Bastille

Bar des Familles [yes, it's really called this], 00h43
1 February 2010
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. . . . . . . Slim, the owner of the bar I've been working at, gives me a ride home every night in his three decade old bimmer named Titilla. He's named the car because I told him that it would help it to start. It doesn't though.

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He gives me a ride home because the Metro is usually closed and he doesn't live far from me (though, if either of these were untrue, I'm pretty sure he'd do it anyway). Last two nights he's bought me dinner, too. It's kind of a French truc to refer to things as "too," which is why I started telling Slim with frequency that he's too nice ("vachement" en fait, "t'es vachement trop gentil"). It's both true and a common expression, but each time he reminds me that you can never be too kind in life, that kindness to others the source of freedom. (No, really, he does.)

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I spent most of the night trying to figure out exactly what I would say to Slim about my experiences working at the bar. After coming home Saturday night near tears because I felt like such shit, I decided that, while the money was great, it wasn't worth the state it put me in (Mimi has a great theory about this). During the car ride home I asked Slim if it was helpful having me there. Then I told him that I got the impression that they didn't really need me and that, moreover, that Marieanne didn't really seem to interested in seeing me there at all (in lightness, like I was telling him a story from my day, sort of). He asked why I thought that. My ego kept spitting bitter thoughts of my own ungratefullness at me as I let French words fall out of my mouth and break against the dashboard. I was trying so hard to be delicate and articulate and finally I was just like, "This chick makes it more than obvious she doesn't want me here and it makes me uncomfortable." (No, it did not come out like that in French.)

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He looked at me hurt, like I had just kicked his small dog (with force) and said, "No. You're the one that thinks that."* And repeated it several times, "No, it's not like that. You're the one that thinks it," saying it softer with each turn.

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"T'es pas triste au moins ?"

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I know the correct response to this -- I say, "Yes, I'm sad," and start crying as I repeat the laundry list of offences from the last two weeks while fully indulging in out poor of emotions the way most good French girls should. But I try to abstain from getting emotional (or indulgent) when talking about things which are emotional.**

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"Probably not" wasn't necessarily a fair response either, but it was the most I could manage. I felt like I was a such a disappointment to this friend that had helped me out so much, telling him that despite his best efforts I was not happy.

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Too nice is too give even when people tell you not to -- when they say they can't support feeling like all they are capable of doing in a friendship is taking and still they remain unsatisfied.

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I thought of all these things in that car ride tonight, which takes less than 15 minutes to go from Bastille to Buttes Chaumont. As much as it sucks (and I wouldn't be writing this cathartic post at 2AM when I'm dead tired and going cross-eyed if it didn't suck), when I think about it, I know I'm right. I shouldn't stay somewhere that causes me so much discomfort and self-doubt. "It's so hard just to be a young, independant, single woman that it's not ever worth it to let yourself stay in situations that compromise your ability to do that. And then making the shift from those oppressive and belittling work places to being intellectual and creative is not easy, if you can manage to do it at all."***

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I'm going to stop by the bar Wednesday to talk to Slim about my schedule with school and stuff. That's the way we left it off when I got out of the car and, head still raised, walked up to my house.

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* "C'est toi qui penses ça."

** As healthy as this may sound it comes from a place of guilt in forcing emotional upheavals onto obliging company.

*** Paraphrased from a conversation with Mimi****

**** (I am lucky to know such smart people)