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| Ferris wheel with animations |
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| Hanging cherry lights |
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| Bamboo lights |
Last night, Ben and I welcomed friends into our home for our crémaillère (housewarming party). Eight of our new friends braved the busy metros and bitter cold for a soirée in our new home. It felt like a bit of a microcosmic representation of the Fêtes des Lumières happening in the streets around us. We two Americans welcomed a small world into our home: Italy, China, Botswana, Taiwan, Mali, France, and one more American. Not only were we hosting this fête, but we became ambassadors of our culture to this small, diverse group. Just as the city of Lyon itself is a great ambassador of the French culture during this weekend of lights.
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| I made quiche for the first time! |
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| My adorable friends |
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| Full house, lots of wine. |
But what happens when ambassadorship fails? I believe this is a task we must all carry wherever we go, whether we like it or not. I'm not just a foreigner in a foreign land, but the way I comport myself is a representation of America itself. America can do all she likes to win the opinion of foreigners through media, but the longest links in the chain of ambassadorship are the citizens themselves. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, the chain is only as strong as its weakest link.
I recently had a perfectly dreadful experience with a French person. I've been living here long enough at this point to stop generalizing about French people, but my interaction with this person was incredibly detrimental to my opinion of the French. Overall, I'd like to claim that the French are very warm and kind, and can be very welcoming in their own way. It's not a culture that's as open as America, but when a French person decides to like you, he is indeed chaleureux.
My interaction was with a woman who works at BNP, where I went on Friday by myself to try to open a bank account. I don't know if it's because I'm a foreigner, a student, or because I'm young, but this woman was rude, condescending, impatient, and downright mean. Every two minutes, she took phone calls that lasted 10 minutes or more. No apologies for wasting my time after. When she finally got around to deigning to help me, she discovered (apparently for the first time) that the new rules in France state that Americans must fill out a W9 in order to procure a French bank account (a W9 consists of your name, address, and SSN. That's it.) She had to print out the form and give it to me to fill out, but she kept repeating, c'est compliqué, c'est compliqué, as though she were the one who had to read the English form and fill it out. Then she didn't understand that the W9 is what will serve as the justification for my SSN. She kept demanding I show her a separate justification. I tried to explain that the W9 is the justification and that I don't have any card or paper proving my SSN. At that point, she got really excited because it seemed as though she would get to deny me an account. But she called a colleague, and sure enough, he told her the W9 would suffice. Annoyed, she continued. She asked my why I needed a bank account in France. I told her I have a job here, and I'll be paid directly through my account. Unconvinced, she asked me if my parents would be using it to transfer money to me. I said no. She asked me again, as though I were lying. Again, I said no. Flustered, she asked me how I was paying for university. I told her I'm paying my own university fees. She looked at me like I had three heads. But she continued. When she typed the wrong university into her online form, I corrected her, and again she looked at me like she wanted to pluck out my eyeballs. Next, she got to a page that asked for justification of identity (whether or not I had filled out a W9). Since she still didn't understand, she thought it meant whether I had separate proof of my SSN. The only options on the online for were "yes" or "waiting for it." She muttered something about there being no option for "no," as in, "no, this stupid American didn't fork over her social security card, so I'd better call up the United Nations and report her for identity fraud." She called in a colleague again to complain. This time he came into her office, surveyed my completed W9, and asked her what the problem was. He had to explain to her that my W9 is the justification. So we moved on. Next, I needed to show proof of residence. I don't pay any of the bills for our apartment, but the lease is in both of our names. So I gave her a copy of our lease. Gleefully, she informed me that unless I have a gas or electric or some kind of bill, she would proceed no further. I told her none of the bills are in my name. She repeated herself as though in those two intervening seconds I had magically acquired a new bill in my name. She started mumbling something at me that I honestly just couldn't understand. So I said, I'm sorry, I don't understand. She mumbled it again. Frustrated, I asked her if we could please suspend the process. More indistinct mumbling (I'm pretty sure she was talking in Swahili at this point, I couldn't catch a single word). So I asked her if she had a paper that explained all of the forms one needs for opening an account. She actually laughed at me when she said no. I asked her if there was anything online that I could consult. She said if I wanted something online, I should just open an account online, as though I were the only idiot ever to come into a bank in person to open an account. Finally, when I was nearly in tears, I told her to quit the process. I was getting nowhere (she wasn't letting me get anywhere), so I didn't see the point in continuing to be humiliated. When she sensed my frustration, she actually said, I don't know how they do it in America, if you get your new credit cards right away, but here in France it takes time to make the cards. It wasn't a joke.
As I retreated from her office, I turned with as forced a smile as I could muster and said, "Merci quand même." She cackled and bared her teeth at me in triumph. On a very obvious level, this woman is a representative of BNP. I chose to bring my business to this bank, and this woman's terrible attitude has left me with a really awful impression of BNP. But on a much grander scale, this woman is a representation of her culture. She chose to belittle me and make me feel very uncomfortable. She doesn't understand that in that tiny bubble of a situation, she is the face of France. She contributes to my collections of experiences in this country. Sadly, negative impressions often hold a larger chunk of memory than positive.
6 months ago, I would have bemoaned this unfortunate little event as proof that the French hate me. It would have ruined my courage to try again and deeply fouled my opinion of the people here. Now, though, I just feel sorry for this woman. She's clearly deeply unhappy and felt it necessary to take it out on a foreigner. I tried my very best to speak French and act graciously. I gave her no ammunition to dislike me other than the fact that I was born a few thousand miles away.
We're all little ambassadors of our origins, and this woman failed miserably. But this reinforced a valuable lesson that's been percolating in my mind for years. When I worked at City Sports in DC, we had flocks of foreign tourists in the store all the time. I started to realize that every interaction with a foreigner was an act of diplomacy. I was a representative of the American culture. I truly appreciated those tourists who made a valiant effort to speak any English they knew, even if it was only hello or thank you. In the absence of English, a warm smile was just as welcome. Even if a foreign tourist was rude or oblivious, how I conducted myself would still be some portion of that person's opinion of America.
Lyon is doing a delightful job of welcoming foreigners and tourists into the city for the Fêtes des Lumières, just as I hope Ben and I hosted a welcoming crémaillère last night. One person's lousy behavior won't ruin this beautiful city and country for me, but it definitely wouldn't have hurt if she'd been kind or at least neutral.
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| A warm welcome in lights. |
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| Christmas markets! |
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