Stranger In A Strange Land

Today is a rather momentous day for me. I have just completed my first full week of working in a foreign country. In that week, I have learned, each day, many things concerning the customs and habits of the local inhabitants, and how much my own upbringing and culture are different. It has been eye-opening, and I am looking forward to continuing to learn and become accustomed to the new place in which I find myself living.

That being said, I have some observations, culled from the interactions of the past week, which some of you might find ... enlightening? Amusing? Slightly interesting? You'll have to tell me. I am going to do my best to keep from poking fun or bitching - it has been a monster of a week, for sure. I definitely have been close to tears a few times! But I just keep soldiering on, and I know I will figure this place out if it kills me (though I'm resonably sure it won't - I hardly think people meet their doom as a direct result of culture shock). And so, on to the main event:

• I work at a campground. This means I sell drinks and breakfast pastries from behind a bar, I clean things, I wait on people sitting on our terrace, I make coffee, I answer the phone, I enter registration info into a computer. Not tough, right? Even with the language barrier, I can generally manage to figure out what someone wants and, in turn, make myself understood. Coming from a community where there are many, many people who speak English as a second language, I never really considered how tough it is to be the person who doesn't understand the local language all that well. Now, finding myself on that side of the river, so to speak, I am humbled and ashamed of my prior attitude towards those folks. Being spoken to like you are a five-year-old (and a mentally deficient one, at that) when you are, in fact, over thirty years of age, can only be defined as a "if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger" sort of experience. Throwing a temper tantrum to protest this sort of treatment would probably not help bolster my image, and so I have so far refrained. (Just barely.) Though if I hear another "Tu comprends?" (You understand?) after someone re-explains yet again how something like the dishwasher works (there are three buttons, come on), I may revise my strategy.
• Clothing. Most precisely, women's clothing. I've mentioned before, I think, that I have never considered myself to be any sort of a fashion plate. I wear what I like, and what is comfortable, usually, and consider myself good to go. And, working at a campground in summertime, I was reasonably certain that my wardrobe, such as it is, would be just fine. Instead, I stick out like the proverbial sore thumb amongst my female co-workers. No one told me I needed to have garments made only of linen or very thin jersey. Or that, apparently, French women consider bright colors to be de trop (too much),  and seem to only wear muted shades of brown, blue, grey, and, of course, the ever-serviceable black and white. One of the girls I work with had on a sweater the other day with some stripes of the palest imaginable coral hue the other day, and I caught myself staring, thinking, wow, that really stands out. My purples and grass greens and reds and swimming pool blues make me look like I just strolled out of a bordello, compared to the ladies around me. Ah, well, American I am, I guess - but all the same, I think I'll save my brighter dresses for leisure time. Yikes. At least everyone there seems to have flip-flops of one stripe or another - and in that department, I am well-prepared (yay, Florida!). 
• Co-worker conversation is a bit of a minefield. I am really lucky that most of my co-workers speak at least some English. (Thank God.) However, even though I can converse with them in a somewhat tortured Frenglish, there isn't too much of that, other than pleasantires about the weather and comments on the job itself. In the States, if someone new starts at your job, and you work on a small staff, by the end of week one, you generally know all there is to know about them. You can ask questions about where they live, where they've worked before, their families, their hobbies, and where they were born, if you like. Here, not so much. As my husband patiently explained to me, for the French, it is considered tremendously ill-mannered to ask where someone is from, and you never ask any personal information, you simply wait until it is volunteered. I guess the theory is that none of this background information is relevant to your work relationship, and, if the person wishes you to know about them, they will offer up these tidbits in the course of one conversation or another. As an American, of course, I find this wildly strange and very limiting. (and, of course, I am nosy.) And so I take my cues from my counterparts, and don't ask about anything they don't offer willingly, but it really limits conversational topics. You can only talk about the weather and how busy/not busy it is for so long before lapsing into a rather uncomfortable silence. I, of course, continue to offer up my own personal comments concerning my life, as they seem appropriate, but so far the reaction seems to be, "Oh dear, how embarassing. The American is telling me information I don't need to know. How on earth can she think this is in any way relevant to me?" This is accompanied by a polite and remote smile, accompanied by a minute shrug of the shoulders. And me, being the irrepressible American, keep on trying. 
