Recently, I've tuned into the Power of the Flirt. My theory is two-fold: 1) you're not young and S-E-X-Y forever and 2) being "charming" can be useful, and one needs to tap into one's natural resources.
I've never been good at this. First, I takes me FOREVER to realize someone is flirting with me. Even worse, my slowness usually works out for the better, because once I am made aware of the obviously present flirtation, I start blushing and hobbling and saying ridiculous and embarassing things.
However, two things have turned this around for me. Now I am convinced that I have to use my mysterious ways more often.
The first event took place two weeks ago, when I had to go to the post office to send out some packages for Vegas. Feeling especially good and confident (isn't it weird how somedays are just "on" days and others are completely "off"?), I waited in the long line as usual, praying I didn't get stuck at the desk of the woman I got in a fight with last summer.
Fortunately, when my turn came, I was happy to see an attractive, 60-something year-old-man call me over. I had seen him in the post office before, but never dealt with him directly. We started taking care of postal business, and I got a little chatty. This is a common occurence for me in the US, but in France, I keep the small-talk to a minimum. I think this is both because French culture (or at least Parisian culture) is generally less friendly, and also because I am overall more shy in French than I am in English. Here, only certain people can bring out the gab in me, and I'm not sure why this particular postal character had such an effect on me.
So, when he started having trouble pulling apart the mailing labels, I joked with him that he needed to grow some nails, and he said men aren't allowed to have long nails, women would find it weird. We both laughed, and I reminded him that he would have the mailing-label excuse to explain the length, but certainly not the color, should he decide to paint them. The whole exchange was light and flirtatious and sort of fun, and in the end, not only did he not give me any shit for any number of things the other post office workers would have barked at me for, but he also gave me buckets of free labels and order forms (so that I can fill things out in advance instead of at the post office desk, duh). It was like a post office Christmas.
I came away from that experience thinking, "A little flirting doesn't hurt anybody, and I'm sure he appreciated his chance to smile after a long day of crabby Parisians."
So I made a mental note to try out the Power of the Flirt when given the opportunity. Recently, I had another chance.
Back in December, I had to go in to renew my working papers. This is a hellish process, but it has recently been made a bit simpler by the renovations done at the student-workers' center. Last time I went there, a middle-aged man took my file, and, in English told me to "chill out" and "have a joint, woman." I thought I was in another dimension. Certainly this was not the French administration! Speaking in English by choice! And being a goofball about it, too? Telling me to RELAX?!?
So when I went back to the office last week and dealt with the same guy, I wasn't quite as surprised when he elected to speak to me in English instead of French. His only slightly-accented English was obviously perfected somewhere on the Left Coast of the US; his regular use of expressions that only Californian teenagers would use was honestly baffling.
Still, after gathering up all of my paperwork, he looked it over and said, "Hm... Lee Ann, huh? I like that name..." and we chatted about the origins and what not before I went along my way. After the exchange, I realized we had been a little flirtatious with one another, and I reminded myself that it made what is usually a really boring, painful interaction actually quite amusing. At home, I read over the paper he gave me (noting reception of my documents) and was crushed to see that my working papers would take around a month to get to me.
Fast-forward to this morning, when I went back to add something to my file after realizing a slight error I had made in my paperwork. Once I had decided to go to the office, I urged myself to also ask about time delay, as I really can't wait around all until the end of February to start my new job. Wandering up to the desk after waiting in the long line, I nervously explained to him why I had come back after just under a week.
"Who gives a shit?" he asked me jokingly in English, "Just sit tight and you'll get your stuff in two weeks..."
"Oh," I answered back in English, "Ok, but I just wanted to provide you with additional info in case my file wasn't complete."
"Are you the American? Lee Ann, right?" he asked, "I remember you. I like that name."
"Thanks," I smiled back at him, "You mentioned that."
So we talked logistics for a minute or two - all the while maintaining the light tone set up early on in our conversation - and then I said, "So you think I have another two weeks to wait?"
He patted the paper and said, "Normally, yeah. But I'll look into it this afternoon, myself. Don't you worry."
So here's where I learn my lessons:
1. In France, always go back to the office if there's a problem.
2. Always talk to a man, if you can.
3. Smile and hope he appreciates it.
I told my friend that I feel a bit ashamed - why should I get special treatment just because I giggled a little with him? Why should girls get any favors just because of sex appeal? She answered that guys get so many advantages in the world, and they don't need to whore themselves in order to get them. So we're really doing ourselves a disservice, but damn if it's not great to be able to use that tool when we need to. I kinda have to agree with her.
Very interesting! The good thing about France, in my view, is that you don't even need to be young and cute to flirt. It's more equal-opportunity.
As much as I hate to admit it, you're right about talking with a man getting you better service. How many wasted trips to the CAF (including the time a particularly foul woman made me cry) did I make before I spoke to a man? An unspoken female camaraderie, something that I thought was universal, is proving to be more and more of a myth in my life. Never go to a female bartender in Portugal. You will not be served. But, stand within the line of sight of a man, and you have a free drink. . .
I feel so wrong for admitting it, but it's the truth. (Still have to get my work papers though - four days later. So maybe he's just full of it. All flirt, no work).