Ce n'est pas mon boulot

I have been here about two weeks--handed in my first deadline, which was a bit stressful but very satisfying. What is my job?? It's mostly fun.

I run all over the place writing down the new info of places like cafés, restaurants and hotels, and then updating their vital info (phone numbers, addresses, prices) in in immense word files using "Track Changes" an ingenious thing where everything you delete or write over turns red and crossed out, and everything you add is red and underlined. You can add little comments in little boxes about what you changed and what you generally think about what you're writing.

The creative aspect comes in when I write about the resto/hotel or whatever it is (in the gay tourist guide i'm doing as well, which is a seperate thing, it's also bars, clubs, gay saunas (ew) and dirty sex clubs (double ew and also slightly intriguing...JUST KIDDING). Also the little tips and tidbits, you write that in your own voice and use humor as you see fit, people respond to that lot.) There are more things to write and update, like walking tours, but more on that later.

One example of using your own voice is saying something like "this hotel has customer service à la française", i.e. they have shitty customer service because...FRENCH PEOPLE AND FRANCE IN GENERAL HAS TERRIBLE CUSTOMER SERVICE.

After being in 'developing nations' such as India and Guatemala, I can tell you that people in stores and restaurants, for example, actually WANT to help you so as to improve the economy and general life in such countries. In India you can't go to the bathroom without someone literally trying to squeeze the soap for you from the stupid machine; they practically zipper your fly for you if you don't stop them. In France, if you fell into a bear trap that happened to be located in the store you were shopping in, and you asked them for help in every language you know, their response would be:

Non, c'est pas mon boulot

which is

That's not my job.

They don't give a SHIT if their helping you makes their store better--in fact, chances are they are annoyed at you for shopping in it because it means that they have to do work. That might take away from their relaxation time, or just the general boredom that they have to deal with before they go to a café and sit around for 3 hours drinking coffee and smoking. Mind you, they're still sitting in the café doing nothing but at least it was their decision--god forbid they work more than 35 hours a week, something they've gone on strike about more times than they've actually been to work. Thus, they go to work, and sit around complaining about it, but the second someone tries to change the national laws about how much you have to work they go CRAZY.

They wake up at 5am and make signs and march around in the rain, yelling and screaming about the injustice done to them. Then they go back to work eventually and act all French for a while, and definately don't help you.

I'm not bitter though; what they call "French charm and culinary knowhow" is entirely why I have a job right now. In being here two weeks I have no less than 10 stories describing their lovely attitude, which can be saved for later. Safe to say, if they didn't know how to make good bread and fancy entrees (entrée in French means appetizer, how ironique!!), nobody would come to this stupid country. Before I say anything else negative (and I will), I love France. I love Paris, I love the French language and their way of doing things. They also need a huge overhaul otherwise it's all going down the chiottes (shitter) in ten years.

What's great about running around town writing down hotel shit is the stuff that I see in between, like great stores or antique fairs on the street. Those people also sit around and watch you look at their useless junk while they drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. Sometimes they try and sell it to you, but mainly they just look annoyed or amused that you moved around some of their silly 'brocante'.

In one of these fairs I bought a clay tobacco pipe with brass, which looked really cool to me because it was long and fairly Gandalf-ish.

I cleaned it and bought pipe tobacco to try it out. That in itself was a 15 minute conversation with a husband and wife cancer vendor--sorry, tobacco specialist--about how nobody smokes pipes anymore and what a shame it is.

Got home, and took pictures of my ultra cool self in black and white smoking it.

I look hyper-awesome and chill, no? Smoking a pipe is NOT easy, there is a whole silly process to packing, lighting, and smoking it.


This is my first puff



Here I am again, being Hemmingway, blowing my smoke towards someone attractive



Here I am after inhaling pipe smoke, which you aren't supposed to do




So there you go--I am on my way to being a Lost Generation writer and a cancer victim. Such is the life of a writer!!! So bleak, so full of...pipe smoke!!


Final note, French people laugh whenever you say "pipe" (sounds like "peep") because it sort of means penis.

Thus, to "faire la pipe" or "fume la pipe" is suggesting that you blow people. So go suck your pipe, France!!


-Hadj