Day 15: August 29, 2013

When I entered the kitchen he was already there: Roberto, everybody's favorite Italian. He had some kind of metal contraption resting on one of the burners, and I was intrigued by what he was making. Roberto is known for being the chef of the building, always offering to share his homemade carbonara, manicotti, ravioli, etc. The few times I have taken a bite of his gourmet meals, I have been blown away. I'm not entirely sure if it is my desperation for real food, or his incredible talent - but either way it is delicious every time. This morning, however, it wasn't food - and it was only by the aroma that I could tell he was making coffee.

I tried to contain my buzzing questions. What is that thing? How does it work? Where do you put the coffee and the water? But the one that got me most of all was "Why are you still in pajamas Roberto, you know we will be leaving in about 15 minutes?" He explained that he is an engineering student, and although he attends the same school as the rest of us, he has a separate orientation. That's when it hit me - my host father, Visal, from Montreal. There were so many undeniable similarities between the engineer standing in front of me, and the engineer who had been my father figure for a few months. The most obvious -- the willingness to wake up early and wait patiently for a complicated cup of coffee, brewed with perfected care, just to obtain a specific taste. The remaining 200 students in our building are studying business, so of course our priority is leveraging our resources and using our time up until the very last minute. That's why I bought myself a cheap, basic, coffee machine that sits in my room on auto and brews a mediocre-tasting two cups every morning on a timer.

I fried my eggs, drank my juice, and walked to the bus stop.

When I arrived at school, it was day two of orientation, and the conversations continued. Today we were being split up into various sessions, based on the requirements of our home universities and the French government. My schedule directed me to the CAF session, followed by "Setting up a French Bank Account" and "Buying a Cell Phone." As I had already completed two of the three tasks, it was only necessary I attend one of the classes!

I walked into the CAF (Caisses d'Allocations Familiales) module feeling totally confident. The CAF is a housing subsidy for international students on exchange in France. You can earn up to 300 euros a month to help cover rent, which can make a huge difference for those of us pinching pennies! Before you can apply, there are about a million steps that have to be completed, and I was grinning as I looked over the checklist. I was proud to say that I had had my birth certificate translated to French, opened a bank account at BNP, made copies of every identification document, and provided all the necessary "attestations." I sat in the second row, towards the center of the room, hoping to make the best impression possible. It takes a lot of work as an American student to break the crazy-lazy stereotypes! When the woman-in-charge entered the room, I was absolutely giddy to get started on the application process and have a check in the mail. She took the marker, and in fluid cursive handwriting, wrote "DISPENSE TEMPORAIRE DE CARTE DE SEJOUR" on the board. As prepared as I was, I could never have been ready for what happened next.

"If your French VISA has this line printed on it, you are free to go."

I scrambled to find the copies of my passport, flipped to the necessary page, and began scanning. There it was, in clear, bolded, typeface. What was this awful phrase and what did it mean for me? No scholarship. Regardless of all the work I had completed, I was totally and completely ineligible for the CAF. The students around me darted their eyes at one another, looking to see who would sigh in relief or frown in confusion. My face was a dead give-away - I was upset. One other girl, also from the United States, meekly raised her hand, and, when called upon, requested an explanation.

"That's just how it goes for some of you; you don't qualify, I'm sorry." And that was that.

I gathered my things, trying to process the amount of money I was walking away from: 300 euros, five months, that was 1,500 euros total. A grand amount of $1,967.85 in American dollars. My face felt hot and I swallowed hard; all that running around and paper chasing for nothing.

I ran down the stairs, skipping every other one, hoping not to make eye contact with anyone. I hit the ground floor, then through the lobby, and halfway to the metro before the anger set in. I wanted an explanation for why they could cheat me out of this opportunity; what had I done any differently than the other students that made me ineligible for financial aid?! I was not mad, or sad, or disappointed - I was absolutely livid.

When I got back to my room it was all I could do not to cry, and I was so over my second day of orientation. With a monstrous pile of laundry and time to kill, I separated by color and packed it up into grocery totes. In the basement of the main building I found four empty washing machines, and for the first time that day I felt at ease. Unfortunately, the moment didn't last long before I was back in a state of total frustration. I had my whites, blacks, cold colors and warm colors, separated out and placed in the bins. The appropriate detergents and softeners had been poured in, and cycles selected. But there I was, with a single 2-Euro piece in my hand. Each load requires 3.50 in coins, and while the amount was not a problem, the form of currency was. At Wichita State, and virtually every laundromat in America, there is this nifty little machine on the wall where you insert your bills and out come the quarters. Once again, I was reminded of the convenience of our lifestyle in the US, and lack thereof in France.. or at least Paris.

Knowing there was a reception desk in the lobby upstairs, I left my clothes and went to ask for change. There were two girls ahead of me, with complaints regarding their living arrangements, so of course it was going to take a while. I waited as patiently as I could in line, watching the stairs for any potential students wanting to start their laundry, and finally it was my turn. I explained to Rita, the secretary of Fondation Deutsch, that I needed coins to use the washing machines.

"Je dois les pièces, pas les billets, pour faire ma lessive."

