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I am
definitely slowing down, because ever since arriving in France, when I’m
out and about, as midnight approaches, my head starts rolling back toward
my neck, which I have to make an effort to snap back when I’m à table or at a
party with mes amis
françaiss. When I was younger, I regularly stayed awake until
2…but usually 3am, with friends and co-workers, drinking wine, bowling,
or just watching tv after work, unwinding with the baker’s favorite
dinner: A big bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa. Times have
certainly changed, and now by 11pm, I’m ready to brush my teeth and hop
in the sack, exhausted from another day of this constantly challenging
thing called “life.”
I’m
not much of a social animal, as people who’ve tried to corner me have discovered,
which (judging by some of the awkward situations that I’ve found myself
in), proves I’m not all that great at socializing. A lot of it comes from
being squirreled away in the back of restaurant kitchens for thirty-five
years, where it seems most conversations are about food, sex, cooking,
sex, our lack of sleep, sex, who makes the best salsa, raunchy jokes,
sex, and making sure the dishwasher is on your side. Because if not, they
can really f**k you up. (And believe me, they will.) Nowadays, though, my
biggest concern at night is simply remaining vertical.
When
you go to a party in France, be it a dinner party or a get-together of
another kind (even a rendezvous at a bar or restaurant), leaving is
simply pas
possible. Okay, it’s not impossible, but the process can take
a good two hours or so. At restaurants in France, it’s considered rude to
give someone the check before they are ready to leave. So people will
linger as long as they want. (And they like to make sure that they do.)
To me, it seems to be rude to be the first person to suggest leaving,
even long after you’ve finished up. From the looks I get when I suggest
getting the check and settling up, it’s like you’re telling your friends,
“I’ve had enough of you. Time’s up.” And no one wants to be that person
who’s the first to make a move toward leaving. Because no one wants to be
the spoil sport, which seems to fall on my shoulders.
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