• I  think also that, in many cases, American bosses try to keep reprimands a little more, shall we say, private than their French counterparts. In the U.S., if you screw something up, your boss is apt to take you aside, away from other ears, and lay it out for you. (And then you spend weeks trying to get out from under the cloud of incompetence which has settled upon you.) In my experience so far here in France, that is not the case. If you make a mistake, your boss is much more likely to put it all out there, chapter and verse, in front of the other employees, customers, or even the postmistress, should she happen to be there delivering the day's mail. I will say, however, that after they've set you straight, it's done. No residual hard feelings or undercurrent of dissatisfaction. It's done, they've told you about it, and it's over. C'est tout. ("That's all", or "That's it".) And the conclusion I've drawn? You're now so embarassed over it that you strive mightily to never do something so goshdarn stupid ever again.
• Customer service is a mighty different thing here. At my job, it's a little closer to what you'd see in the U.S., but still there are some strange differences. We're face to face with people all the time, so we tend to be somewhat more conciliatory than if you, say, called up your internet provider or phone company. (And that's a whole 'nother ball of wax, by the way - French customer service via phone. Holy shit.) At my job, we're expected to greet everyone who comes in the door - and when I say "we", that means everyone working at that time, which results in a flurry or "bonjour"s to every person who wanders in our direction. I take a lot of joy in doing this, and try to vary my inflection so that it sounds as though I truly wish each person a good day. (I have to amuse myself somehow. And I do hope they're having a good day.) And, of course, as a person leaves our reception area, they go on their way with an assortment of "Au revoir"s, "Merci, monsieur/madame"s, and "Bonne journee"s as they go. It's nice. But, I notice that the French are not as inclined to smile as we are in the U.S., and so at times I feel like a circus clown because I can't seem to stop from grinning at customers, while my co-workers adopt a more formal, Mona-Lisa-type half-smile that could be misinterpreted as a smirk, if you didn't know any better. Also, the habit of the French saying, "Ce n'est pas possible, " meaning, "It's not possible," in response to customers' inquiries, always knocks me for a loop. Someone will ask a question, and then, in response, you hear, "Non. Ce n'est pas possible," in a very definite and firm tone, and then a long pause. If the customer is stalwart enough and hangs around looking at you for further elucidation, the speaker will then indeed explain the reasons why it is not possible. (Usually, this is very logical and sensible.) But oftentimes, especially if the customer is also French, they'll just say, "D'accord - merci", which is basically, "Okay, thanks" and meander off. I am so accustomed to saying something like, "I'm so sorry, but we can't offer that option at present. Perhaps instead you'd like to ...", and then bending over backwards to try to find some small thing to make the customer happy - the French response just takes my breath away. I gotta say, though, I kinda like the sheer chutzpah of it - like it or lump it, this is the answer, and me offering you ridiculous options won't change the fact that the real answer is 'no'. It's very upfront and forthright, and I have to admire a culture that doesn't waste its time (or yours) trying to make positives out of negatives all the time. Sometimes, the answer is 'no'.

I'm sure I'll have other observations as time goes by, but these were the big things I've been thinking about this week as I embarked upon a summer of assisting people in getting closer to nature. (Boy, oh boy, do Europeans like to go camping. It's an overwhelmingly popular pastime.) No major catastrophes (well, this morning I did break 4 beer glasses in a seriously clumsy move that could have been in a Mr. Bean movie - thank God the glasses were freebies we get from the beer distributor, or I'd probably be ending my first week with a pink slip), though I am still getting sweaty palms every time I answer the phone, and end up having to hand it off to a co-worker half the time, because I can't understand a damned word the person on the line is saying. But, I think overall, I'm winning more than I'm losing, and the balance is shifting into that "win" column every day. My boss even smiled at me - unsolicited - today, after hearing me answer a question for an English-speaking couple who were checking in. I am proud of myself. And very thankful that there are so many German and Dutch tourists in the area who prefer speaking English over speaking French.

So, a summertime campground job today, but tomorrow? Who knows? (I hear that not everyone likes the president - what do you think are the odds ... nevermind.) Until next time ...