever point was pertinent in her conversation. grab carrots, scan, switch, dish. grab granola bars, scan, switch, exclaim. and on and on. by this time, B had paid for the beer and was waiting for me on the other side of the cashier, rolling his eyes at me, giving me those “holy shit, oh my god, what is UP?” faces.
but i was in my zone. at least the cashier was friendly. chatty and friendly is much better than bored, half asleep and annoyed. in france, the cashiers sat on stools, didn’t bag anything for you, always had the “i’d rather be reorganizing my silverware drawer” expressions. they were there to simply scan groceries faster than you could bag them and then talk to their other cashier friend across the way and then scoff at you if you gave them anything bigger than a 20-euro note.
when i finally got to chatty cashier, i asked, “hey, how’s your day going?” and she said, “not bad, i’m about to leave, my day is over.” i nodded and she went on: “yeah, everybody maintained today. everybody maintained. i didn’t have to change my attitude, y’know whaddim sayin?”
do i ever.