I'd love to know what's lacking in the DNA sequence of the average Parisien (yes, I'm complaining again, call it a hobby)that renders them totally incapable of possibly, just once, waiting for their turn. If one more person pushes in front of me in a line, especially when they get between a starving me and a tasty hot waffle (actually, it might've been bland and disgusting, in my experience they lose any capacity to make a good waffle otside of the country formerly known as Flanders)then my grinding teeth might finally crack, that throbbing vein in my temple might finally burst. And, dammit, I might just actually say something. Gosh darn it. I might just say 'excuse me, but I was next in line'. I'm warning you. Look out. Just, look out.
The heatings on the blink again, so thank god for global warming eh? And I think our hot water time has been shortened by another minute. Frankly I don't think they'll be satisfied until we've forked out at least 5 000 euros just so they can leave us with a gas heating system that no longer actually supplies hot water or heat.
I'll deal with it when I get back from Bretagne, I presently lack the mental strength to deal with it messieurs-dames.
3 comments:
My unbeatable tactics: sigh. A loud sigh and an upwards look, as if to say "please, you up there, do something. Now." Scares them silly, it does.
glad to see stuff has not changed... speak softly and carry a chainsaw
R
ah! that brings me to another spectacular talent of the parisien queue terrorist. Ignoring your existence. They are not actually pushing in front of you because You Do Not Exist.
It's eerie, most other line invaders at least have a mantle of hostility (yeah, make something of it, juuust, make something of it), or some obvious peripheral recognition that they did something bad and are waiting to see if they can get away with it. So I can sigh and tut all I like, but short of sticking a thermonuclear weapon in their sock, I won't get much attention for it. Maybe I just need more practice ;p
Post a Comment