So after checking with a few stores and painstakingly reading French technical explanations, I came to realize that it’s impossible to get internet without a telephone line. The exception is for people who have a cell phone plan with SFR. Hey, I have a plan with them! But wait, you also need a French bank account. Well, these are the breaks. Break it up, break it up, break it up, break down.
Someone responded to my poster, which read (in French) “Do you have a place on the wifi system? I’ll pay you forty euro for your place!” It was kind of awesome, because the guy who responded actually spoke worse French than me. We agreed to go in and officially make the switch on Monday, but since I got to the dorm first I went to check with the office about if this was all kosher. Their response? They’ve had a spot on the wifi system, so they can set me up right away. Thanks for letting me know, guys. Obviously the waiting list is a joke.
But there’s more. The guy didn’t know how to register Macs, and he refused to help under the guise that his English wasn’t good enough. I switched the language of my computer to French, but he still refused. So I basically just sat down in his office and stared at him until he got a girl to register my computer on the system. I was kind of mad that he implied that my French was a barrier in helping me, so I spoke only French for the entire process thereafter. To compensate for embarrassment over the fact that he can’t do his job, he refused to speak French to me also. So we were both at a linguistic disadvantage that lead to a lot of misunderstandings. He kept telling me to type “e”, which in French means “I”. This is only one example.
And hey, guess what doesn’t work today? Yeah. The wifi. I’m typing this at home on word, and looking forward to a six dollar martini in exchange for transportation to the information super highway.
I had an interview with Prada today. The guy literally told me that I would be considered to be a salesperson, but one who wasn’t paid. They I was like, “umm, can I have money?” and he was like, “do you want money?” Seriously? Anyway, it looks kind of terrible. So unless they offer me some sweet remuneration, I think I’m going to pass. Besides, I don’t think I can deal with three more months of people saying “like the movie!” That movie wasn’t even about Prada, guys.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Ethics of Display
Let me start by saying a lot has happened since I wrote that first one. Most importantly for the purposes of this blog, I came to discover over a period of days that I can't get internet. Why? I'll tell you!
First of all, when I arrived on Saturday the director told me that I could sign up for wifi on Sunday at 10:00 AM. I rushed downstairs at that time only to find that this isn't possible. Also, the director openly hates me. Coincidence? On Sunday they told me that I had to go to an office on Monday at a certain time, and I hurried home after school to make the hours. They told me that it's not possible to get internet because there are only 40 spots for wifi. I had to ask a couple more questions before they would even tell me that there's a waiting list. I'm number three on it. Great! I tried to sign up for internet in my room, but you need to have a phone line to do that. I don't have a phone line. I'm thinking I'll use my American capitalist skills and make a poster saying something like "I'll pay you forty euros for your spot on the wifi system." We'll see how that goes.
I went to the Galleries Lafayette today (a department store), and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I got kind of mad though, because Repetto put their shoes on sale in a bin. For those of you who don't know, Vogue did a story on Repetto recently. Kate Moss may have started the trend, but the VIPs wear them. The sale shoes were between $80-$160. I think this merits a shelf. I started to think about why this bothers me, and I came to two conclusions. 1. They're more likely to get scuffed up in a bin, and 2. you should respect the aesthetic value of what you're selling enough to display it properly. Clothes are about aesthetics and function, and if you're buying $100 shoes, you probably care about the aesthetics at least as much as the function. They should be beautiful from the time you see them on the rack forward. This benefits the customer (who will feel happy about their history with the garment), the business (a good display generates business), and the passerby. "I remember the when I first saw these shoes, in a bin of only right shoes, beneath twenty others. It was magical. It made me want to shell out $160." This doesn't work. I don't know if repetto is trying to give a big fuck you to the man or what, but it upset me.
I have to buy a drink every time I want to use the internet. This session is costing me $6.00 for a gross martini. Savor every word.
First of all, when I arrived on Saturday the director told me that I could sign up for wifi on Sunday at 10:00 AM. I rushed downstairs at that time only to find that this isn't possible. Also, the director openly hates me. Coincidence? On Sunday they told me that I had to go to an office on Monday at a certain time, and I hurried home after school to make the hours. They told me that it's not possible to get internet because there are only 40 spots for wifi. I had to ask a couple more questions before they would even tell me that there's a waiting list. I'm number three on it. Great! I tried to sign up for internet in my room, but you need to have a phone line to do that. I don't have a phone line. I'm thinking I'll use my American capitalist skills and make a poster saying something like "I'll pay you forty euros for your spot on the wifi system." We'll see how that goes.
I went to the Galleries Lafayette today (a department store), and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I got kind of mad though, because Repetto put their shoes on sale in a bin. For those of you who don't know, Vogue did a story on Repetto recently. Kate Moss may have started the trend, but the VIPs wear them. The sale shoes were between $80-$160. I think this merits a shelf. I started to think about why this bothers me, and I came to two conclusions. 1. They're more likely to get scuffed up in a bin, and 2. you should respect the aesthetic value of what you're selling enough to display it properly. Clothes are about aesthetics and function, and if you're buying $100 shoes, you probably care about the aesthetics at least as much as the function. They should be beautiful from the time you see them on the rack forward. This benefits the customer (who will feel happy about their history with the garment), the business (a good display generates business), and the passerby. "I remember the when I first saw these shoes, in a bin of only right shoes, beneath twenty others. It was magical. It made me want to shell out $160." This doesn't work. I don't know if repetto is trying to give a big fuck you to the man or what, but it upset me.