As usual, she answered me in English, and explained that they don't have a cash drawer on hand in that office. Determined to continue our conversation in French, I inquired where I should go instead.

"La poste" is all she said.

I walked to the post office located on campus, and 800 meters later I was met with more frustration. The hours on the door said 14h00 to 18h00 and it was only 10am. Luckily it is just beside the main building and my bank is inside! Why had I not thought of going to BNP sooner. I climbed the steps and arrived at the sliding glass windows with a smile. Again, there was a line, and I patiently waited as one person opened an account and another made a deposit. When it was my turn I approached the teller and again, explained my situation.

"Je dois les pièces, pas les billets, pour faire ma lessive."

Again, in English, and much to my surprise, "We do not do cash exchanges here." The look on my face had to have been priceless. I couldn't contain my shock, and exclaimed with a little too much force, "You are a bank and you don't exchange cash?!" She proceeded to tell me that they were a service-only bank, and it took every ounce of my body to hold my tongue. You only provide services, but you don't exchange cash. If that is not a freaking financial service then I don't know WHAT it is! I thanked her anyways and left abruptly.

Just across from me, the doors to Heaven opened. The cafeteria was there and I knew for a fact it had a cash drawer. I marched ahead and stood in line, halfway paranoid about my unattended clothes and halfway giddy about this full-proof solution. When it was my turn, I ordered a coffee and handed over a 20 euro bill. For the third and final time, I explained my situation - and she refused. She rudely told me the cafeteria is "not a bank," and how funny it was she said that, considered I had just come from the bank. I nearly begged, pleading with her to give a paying customer their change in coins, but she handed me bills and only the necessary coins. I stared at my hand, debating on buying three more coffees to break it down even further, but I was too sad to persevere.

With my coffee, that I didn't even want in the first place, I walked back to the main building and went downstairs. I stood pathetically in front of the washing machines, staring at my clothes that (Thank Goodness) remained there. I calculated in my head the amount of money I had wasted on detergent and softener for the next lucky person to find. At this point, I didn't have the energy to be angry anymore, and sulked my way from one washer to the next, dragging my dirty clothes out. Looking back, I think it has to be one of the most pathetic moments of my life, and I can't help but laugh.

Then I heard it, Italian opera being belted out from the hallway, a sound I have grown to both love and hate. It was Roberto! You can add opera singing to his list of talents, and although it is not usually appreciated at 7am, I was glad to hear it at that moment. He pushed through the door with a big bag of laundry, and went mute when he saw me pulling dry clothes out of the washer. Utterly confused, just as I was at his coffee contraption, he began to pry. "What are you doing?"  in his broken Italian accent.

I nearly cried as I recounted my story, including the fact that my CAF was rejected that same morning, and the corners of his lips began to spread. He kindly handed over the coins that he had, and would not take them back when I refused. Roberto; the chef, the singer, and my own personal coin machine. I didn't know how to thank him! I dropped in the change and started each load, as I should have done two hours before, and sunk down in a chair with my laptop. Finally, I could relax!

It wasn't 30 minutes later that Roberto returned and asked me to come to the kitchen. I didn't know exactly what he wanted, but I was obviously at his mercy. Between my washing and drying, I walked back to my building and found him, singing, again. He ordered me to get two espresso cups from my room and report to the kitchen immediately, so I did just that. When I arrived he had the water, coffee grounds, and small metal paraphernalia set out on the counter.  I laughed, out loud, as he began the detailed infomercial. And when the espresso was finished, I took a sip of some of the most delicious coffee I had ever had.

That afternoon, when all my laundry was folded and put away, I was invited to a movie with Marion and Emilie; two French girls that had studied at Wichita State the semester before. I had originally been assigned as their "mentor" or "hostess." I was required to meet with them once a month to ask about their classes, living arrangement, and any issues they were having. Little did I know that we would become best friends, having bi-weekly coffee dates and going skiing at Keystone! They were two of the coolest girls I had ever met, and I couldn't wait to be the one utilizing their expertises in their country. It just so happened that both of them accepted internships in Paris, as they graduated in May, and will be living here at least for the year if not longer. So here we are now, all stationed in Paris within three miles of each other, and ecstatic to continue our friendship.

 

The movie we chose was called "Jeune et Jolie" and was set to commence at 8:20. We met up before for a quick cup of coffee in Place d'Italie, then walked a short ways to the theater. The film was about as French as they come, and contained more graphic nudity than I could ever want to view in a room full of strangers. As uncomfortable as it was, the whole experience was truly unforgettable. I grinned with pride as I squeezed my way out of my row with an empty candy dish and soda cup. The film had been shown in French, and without subtitles, yet I understood a vast majority of the content. Of course, there were times I found myself whispering questions to my friends, especially during the longest dialogue scenes. But nonetheless I had watched a film in French without being forced - and actually enjoyed it!

We kissed each others' cheeks goodbye and went our separate ways, and a moments later I was brushing my teeth before bed. Of course I couldn't go to sleep until I shared a FaceTime call with my biggest sister and her baby girl :) I asked Chasey about her first day of school, and wished my sister a good evening at work, before finally shutting my eyelids for the night.