Eet Eez Nut Posseeble!

End of February 2010

Well, hell... This didn't turn out at all like I expected. I came over here a month ahead of time and secured a house, scheduled the rental furniture delivery, all of the utilites were set up, and rental cars were lined up. I envisioned myself like Napolean -  hammering Wellington in an overwhelming frontal assault and then, in a dashing pirouette, turning and dispatching Blucher. We would move in the first week and take care of the basics and then seamlessly resume work and begin living the European lifestyle the following week. Upon my arrival, however, my glorious dash out onto the battlefield instead amounted to little more than a lurch out of the gate into hip deep mud, fog and cheese.

Even though I lived here for a 12 month stint many years ago I had forgotten how much the French love to say Non! They love the way the word feels in their mouth and on their lips. They positively revel in the way the sound vibrates in their nose. Non! It is simultaneosly a glorious musical trumpeting of the exercise of power, and a satisfying abdication of responsibility in matters of any effort. I am sure it is the underlying basis to the myth of Sisyphis - struggle mightily against mindless bureacracy and at the end of each success be rewarded with yet another gauntlet of entanglements.

We arrrived Tuesday and planned to stay in a hotel for two days. Our household goods and belongings that had been shipped over by plane a week ahead of us could not be delivered on Wednesday because "it had arrived too late!" (?)  Then we were told "eet eez nut posseeble" on Thursday because there were important forms and paperwork that must be completed first. Next it was not possible on Friday because there had been unforseen delays. The weekend was flat out because, alors, almost no one works on Saturday and absolutely no one works on Sunday.  Monday??? May Non!  "I am sorry but eet eez nut posseeble!" Why? Because, well, it was complicated. We rolled into the second week still living out of our carry ons with only two changes of clothes. As the delays mounted, with no apparent resolution in sight,  I had a flash of inspiration. I would tap our French connection in order to clear up the problem. We had a French administrator on our company team, Francois, most certainly skilled in bureaucratic skirmishing, who said to call if there were any problems.

I gave him a ring and heard in his voice the thrill of the bureacratic challenge. Who was the obstructing party? They had failed to deliver since when?!? He would look into the matter toute de suite! The tone in his voice was exciting - after being stonewalled for a week we were now going to kick some derriere!

Amazingly I received a call a few hours later from the delivery agency. Would we be available early that afternoon to take delivery of our shipment? Heh heh! That's right buddy! Surprise! We brought in some local heat. It turns out that the word here for getting things done, and also, not surprisingly, a synonym for fighting, is debrouiller - literally to cut through the fog - and there seems to be no end to it: arranging to take posession of the rental cars, the heater that doesn't work, getting a television/stereo and interfacing it with the cable and computer service carrier. Sigh. I need to take our French connection out and pick his brain.

What exactly did he say to the delivery agency to make them jump? I suspect that he is able to mock his fellow Gauls inability to master their work challenges and thus poke them in their inflated yet tender organ of  their Vanity and Pride.  My attempts to mock them would probably do nothing save make them deliriously smug. In the meantime I need to resign myself to the fact that this is going to take a good long while to sort things out. So while we wait we'll sit back and drink wine and eat cheese - French, of course!