First Month of Working in Paris

stemeillon
Oct 27
8 min read

Hello people!

I've been working in Paris for nearly a month now! Woah. It feels like yesterday that I got my social security number and oozed excitement all the way home. I'm starting to understand things better. Kinda. Slowly. But I'll talk a little about the work and then what's going on upstairs.

The Jobbe

I'm working at a restaurant/bar called Upper Cafe, which I've sorta diagnosed as Franco American fusion. Picture American menu with very French elements. Like a burger with a massive slice of blue cheese. Instead of very fried mozza sticks or onion rings, there's fried St. Marcellin (French cheese, of course). It's a Parisian bistro on all other accounts though; cramped outdoor seating, lots of smokers, lots of Chardonnay, and pints of French beer (don't ask). Our clientele is a mostly after-work crowd coming for happy hour, but also includes hoards of church-goers by the literal dozens after church services at the church across the street, which has one of the biggest youth services in Paris. Anyway. My coworkers are young, badass, take-no-bull French persons that I'm learning so much from. For example, I think Americans think Parisians are rude because they don't put in the American hospitality efforts, they're not gonna get tips anyway. It's straight to the point.

I've been waiting tables, and it's my first time in restaurant work, so there's been a learning curve, but I'm starting to get into the rhythm of things. At first I was always stressed and running around, and felt like I wasn't allowed to stop moving because surely there was always something to be done. But then my most peaceful coworker, Hugo, told me "You know you don't always have to be running around.... I spend a lot of time just chilling at the counter..." Oh. Well ok then great.

Most of what I do is take orders on a little handheld i-pad (super handy) and then carry a tray full of beers and cocktails and sometimes food too. I love the chatty aspect. I don't think I realized how much the human element was lacking when I was working in engineering.

Favorite things:

Delivering smiles to people (sounds cheesy but I love it)
Bantering with clients
Carrying a huge tray and looking like I know what I'm doing
Starting to recognize the regulars
Learning how to shake a cocktail
Jigging around
The chill opening shift and drinking unhinged amounts of coffee in weird new concoctions. My favorite I've created so far is what I've dubbed a chococcino, which is a hot chocolate cappuccino, duh. Not your mother's mocha.
Having a really fun table and taking shots of Madeleine with them (tastes like the pastry, made with Cointreau, amaretto, and pineapple juice)
Dancing at closing to the French remakes of Disney songs (very strange. weirdest so far is the French take on Mulan's "I'll Make A Man Out of You". In French, "Like a Man")

Be a man

We must be swift as a coursing river

Be a man

With all the force of a great typhoon

Be a man

With all the strength of a raging fire

Mysterious as the dark side of the moon

Like a Man

Be more violent than the course of the torrent

Like a man

Be more powerful than the hurricanes,

Like a man

Be more ardent than the fire of volcanoes

Secret as the moonlit nights of the Orient

Least Favorite Things:

Asshole clients
Comparing French tipping culture to American tipping (makes me sad)
People thinking they're being funny when actually they've been rude all evening
Refilling the ketchup bottles (I love ketchup but woof that's a lot of ketchup smell in the nose). It's like thick juice or very runny jam. Yuck.
Breaking a glass (haven't dropped a tray --yet-- though)
When I say good evening to someone at 2 PM, or hello and welcome to someone who was already outside and is just using the toilet. I have terrible facial recognition.

In all honesty, the work has wiped me out. Here's my schedule:

Wednesday: 12-2:30, 6-12

Thursday: 6-02:00

Friday: 5-12:30

Saturday: 11-11

Sunday: 11-9

Monday/Tuesday: Fetal position

Total: 43 hrs

As I get more into the rhythm of things, my Mon/Tues weekend is starting to take more shape and I have more energy. The hardest part is Thursday nights when, to get home, I have a 1.5 hr night bus ride back, so I don't get back till 3:30 ish. On the bright side, everyone who warned me against the metro at night here has a very outdated or maybe just pessimist view of this city. I've never once felt unsafe on any of the public transport here, at any hour, and I'm always on my own but never alone on the transport. The night scene seems like mostly people going home from work, some people on their way home from the bars. At night on the metro its a pretty mixed crowd of everyone and anyone, and on the late bus there's a majority of late 20s to 40s men, mostly of color. That's probably also because the direction I live in has a high Arab and African population. It's curious to me how different transportation types and times of day have different demographics.

My funniest (and not-so-funniest) stories so far:

I was waiting on two big tables, one of eight friends for a birthday, and one of a dozen people who come every Friday night after serving meals to the homeless. The friends for the birthday had a mounting food and cocktail bill of €250+, and the homeless-meal-servers had a half-pints-and-fries bill of €80. One of the meal guys came up to discretely pay for his whole table, and I accidentally charged him for the €250 birthday table. Twenty minutes later I was like oh fuck. and my manager had me go back and give them the difference in cash. Big OOps. I mean, he didn't question it either. It's a great one-time business strategy. But he laughed about it (thank god) and they even ordered another round. When I told him the second round was €250 he got a kick out of it and gave me a tip, which I tried to refuse.

