Not Quite.

Today was a day of unfulfilled anticipation. I was supposed to go to the Opera; that activity dissipated. I was supposed to pick up my tickets for tennis; that errand devolved. Not to say everything I expected to happen today didn’t, but the major things that I expected did not materialize.

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The Opera was canceled because of a strike. I don’t really have more information to provide because I don’t know any. It’s curious how far-reaching unions are and how comparatively powerful they are. There will be another performance, so it’s not a total loss.

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As for the tennis tournament, the website of FFT (French Federation of Tennis) told me that I had to pick up my tickets at the Palais Omnisports de Place Bercy (POPB—the French love non-melodious acronyms). This was a bit of a disappointment in of itself—I wanted Roland Garros, darn it, no matter how cold it would’ve been! I guess there’s always springtime.

The Palais is an otherwise typical concrete stadium sheathed by creeping grass. It’s a very typical French statement, the nearly vertical glass, an unnatural variation attached to an unnatural hunk of metal. Man controls nature and shapes nature until it’s better than it was before. You can see it at Palais, at the Musée Branly that I described on Sunday, and at Versailles’ gardens, with its conical hedges amongst others. On the other hand, France is very strongly opposed to genetically modified foods—although to be honest I don’t know why (if it’s for similar reasons as US people, I wonder what “Frankenfood” in French is?). So it seems a contradiction to me, but I don’t have enough knowledge to resolve it.

Once inside, I found the billetterie (the ticket stand) of FFT—very centrally located, so of course it took me forever to locate. I stated that I wanted to pick up my tickets, and the counter lady nodded in that service person-fashion, when they want to say, “I Understand, And Am Speedily Resolving Your Request.” The only thing that differentiated her from a US counter lady (or man—let’s not be sexist here) was the lack of a Mr./s. Potato-Head Smile: the smile piece has been put in the right place, but the rest of the facial expressions don’t match with the smile.

Anyway, after flipping through her envelopes kept in a weathered wooden box, she couldn’t find it. Then we reached stage two of counter-customer relations: the Problem. Many times in the U.S., resolving the Problem takes on confrontational aspects, as each party in the interaction, each with a disarming smile, implies the other is in some way incompetent, and it is the other’s fault that the problem exists (I find this most often happens eerily in airports, as opposed to the DMV where both parties don’t even do the courtesy of pretending to smile.) Of course, it can also take another tack—each party can genuinely be trying to solve the problems with no incompetence really perceived.

Anyway, this particular interaction was in a foreign country, and the foreigner always wears incompetence. I am always aware that there could be some abstruse rule of French etiquette that I’m violating, or that there is some aspect of life that I don’t know about (I was approached by scalpers today, and I wondered, what’s the procedure for that?). I’m ignorant and incompetent. That’s the reason that traveling is fun—I can see a way of life with fresh eyes and consider the ways that I could improve myself, and the way I know whether I’ve comprehended my lessons is how I respond to challenges. An interaction like the counter-customer relationship is a puzzle—there are moves that you make in a certain order.

So after the woman said, “We can’t find your tickets,” I assumed that the moves that worked in America would work here (actually I used the American move because it was the only one that would work.) I went with the Appeal to Contradictory Authority. The Appeal is more than just an appeal to an authority, it must be an authority that would legitimately confuse you, hence creating an incentive for the counter to help you. Also it was true: “Your site said that I could pick them up here.” When she looked puzzled and called someone, I knew that it was the correct maneuver.

After the phone ended, she asked, “Do you speak English?” I’m not sure if this was politeness or genuine ignorance. I hope the latter; it would mean that my French was good enough to bluff my way through a somewhat complex conversation. But it might also be the former—I know I always get frustrated when an interlocutor will turn so fast into English that it gives me whiplash.

“Yes,” I said. I was somewhat relieved, though, to speak simply.

Then she explained that replacement tickets would be available tomorrow. Good stuff.

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As to something expected, I had a meeting today for my internship. The studio will be creating a show about the 2008 elections for the French Parliamentary Channel. It will explain what’s happening (who the candidates are, what their standings are), how it’s happening (Electoral College and primary system, for example), and why it’s happening (The issues) in monthly, 26 minute long segments.

Pretty ambitious. Lord knows that if an American news TV show tried to do the same thing for France, we’d get 26 minutes of Nicolas-Cecilia, which has, burned out and dissipated like smoke over here. Not to mention that the notion of the government sponsoring the show is somewhat incredible to me—I’m not generally a huge fan of government-aided journalism.

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It always shocks me how unfriendly some French businessmen are. They often project a “We’d rather be somewhere else” attitude. For example, today, when four of us went into a traiteur, the proprietor was watching 24. We ordered our food, but he definitely seemed like he’d rather be watching Jack Bauer’s exploits.

The question is, does it lose business? My food was fine. I’ll go back. You can never really quantify what the losses and gains are, and this strikes me as a much more honest-to-self method of living. Not to say people should be jerks, but there will always be times when you’re in an unfriendly mood, and it’s probably better to just be as you are rather than put on a mask. Actually, I changed my mind: is it really that hard to be polite? (They have a different definition, evidently.)