Reconsideration

Anyway. I went from office to office and finally got what I had to get done, and then was told that all of my efforts were in vain because I "didn't meet the requirements." So not true, and I argued with the woman sitting at her new Ikea desk for a few minutes before she finally said, "Well, it doesn't really matter if you talk to me about it, I'm not even the one who decides these things. All I do is send your file over to (a fourth random office). If you really have issues with this, you should talk to them."

So then why the hell are you acting like you're the authority on the matter, bitch?

In all, after two days of running around Paris looking for all of these offices (I have literally been to six in 48 hours, just to hand over a ten-page file), I was pretty bitter. Bitter at having some snot-nosed secretary tell me that "The Nude in Western Art" might have been an interesting class at college, but it won't count for anything in France. Bitter at having her tell me that I would get a response in the mail about my candidature in four weeks. Or maybe six. Bitter that she "really couldn't tell me when, because that's their affair over in (office #2,786)."

Regardless, I stepped out of that particular office into the freezing cold rain. Somehow I was glad it was raining : it's better to be in a foul mood in foul weather.

I waited for the 89 bus for 12 minutes. I rode it one stop (two blocks) and the busdriver stopped the bus and said, "The line stops here today. There are protests blocking the rest of the route."

Oh my God, this country!!! What the hell? Why am I here when it seems like the bitchy adminstrative masses are doing everything in their power to keep me out? When even the BUSES are against me? Should I just give up? Go home? I was fuming - I hadn't eaten all day, was in a hurry, and now had to walk home in the rain. And I don't even own a raincoat.

More normal commute is a walk through the Luxembourg Gardens, but that takes me half an hour, forty minutes. I had wanted to avoid it. But once the bus shut down, I had no choice - time crunch and all, I was going on foot.

I stepped into the Gardens and the sounds of the outside world faded to soft. Somehow the rain had made everything brighter. I looked up for the first time since beginning my daily walks through the Gardens and saw the trees were exploding with vibrant green. Each leaf was a stroke of brilliant color splashed against a deep, grey sky. I suddenly realized the last time I had noticed the leaves was when they had been turning brown, orange, yellow. Dropping one by one and cackling under my feet.

Falling today were only small, pink flowers that have been budding alongside the trees' leaves. They were scattered along benches and newly restored statues. One fell on my sleeve.

The people with me were old men and women taking slow, steady strolls through the park. How odd they would be the only ones willing to walk in the rain.

I closed my eyes. Listening, I heard the rain drops falling lightly on the leaves above me. The sound of pebbles under someone's foot. My right pant leg dragging on the ground. A little girl's giggle. Old men playing p�tanque, their clacking metal balls making loud thuds when they hit the earth. But mostly, I heard the muffled quiet of a rainy afternoon in the park.

It smelled like rain and fresh dirt. Thunderstorms and sandboxes.

Coming out of the Gardens on the south side, I was suddenly bombarded with colors and sounds at the exit gate. Kids were getting out of school, excitedly telling their parents or babysitters or friends about whatever happened that day as they entered my rainy sanctuary. A little sister of one of them was absentmindedly walking along with chocolate on her chin. Two boys raced one another up the street. I followed, watching their plastic backpacks approach the boulevard a few blocks away.

I dropped into the local supermarket to pick up some orange juice and lettuce. Two Swedish women, who looked like sisters, casually did their shopping. A young woman yelled at her boyfriend on her cell phone inside the sullen store: "No, if you want to invite her, fine. But I'm not going to be very nice to her. Why can't you just invite people I like?" I wandered over to the dish soap, REM was on the radio. "That's me in the corner..." I sang along despite myself. The guy next to me looking at Kleenex stopped, looked straight at me, and sang, "That's me in the spot. light. Losing my religion." We both giggled and kept shopping.

So yeah. I remembered why I want to be here. It doesn't matter how many offices they send me to.