Leaky Vents and Sunny Side Up

This weekend, I learned a lot about this family, and, in turn, myself.

Saturday morning, before we left town to go to Rouen, I got up to go running. For me, as for many other, perfectly sane people, working out is a way of shaking off the stress and screwing one’s head back on straight. When I showed up in the kitchen to grab some coffee right before I left, Arnaud (Dad) was eating breakfast with Geraldine (Mom). I was decked out in spandex, a tee shirt, elastic headband and ipod, ready for action. I smiled and offered a cordial ‘bonjour’. Geraldine looked up from her breakfast and smiled, while Arnaud took in my attire and, in a grand gesture, turned smirked incredulously at his wife. I wanted to slap him, seriously. The thing that I hate the most is when people do that smirk, that mocking, see-through, horrible signal to someone else that says, ‘see? See what I’m talking about?’ I’m sorry that I like to run, but I really don’t see anything absurd or laughable about it.

Not to be spiteful, but this is my counter-smirk for all of the times he is ill mannered and pompous.

I smirk when you steal have of your child’s dessert before he’s had a bite.
I smirk when you sneeze and neglect of cover your mouth at the dinner table.
I smirk when you exit the car after a short trip and, instead of stepping inside the house, you step outside the gate and pee on the street, in broad daylight, in front of your whole family.

I apologize for seeming a bit frazzled, but this weekend was not so great.

Saturday (after my marvelous run, listening to the Rocky theme and punching the daylights out of my invisible opponent, who shall remain anonymous), we ate a lunch of seriously RAW beef. She put the beef into patties, put them in the pan for 10 seconds each side, and then they were “done”. The outside was the lightest of browns, and the inside was so under cooked that it was still cold. I ate half and couldn’t mentally bring myself to eat the rest. We left in the afternoon for Rouen. Rouen is the historical capital of Normandy, which is a region in northern France. I was excited, as I’d looked it up on the Internet, and it looked gorgeous! However, We got there at 7pm, and pulled oven to get the kids dinner… at McDonalds. Apparently, I was staying in the hotel with Arthur (5), Enzo (5), and Mateur (2), while the rest when to the big birthday bash of one uncle. After a disappointing dinner of chicken nuggets and fries (they didn’t have any chicken sandwiches! My favorite!), the parents left me there with the kids so they could get ready. The night at the hotel was fine, though boring, and they finally got home at 4 in the morning. The next day I was up at 9am with Philippine (9) as instructed. After waiting for another hour and a half, the parents were finally ready to go to breakfast. Their eyes were bloodshot, and they were clearly hung over.

We ate until 12, and then headed off to the uncle’s house, which was nearby. We parked, knocked at the door of a beautiful home, and were welcomed in by a large-ish man that spoke impeccable English. On cue, he casually mentioned he owned a home in Palm Beach, and asked if I liked his chauffeur. I replied politely, and that was that. There were a lot of people in his house, and the family made their rounds, saying hello, smiling, chatting, and hoards of small talk. I hung silently in a corner while the family forgot about me, the awkwardness of the situation enveloping me like a pressure over my whole body. We then headed over to his country club (again, GOREGEOUS!) to eat lunch. There were about 30 people there, all from the family. They stood outside and caught up for about and hour, and then headed inside for a long lunch.

Not ONCE did the family introduce me. Can you imagine coming with a friend to a party, where everyone knows each other very well, and your friend wanders off and has a grand old time, leaving you to, well, do what you can? And did I mention that no one at this party speaks English? And no one seems even remotely interested in acknowledging your existence, let alone conversing with you?

Now, I consider myself a very social person. I generally get along with everyone, and have no problems meeting new people or making new friends. This afternoon was absolutely the most awkward and embarrassing experience of my life. I couldn’t believe that the parents lacked the courtesy to introduce me at all, or include me in one of their conversations. I even looked really cute that day!

Anyway, after about 4 hours of that, we went (just the family) to downtown Rouen, and walked around. I got some pictures, and had a nice time talking to Geraldine. Best 30 minutes of the weekend.

I’m beginning to see what I am to these people. They work for their family company, which is extremely successful. It is 100 years old, and has a huge income. The grandfather (with the weekend house full of the stuffed dead animals) is the current president of said company. These are Trust-Fund-Folks. They’ve had a job waiting for them, along with a rather large sum of money, since they were born. I am nothing but their servant. They don’t care about my feelings, and they certainly do not see me as an equal.

This is so hard because I know I am their equal. I am just as educated as they are, if not more, and I am just as smart. Just because I choose to work for them this summer to learn and experience another culture does not mean I am beneath them. This engrained sense of class and superiority is something that really hits a nerve in me. Maybe it’s my American spirit, that “All men are created equal” and “Land of Opportunity” kind of thing.

I have decided to brush this aside, and for three months, worry about nothing except learning French, saving some money, and maybe getting a tan. After all, it’s sunny outside, the house is empty, and the Beach Boys are playing of my iTunes radio. Sunny side up, and I’ll survive.