Despite the fact that I lost a wheel on my suitcase on the way to the station in Poix, things have been going smoothly lately. Train travel is easy and rather comfortable, and everywhere I've gone in the past two weeks - and I've gone a lot of places - I've been treated like an honored guest. I've gotten compliments on my French right and left, and I know I've made tremendous progress in the past six months. So why is it that, when faced with a new challenge, I suddenly become an idiot?
After three tries, I finally got the car in to Speedy for an oil change. I've really driven it a lot, so I opted for a more thorough check (a basic oil change is just that - they don't even put in a new filter!). Dropping it off was just strange. "Bonjour, Monsieur, I'm here to have the oil changed." He looked at me and said, "Oui." That's all. Just "yes." Awkward silence ensued. Finally, he said, "It's a Renault..." "21", I added. When I asked if he needed my name, he asked for my carte grise. This is the equivalent of a car title and registration, and whoever drives the car must have it on him or her, but you never leave it in the car. I imagine that makes for a lot of looking for the papers in one-car families. Knowing the significance of the carte grise, I was reluctant to hand it over. But I guess that's how it's done here. I explained that the name on the card isn't me, and tried to give him my name, but he didn't seem to need it. Finally, he asked me what time I'd like to pick it up. I'm used to people telling me when it will be ready, and had no idea how busy they were or how long it would take them to get to my car, so I got flustered and just picked a time. Surely 2 hours would be enough. I guess they work on the cars in the order the owners need them rather than the order they came in? I gave him my cell phone number and headed off to meet Anita & Tom, a couple from Oklahoma who were passing through.
When I went back to pick the car up, the mechanic said, "we've got a big problem with your car." Uh-oh. I don't speak car in French. I know basic vocabulary for things like oil change, bumper, windshield, filter, brakes and clutch. He told me they found a serious leak in the breaks (so far, so good), and took me over to examine the car. Then, he and another guy launched into a big explanation that I assume must have been about brake shoes and other inside parts. Okay, so I don't know the words in English either, but I guarantee that I could understand Joe, my mechanic back home. These guys were speaking with a thick picard accent and I was doing my best to follow along. I explained that the car doesn't belong to me, and that I needed to call the owner, who is in the United States at the moment. I really just wanted the guy to talk to Jacques so I could be reassured that I was making the right decision. No answer on the other end, so I had to me débrouiller. From what I could gather, the brakes could go out at any time, at which I could crash into a fiery death (loose translation). Not wanting to cash in on the insurance that covers the repatriation of my remains, I told them to fix the brakes. What other choice did I have? I mean, if I decided to wait until next week when I could get another opinion, and I crashed on my way home, then I wouldn't be in very good shape, would I?
I now had another two hours to kill. I walked back to the pedestrian zone and picked up a few things I needed for a birthday party this weekend. I finally located the toilettes in the Galeries Lafayette (public bathrooms are nearly impossible to find) and decided that if I was going to pay for the car repairs, I'd better make sure I had enough money in the bank. I found a branch of Crédit Agricole, took out cash from my US bank account and went inside. I walked up to the information desk and said that I'd like to make a deposit. I was directed to a counter with vinyl envelopes. When I told the woman that I didn't know how to use the envelope, she looked at me like I came from another planet. I tried to explain that in Poix, I make a deposit with a live person. (The last time I went to the bank in Poix, I was greeted with "Oh well, if it isn't the English Teacher! How are you today, Madame? Taking advantage of your vacation? You know there are a lot of low cost flights on Ryan Air that leave from Beauvais...") A younger, slightly more patient employee told me to get an envelope and we'd make the deposit together. Except that I didn't have my account number, so she had to look it up. Sigh. I filled out the front, stuck my money inside, and then she directed me to a machine in the wall, into which I deposited the envelope. Um, okay. Whatever.
Combined with my experience with the car, I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, and pretty stupid. I was so tired, frustrated and knew that if anything else went wrong, the waterworks would start. I seriously felt like I'd lost the ability to speak French. So when I picked up the car, I also picked up some brochures about car maintenance so I can study. But I'll be sure to do all my bank transactions in Poix from now on.
2 comments:
So, this is not entirely the same as the possibility of a fiery death, but I understand the sentiment. I called a student last week, and his mom answered in Spanish. So I started talking to her in spanish. No big deal; I speak spanish. But then she answered me, and apparently I've lost the ability to understand spanish. I had no idea what was going on, and all the anything I spoke at that point was, "uh....uh...." Luckily the spanish teacher rescued me.
Here's to no fiery deaths!
Amen to comment number one! And, see, Poix is a good place to call home. Be safe!
Mom
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