“The late worm avoids the bird” and other stories…

I have my cousin Ralph (of Stringfever fame – see link to the left, under music) to thank for that piece of advice, which makes me laugh each time I think of it. Were I a worm, I would quite likely have been eaten by birds of prey at the market this morning. I was there before eight so that I could get some shopping in before breakfast (this is the sort of behaviour that my Marston Street house mates might associate with me when I was sitting finals). It was such a beautiful morning and, well, I like the market. It’s better however, when all the sellers are actually at their stalls rather than in the café. The bio-lady (who has not been treated with any chemical fertilizers) had evidently nipped off for one, and the lady who sells bags of chicory and apples ideal for juicing, opposite, probably went with her. In that spot, the only person left was a man selling bras, who sheepishly refused to take any money on behalf of his neighbour for a bag of her produce.

And now from before breakfast time, to lunchtime, which is an event here at work. At noon, people start milling around the office talking about going down to the canteen (a quick survey of the people in my team confirms rather unscientifically what I have been told, that people here for breakfast have a coffee and a dried biscuity thing at most, so they must be starving by noon). A big group made up of anyone from the director to the draghtsmen (though interestingly not the secretaries) go down in the lift to the underbelly of the building that is the canteen. This vast underground space has a buffet down one side then rows upon rows of tables and benches. The food is very good if you are into meat, and while not cheap, it is still subsidised by the company. And then everyone eats together. Slowly. Several courses are taken, even if one might only consist of an apple or yoghurt. Only when everyone on the table has had their final spoon of Yoplait does anyone get up. The trays go off on the conveyor belt where they get taken to invisible people who magically clear them and make them nice for the next engineer. En masse, we leave one windowless room for another, this time with a coffee counter at one end. Espressos are gulped down at breathtaking speed. Quick as a flash we are back up in the elevators and at our desks without ever having the inconvenience of seeing sunlight or talking to anyone who doesn’t have a diploma from Les Ponts (insert other grand ecole name here if you like). That’s efficiency for you.

Speaking of efficiency, two separate personnel departments are now in a race to see who can get me a social security number first. I still have not been paid for my teaching work at the University of Marne la Vallée. I am sure I mentioned this at the time, but just to recap, the university wouldn’t give me a contract without a social security number, and the social security wouldn’t give me a number without a contract. Someone had to give in, and rightly so it was the university. That was back in November. Now in March and my new job, I need a social security number so that I can get paid at work. Here, they gave me a contract straightaway and are now applying for the number. Given that the university are still faffing around, it looks likely that my new job will get me the number and that I will then give that number to my old employees who should then be able to pay me. That’s inefficiency for you. And before anyone thinks I am having a go at French bureaucracy, I am not. It’s just the university being rubbish.