It's a beautiful fall day, the boss is late for our weekly meeting, and the four of us wordlessly agree to step outside the reception to wait together in the sunshine. Though we're in the same group we don't actually work together, so there is little in common for us to discuss to pass the time. So why not talk about that favorite of French topics: vacation.
"Ugh," Francois complains, absent-mindedly flicking a cigarette ash toward the no smoking sign. "My vacation was too short this year. I really need a break."
"How long was your vacation?" I ask.
"Only two weeks" he answers, looking forlorn.
I do some quick calendar math and estimate that Francois has gone a whole two and a half months since his two week vacation. The poor dear.
"You know.." I say, trying to conceal the crescendo of sarcasm in my voice, "in America we're lucky to get three weeks of vacation a year."
The boss beckons from the lobby and Francois flicks the last of his cigarette away as we file back into the building. "Three weeks?! You need a revolution!"
He was joking, of course, but it's not the first time I've heard such an indignant suggestion. It's the French way, isn't it? To revolt against the unacceptable? To band together and fight The Man? The French motto is, of course: Equality, Liberty, Fraternity.
And this is how we end up striking.
It's true, we're striking again.
It started as single-day strikes one or two weeks apart, then last week started a continuous strike. It began like it always does, with the trains. Since I drive to work it didn't bother me in the least, but David takes the train into the city and has had to deal with reduced trains running, which means packed cars and few opportunities to sit down.
The post also started striking, which also didn't bother me because I had no birthday packages to send and certainly don't miss the junk mail and the bills.
Then the fuel truck drivers began to strike.
And that's when I took notice.
On an average week I need to refill the C2's tank once. When we heard that a fuel strike might be coming I filled up at the end of last week.
Each day this week, the gas station near my work has seen longer and longer queues. The lines are at least twenty cars long, blocking the traffic circle and creeping up the road toward our office. When word came out that we might have a fuel shortage, panic buying set in and the lines grew.
I thought I'd been clever to buy early, but every day that the strike continued my gas gauge went a bar lower. Finally today I had to cave in to the warning light on the dash. I left the office in the late afternoon - after the lunch rush and before people started leaving for the day - called David, and chatted while I sat in line.
In the end it wasn't so bad. I guessed pretty well and only had to wait twenty minutes or so.
Stupid strike, you can't bother me.
On my way home from work with my well fed gas tank I stopped at the local grocery store to pick up some food. I was searching the can aisle wondering where the red beans were hiding when I realized that there were a lot of gaps on the shelf. Huh, they must be behind on their stocking, I thought.
Then I took another step back and took a look at the whole aisle. Where was all the stuff? What is this, communist Russia? What's wrong with this place?
Then I spotted the sign taped to the aisle: due to blocked deliveries, we are unable to stock some items. The strike strikes again!
You may remember that in our first days in France we were amused to experience our first mail strike. Since then the strikes haven't really personally affected us - David usually just has to be sure to catch one of the few trains - but with every passing day this one is irritating us just a bit more.
Our friends and colleagues are already canceling weekend plans in lieu of saving their precious gas. If things keep carrying on like this we'll soon be out of fuel and out of food. We'll have to hunker down in the apartment, order sushi (provided the fishermen aren't on strike) and pray the heating company workers don't walk out on the job.
If it does get worse, expect more bitter posts to come.
No comments:
Post a Comment