I have to buy a drink every time I want to use the internet. This session is costing me $6.00 for a gross martini. Savor every word.
Premier Post!
Bonjour à tous! As I’m writing, Sunday morning is off to a slow start outside my window in Paris. Not a lot of churchgoers apparently; the traffic is pretty slow and nothing’s open yet.
I got here yesterday morning after a long series of flights in. The first one was a close call. I rushed through security because I was late and got on the plane with about five minutes to spare. I started the crossword in the magazine, and I thought I’d get a head start on the electronic devices warning by turning off my cell phone before the announcement. I was fumbling through my bag for it, and then I thought it might be in my coat pocket. My coat. Security checkpoint. Shit.
I ran up to the stewardess, who made me talk to the gate attendant, who let me off the plane but told me I probably wouldn’t make it back. I yelled something incoherent about my boyfriend and Christmas as I began to sprint through the entire airport. I mean that literally. I was at the gate farthest away from security. I grabbed my coat from a bin and ran back to the attendant who said disappointedly that she thought I wouldn’t make it. Thanks for that vote of confidence. But anyway, it turns out that I can run a fair distance pretty quickly. This may come in useful some day, but hopefully won’t because I can’t really imagine a good situation that involves running like hell. Also, it burns my lungs.
The flights were otherwise unremarkable, except for the fact that I sat next to someone on the long stretch reading a book called “Chinese Sexual Astrology”. If Chinese astrology is what they give you on placemats, then I guess it’s about how the different animals can or cannot have sex with each other. This creates a funny mental image. Here are some mix and match ideas: monkey, tiger, rabbit, horse.
One of the inflight movies was Ratatouille; I saw the last fifteen minutes. The lack of buildup didn’t stop me from crying at the end. That was super embarrassing. But I don’t think the sexual astrologist noticed, thank God.
The airport in France gives out smarte cartes for free. It was awesome.
On the taxi into town April March was on the radio. That couldn’t have been more perfect for me.
The dorm is pretty sweet, except that there’s no wifi in the room. So basically I’m going to have go down to the first floor every time I need internet. Also, I can’t even configure it until Monday. On the plus side, I have my own bathroom complete with shower.
There’s a really creepy guy down the hall from me. Why is it that everyone who is friendly is out for something? He invited me to dinner with his friend, which was actually really good, except that he was blasting really bad music complete with video. “Do you want to dance like that?” Umm, no. Also, he wouldn’t stop knocking on my door at 1:30 AM last night and then tried to open the door. I think we need to have a talk. I might also need to have a talk with the administration if this keeps going. Bienvenue à France!
I got here yesterday morning after a long series of flights in. The first one was a close call. I rushed through security because I was late and got on the plane with about five minutes to spare. I started the crossword in the magazine, and I thought I’d get a head start on the electronic devices warning by turning off my cell phone before the announcement. I was fumbling through my bag for it, and then I thought it might be in my coat pocket. My coat. Security checkpoint. Shit.
I ran up to the stewardess, who made me talk to the gate attendant, who let me off the plane but told me I probably wouldn’t make it back. I yelled something incoherent about my boyfriend and Christmas as I began to sprint through the entire airport. I mean that literally. I was at the gate farthest away from security. I grabbed my coat from a bin and ran back to the attendant who said disappointedly that she thought I wouldn’t make it. Thanks for that vote of confidence. But anyway, it turns out that I can run a fair distance pretty quickly. This may come in useful some day, but hopefully won’t because I can’t really imagine a good situation that involves running like hell. Also, it burns my lungs.
The flights were otherwise unremarkable, except for the fact that I sat next to someone on the long stretch reading a book called “Chinese Sexual Astrology”. If Chinese astrology is what they give you on placemats, then I guess it’s about how the different animals can or cannot have sex with each other. This creates a funny mental image. Here are some mix and match ideas: monkey, tiger, rabbit, horse.
One of the inflight movies was Ratatouille; I saw the last fifteen minutes. The lack of buildup didn’t stop me from crying at the end. That was super embarrassing. But I don’t think the sexual astrologist noticed, thank God.
The airport in France gives out smarte cartes for free. It was awesome.
On the taxi into town April March was on the radio. That couldn’t have been more perfect for me.
The dorm is pretty sweet, except that there’s no wifi in the room. So basically I’m going to have go down to the first floor every time I need internet. Also, I can’t even configure it until Monday. On the plus side, I have my own bathroom complete with shower.
There’s a really creepy guy down the hall from me. Why is it that everyone who is friendly is out for something? He invited me to dinner with his friend, which was actually really good, except that he was blasting really bad music complete with video. “Do you want to dance like that?” Umm, no. Also, he wouldn’t stop knocking on my door at 1:30 AM last night and then tried to open the door. I think we need to have a talk. I might also need to have a talk with the administration if this keeps going. Bienvenue à France!
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