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.
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