I went up to a table from behind and said "bonsoir les filles!" (hey girls!) but it was a straight couple on a date (the guy had beautiful long braids, whoops). I don't say les filles to people anymore.

We don't serve coffees or hot drinks after 5 PM because people won't drink more than one and they'll drink it very slowly, and it takes forever to make a cappuccino as opposed to a beer, and we have limited tables. It pisses some people off but apparently that's rather standard in Paris exclusively. Something else that's apparently standard in Paris is that when it rains people will still sit and drink on the terrace, even if they have to hold their umbrellas at the same time. Anything to be able to smoke and share a beer.

A lonely old guy comes in often for a small drink and some fries, and carries his cash in a plastic baggy, but if you talk to him for even half a second he just keeps on talking and talking and talking and tells you his whole life story. Last time I saw him he hit on me and then told me his wife left him and he should have married an Arab woman because they obey their husbands. I was like oh um I wouldn't be so sure and then pretended I had other tables to tend to.

My French gaydar is really out of whack because all of the guys here dress nice and have good hygiene, whereas in the states that gives it away. While I'm friendly with everyone, if I think a guy is gay (to be honest) I feel like I can be more friendly with him than a straight guy because I'm not worried he's gonna hit on me. But here that's backfired because straight guys think I'm flirting, even though I think they're gay, and I've had a couple turns-out-they're-not-gay-guys ask for my number. That was NOT the goal. But I'm learning to put my foot down. Or maybe I'm less nice now. I dunno.

A homeless guy was chatting with us late on a cold evening on the terrace and then started smoking a doobie and then this random guy came out of nowhere, lured in by the smell, and tried to buy drugs from the homeless guy and I was like ayo move it. I don't care if you wanna buy or sell drugs but don't do it right in the entrance of a restaurant, or any establishment for that matter. Where's the tact.

A mega drunk dude in a suit and tie showed up right when we were closing and asked to use the toilets, but he could barely stand straight so we turned him away. He and his friend stood a few feet away to call a taxi and the guy pissed himself, and I mean REALLY pissed himself. There was piss all over the terrace and he was just standing there in his puddle with soaked shoes and trousers. Yuck. His friend loaded him into a taxi down the street, double yuck (we tried to go warn the uber driver but were too late), and he came back and thoroughly apologized and said that the guy was his boss. OOF. What a position to be in. And we were pissed (pun intended) and had to pour buckets of boiling soap water all over the terrace. Yuck.

Anyway that's those stories.

Paree

Now! Where am I at with Paris! I don't really know. I can't tell who I am here yet. I've let the French negativity mindset start to infiltrate me. To be clear, that's not the only thing I think of the French, and there are a lot of characteristics I admire, but this is the one that's hit me the hardest. Anyway today I had a revelation. I'm NOT French (completely), so why am I pretending to be? I don't want to say I'm having an identity crisis, but when I was in Nepal I didn't pretend to be Nepalese, nor did I pretend to be French, because why would I, I am proud to be part French, and equally as proud to be ONLY part French.

So. I'm in a city where nothing could make you stand out. Everyone is here, and each individuality is already plural.

I wondered, when coming back west, if i was going to miss the attention of being a blue-eyed blonde in an Asian country (not that I actually enjoyed it at the time, it was very frustrating by certain measures). I don't think I miss that, but I do miss the illusion that my story is unique, of feeling like an adventurererer. Why do I feel less of that here? What I'm living, experiencing, is still new, at least for me. Who cares what everyone else has or hasn't done? I do! It's cool to hear people's stories, even if they're not used to the enthusiasm. Why would I curb my enthusiasm!?

What do I want to make of my time in France. I'm recalling the joy that threatened my sanity when got my social security number. I had so much excess energy and happiness inside of me that I just hoped it was leeching to the others around me. So I can assimilate to the Parisian glass-half-empty and better-than-thou attitude, or I can remember who I am and what I'm doing here. My nightmare is becoming another one of the depressed robotic faces on the metro. This isn't the end of my adventure in life, it's a part of it. But will become the end of the adventure if I manifest that! For now there's so much to be excited about! I don't know hardly anything about this city! I have so much to see and do! If I want to. But becoming stagnantly French has gotten me nowhere so far. Let's unplug. Let's explore. Let's see what there is to see. Meet the people who want to be met. Befriend people who seek human connection.

Cheers! It's my first day in a while feeling myself and it felt like a good time to write. I've tried to write this post three or four other times and it was bull crap every time. I feel good about what I did write just now.

Lots of love and enthusiasm and smiles and not poopiness that gets pissed at a draft of cold air,

Stella

1 Comment