The strike is over.....for now

The strike in Paris has been over for awhile, but I finally felt it's negative effect today.  The strike itself affected me positively, but now that it's over, I must confess that I miss it a little.

I had my first flat tire during the strike.  It was too early for the bike shop around the corner to be open, so I pushed my bike to the gas station for air and in addition to all of the pumps having signs on them that there was no gas, there was also a sign on the air pump that there was no air.  (It's not that I speak French so well that I've forgotten how to say "air pump" in English.  I just can't seem to think of it!)  Did the lack of air have anything to do with the strike?  Or was it just a strange coincidence that it stopped working at the same time that everything else in Paris stopped working?

Anyway, I pushed my bike back home and caught the next metro to school.  The metro?  Something to be avoided at all times and especially when there's a strike. I hate the metro.  Have I mentioned that?  The people on the metro seem so sad and gray and gloomy and lonely and depressed and tired and bored and lazy and dark and glum and every other word you can imagine in a thesaurus when you look up yuck!  But, sometimes you have no choice.

When I got home that night, I'd planned on taking my bike to the bike shop.  It was closed.  Apparently they'd decided to stop working, too.   So, I thought I'd give the gas station another try and voila!  They had air.  I asked the gas station attendant for change and then said that if I couldn't figure it out I might need his help.  I'd really hoped that I could figure it out so I didn't have to be the dumb girl (the dumb American girl) that couldn't take care of her own bike.  Well, I couldn't figure it out so I went back to the window for help.  The guy was far from pleased to have to leave his warm little hut and come out to help me, but he did it.  And after a brief exchange at the air pump full of "I don't understands" and "pleases" and "thank yous", I had a new friend and I was sipping tea and speaking French (and cracking up) in the warm little hut.

I spent several hours there the first night and there were no customers.  With the strike, there was no gas. Occasionally someone would come to the window and he'd just tell them that there would be gas the next morning at 6 a.m.  On my ride to work the next morning there was a traffic jam.  They were lined up for gas.

The next night, I went back for more French and tea. There was no gas again because he'd run out by 10 a.m.  It was perfect for me.  No customers.  Who would think it would be such a thrill to be in Paris hanging out in a gas station booth drinking tea?  Those of you who know me well, know that I would think it would be a bigger thrill than tea on the Champs Elysees.

What's happened now that the strike is over and there's gas?  There's no time to make me tea.  One customer after another comes to the window and there's never a lull.  I wait patiently to see if I can learn anything from the brief exchanges between the customers and the gas station attendant, but it's usually only the pleasantries.

Tonight we had the soccer game on in the hut.  A few guys cocked their necks to watch a couple of plays and talk about the game.  No one seemed the least bit surprised that there was a girl and a bike in the hut.  And no one seemed to care that I didn't have my tea.  Contrary to the rest of the Parisians (especially the metro riders) I'm waiting patiently for the next strike, and fortunately I'm sure I won't have to wait too long.