The politics of “bonjour”

Lycée has given a new meaning to teenage awkwardness. While I’ve never felt especially anxious socializing in high school, teaching at a high school has given me a chance to relive this experience. It’s like that Diet Pepsi commercial when the middle-aged accountant says he wants to feel young again, finds himself with sporting his old Flock of Seagulls hairstyle and realizes it was a bad idea. In my high school do-over, I have a lot of new worries that I never had the first time around.

Lunch time is the most anticipated, yet worrisome, part of my day. The lunch culture in France is completely different. Lunch begins strictly at noon and lasts until 1:30 p.m. at school (sometimes until 2 p.m. elsewhere. ) Most things are  closed during this time (except restaurants) while the French observe their dining ritual. Consequently, the school cafeteria here is excellent and everyone eats there. This is not the Aramark-run cafeteria that was the blight of my high school and Ryerson. At Lycée Koeberlé, for 2,40€ you get a dessert, a dairy product, an entrée, a main course and as much organic bread as you can eat. The main courses, entrées and usually at least one of the desserts are always prepared à la maison. There are at least four items in each category to choose from (except the main course, of which you have a choice between two.) Already I’ve dined on Alsatian specialties like choucroutte and the French version of black pudding that I forget the name of here.

Yet there is always a shadow of social awkward cast over this otherwise exciting part of my day. There is always a monsterous line waiting to be let into the cafeteria and as a teacher I have the privilege to skip it. Every time I walk up past the front of the line, I feel a twinge of worry that the monitor will stop me and tell me cutting in front is for profs only and then I will have to explain (in broken French) that I am the English assistant. This has never happened but other members of the staff have mistaken me for a student before. Once I get in, fill my tray and head to the salle de profs that’s where the test to find dining companions begins.

Cliques don’t end after the high school age, most of the teachers sit together by department. As I wait in line for food, I pray there will be some free space around the English department or the few other teachers I know outside the department. If there is, I can openly listen in, try (unsuccessfully) to follow their wildly-fast French conversations and occasionally get thrown a bone in English sometimes. If there isn’t a seat near anyone I know, this means it’s time to lift my chin up, say a bright “bonjour” and plop myself down next to a group of random teachers.

Speaking of which, I’m still trying to get a handle on basic greetings. The French say “hello” to each other, constantly, all day long. Being here makes me realize how acceptable it is to slip in and out unnoticed in Canada. In stores here you’re expected to say hello and goodbye to the clerks (and you can expect the same from them.) At parties, whenever a new person arrives, they work the room, giving bisous (cheek kisses) and introducing themselves to everyone. Imporant note: girls are expected do the bisous with everyone (male or female) whereas dudes only do the cheek kiss if they are really good friends (otherwise it’s a solid handshake.)

At work, it’s another story. In the staff room, it feels like everyone is always announcing their presence with a “bonjour” or “salut.” I try my best to keep up but when I walk into a silent room of working teachers or if I’m one the one working, sometimes I feel like I’m interrupting everyone or don’t feel like breaking myself away from work to say hello. While it may sound rude, I suppose I was not prepared for the sheer amount of “hello” involved in living in France. And then course, there’s the task of choosing the appropriate greeting. There are the more formal ones (“bonjour,” “bon après-midi,” “bonsoir” and “bonne soirée”) that are time sensitive. While more casual or familiar ones (“salut” or “coucou”) are valid all day, I’m not sure who it’s appropriate to use them with–especially at work.

I can push most of the blame for this awkwardness onto the language barrier, but that doesn’t make it easier to get through the day. For the most part, I hope that I am not seen as the antisocial foreigner. I always need to fight my impulse to extend my hand for a handshake in social situations. I still have trouble figuring out who it’s appropriate to address “tu” or “vous.” I’m always asking myself if I’m coming off too familiar or too cold. The French are always stereotyped as rude but living here, I hope, actually, it’s not me that’s the rude one.