Erin Finds A Job

Yesterday was a pretty interesting day. I did two completely new things: one, I got into our little Citroen hatchback and drove to St. Enimie, about 25km away ALL BY MYSELF, and two, I got my first French job.

Patrick had, a month or so ago, inquired about a job at a campground in St. Enimie (part of the Gorges du Tarn tourist area). As it turned out, the job was not really what he was looking for himself, but he suggested to the manager that his wife might be interested. When he called back a couple weeks later to check,  she told him she'd already hired someone, so sorry. We figured, oh well.

Then this manager called the house on Thursday, asking if I was still looking for something, and we told her, yep. She said, well, come on over around 5pm on Friday and we'll see what's what. And thus, I had a job interview. The problem was, Patrick had to work, so I'd have to go by myself. Keep in mind that, up until yesterday, I'd not driven a car in France, navigated my way anyplace further than the grocery store that's three-quarters of a mile up the road, or had a job interview without Patrick present for translation purposes. Patrick assured me that Severine spoke a bit of English, and that he had complete faith in me. Comforting as that was, I was still plenty nervous, but I figured - hey, what have I got to lose? Might as well give it a go, right?  And so, at about ten after four yesterday afternoon, I found myself with a copy of my CV in hand, piloting our trusty car through the twisty mountain roads, on my way to St. Enimie.

Driving in the mountains, for those of you who haven't experienced it, is kind of exhilirating. Despite my nervousness about the interview, I found I enjoyed the trip very much. I had been on this road before with Patrick, so it was somewhat familiar, but negotiating the hairpin turns yourself is quite another thing altogether. I am pretty sure that, though the speed limit is 90km per hour in most places, I never got much about 60. I don't think I put the car into fourth gear for the first half of the way there! In some areas, the stone guardrails are so close to the edge of the road - and the edge of the road is simply a straight drop-off into a valley. The roads are MUCH narrower than we are used to in the States, and sometimes you just blindly hope no other car will come from the opposite direction, because it doesn't seem possible that two cars can possibly fit on it side by side. There was hardly anyone on the road, though, and apart from a fraught moment right before I got into St. Enimie when a tour bus seemed bent upon squeezing me off the road and crushing me into the guardrail (well, maybe I'm exaggerating - buses just look so BIG when you're accustomed to seeing only little cars, like most people drive here), I arrived at Les Fayards with no troubles.

The campground I work for is like a lot of other campgrounds in the Gorges du Tarn area. There are about 90 campsites, and somewhere around 20 or 30 mobile homes and cottages scattered throughout, for those who are without a mobile home, RV, or tent themselves. There is a little building at the entrance, which houses the reception desk, a small bar, and a little epicierie, or grocery store. They also have a nice selection of books and pamphlets about the area, so people can familiarize themselves, read about its history, and plan day trips. Les Fayards can arrange canoe trips down the river for you, has a playground and a volleyball court/soccer field, and a very well-equipped and clean bathhouse. There's a nice outdoor patio outside of the reception building where you can sit and have a drink, and they'll even make up picnic lunches for you if you choose to go hiking.

The manager and her husband own this campground, and I met her immediately upon entering the small reception building. She is perhaps a bit older than me - maybe 40 - and just a tiny wisp of a thing, with a short cap of brown hair and a big smile. After she offered me a drink, we got down to business. I explained, in my halting French, my work history, and handed her my CV to explain a little better. She spoke slowly for my benefit, and went over what the job would entail. It would be for just July and August (a lot of jobs in this area are contracted just for the busy season or the summer months), about 38 hours a week, and would be mostly receptionist work. Greeting customers as they come to check in, helping them choose a site from what is available, entering their information into the computer system, etc. I would also be responsible for manning the tiny bar area when necessary (making coffee and pouring beers, mostly), and for ringing up any purchases from the epicerie. In a first-work-experience-in-France kind of way, it sounded ideal. We talked about my French skills - the manager had now shifted to her own halting English - and we both agreed that after another month in-country (so to speak), my French comprehension would be fine to be able to communicate with the French customers who arrived to check in. Apparently, the bulk of their visitors happen to be from other countries - mostly England, Germany, Ireland, etc. - so being fluent in English would also be very important. She also asked if I would speak in English to her and any other members of the staff who wished to practice their English - and they would respond in French. I think that could get a bit confusing, but hey - whatever works. I told her I'd be delighted.

She showed me around a bit, and we agreed I would come back on Monday to get in a little early training on the computer, etc. I plan to take copious notes, as the computer system is, obviously, all in French. (Thank God for desktop icons.) She also made sure I  knew that, after coming in a couple of times for training, if I decided the job was too boring or I thought it would be too overwhelming ... well, no harm done. They'd simply pay me in cash for the training time and no hard feelings. If I decide to go for it, they'll fold in those training hours into my two-month contract with them. (You get paid once a month in France. Weird, right?) I think I'll be equal to the task, and as for "boring", well - how can you be bored when you have to concentrate so hard every moment on selecting the right words? I mean, imagine the upheaval if someone asked you if you had any open campsites and you replied that yes, you did indeed have several nice pairs of underwear available? (Not that the words for "campsite" and "underwear" are indistinguishable in French - it's just an example!)

So we shook hands, said au revoir, and I climbed back into my trusty little automobile and headed off into the sunset. I sang show tunes at the top of my voice most of the way home, and giggled a little at my small triumph. I arrived back home in time to catch Patrick on his break, and he was suitably admiring of my go-getter-ness. Now, just cross your fingers that I get my residency card before June is over ... but hey, we'll worry about that another day. Today, I'm simply happy I've found gainful employment and driven someplace and back without damaging myself, the car, or others. Delightful!

Now, the sun is shining and my garden beckons. I'll leave you until next time ....