We’d been expecting a package from Dave’s parents for some time, so yesterday I stopped at the front desk to ask if the mail had arrived. The guy shrugged and said no, the mail was on strike.
He explained that the postal workers were on strike Thursday, then went back to work on Friday, but Thursday’s mail is being held hostage and even now the mail is trickling.
Our first French strike! How exciting! And what lousy timing, as we’re about to move out of this dreadful hotel and the last thing I want to do is come back next week to fetch mail.
Front Desk Guy wasn’t as amused as I was and cynically informed me that if this was our first French strike, then surely our second would be the transit.
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