"Muy Complicado, no?"--en Paris!

Hi there, Rob here for my once-a-month (or less) guest appearance. I began telling our friend, Emily Abbott from Barcelona, our latest round of "Muy Complicado, no?" stories and thought I would share the experience with you as well. Hardly as thoughtful as Matt's story about Cory and Jesus, but it's time someone brought the educational tone of this blog down a notch.

In case you're unclear of the meaning behind "Muy complicado, non?" it refers to a series of experiences we and our smattering of friends in Barcelona (OK, we only had one friend in Barcelona, Emily, but SHE has friends with some whopping good stories) had that highlighted some of the cultural "differences" between Americans and los Espanols. Now that we are in Paris, it turns out that those crazy French ALSO do things differently than we do Across the Pond. Here, gentle reader, is the tale of one such difference.

We needed someone to help keep our apartment clean. We are lazy and given to slovenliness (well, Matt is) and the kids show remarkably little concern about grime, so it's high time we hired a cleaning service. I found a list of recommended cleaners on the very helpful AngloInfo website and one of them agreed to come, look the place over, and give us his price for a weekly cleaning.

So far, so good. The day of the appointment I hang out at our scheduled time and...quel surprise! No cleaner. After leaving the guy a message on his cell phone, I pack my bags and take off an hour later. And then...un autre surprise!...The guy calls 15 mins. after I leave and is kind enough to leave me this CLASSIC "muy complicado, non?" message: "Nous sommes en train de partir...a bientot!" (We have just left--see you soon!) "A bientot" my ass.

As if this were not enough, he THEN calls back, 45 minutes later--which means two hours after our scheduled appointment--with this helpful message: "Uh, nous sommes maintenant a l'addresse que vous m'avez donner, mais, uh, vous n'etes pas la, alors...a bientot." (Um, we are now at the address you gave us, but you aren't here, so...hope to see you soon.")

No mention of being late, no apology. Call me puritanical, call me an uptight American capitalist (though I'll thank you NOT to call me a Republican) but this just struck me as being a bit "de trop"--too much. He did have the courtesy to call me every other hour (literally) on my cell phone, but as I now recognized his number, my reaction was simply to give my phone the raspberry and move on with life.

Lest you think that's the END of the story: non, non, non. Attempt #2: Call ANOTHER recommended service de nettoyage. Not only does the woman on the other end of the line commit to coming out, but she actually DOES come out to give us an estimate. Merveilleux! Formidable! Wahoo! Mind you, we've done only minimal cleaning for nearly a month now, so are feeling a bit desperado. We await the cleaning lady's arrival with bated breath...partly because of our excitement, partly because of the various smells wafting through the place.

We have to wait a week until Person #2 is able to stop by; finally the big day arrives. I, the appointed Speekair of Zee French, wait. Again. An hour goes by. I can't remember the name of the company she works for so I can't call to check on her. She, however, does have my number, or did anyway. I decide that we are cursed, cursed, cursed and leave an hour and a bit later to join Matt and Cory to go see Wall-E. Fun, fun, fun. After the movie I notice that someone using a Parisian number has called twice. Could it be the cleaning lady? Let's find out.
I call back:

It's me, Robear Gregsohn. Is this the cleaning service I spoke with earlier?
Oui, c'est moi.
Um...what happened today?
Well, I had a problem and couldn't come.
Oh. But we waited for you for an hour, unh? (This "unh" is a quintessentially French sound that's means something like, "What the $#*&?" and "What do you say to that?!")
Yeah, well, I had a problem. But I can come another time?

Yeah, my ass you can. However, after consulting with Matt, I cave in and say "OK, come back tomorrow." So now our muy complicado cleaning lady is scheduled to come the following day.

The more I think about it, though, the more pissed I become. "Sod cultural differences; the French will not do this to me!" I shall search for someone who actually wants this job if I have to clean the whole damn apt. by myself for the entire 3 months we are here, so help me Dieu.

I call a THIRD place, were the person on the other end of the line happens to speak English, and who also agrees to come today (Weds.) by 1:00--"Though I may be as late as 1:15." I take this admission to be a very good sign.

I call Mademoiselle Ne Fait Rien back and tell her, "Je m'excuse, mais nous avons decides de faire le menage nous memes. Merci!" (Sorry, but we decided to do the cleaning ourselves. Hasta la vista!)

Hah! Take that. Today a LOVELY Ghanaian lady showed up right on time, gave the apt. a thorough once over, and agreed that she and another TERRIFICALLY WONDERFUL woman will be here next week to help us reclaim our soil-laden home. And that, gentle reader, is installment #2 of "Muy Complicado, no?--En Paris." I promise that soon I will share thoughts about all the GOOD things that have happened to me/us here in the City of Lights which--despite our various Service de Nettoyage disasters--is a thoroughly delightful town with delicious food, engaging people, and fantastic sights galore. Really. I am not a bitter person; I just love telling trashy stories.
The End.