This weekend was two days, and I did two dumb things.
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| Don't worry, she'll be right! |
Trick no. 1, went to the supermarket with the boys, on scooters and me on a bike. That's hard to herd them, and get things into the basket you know. At the f & v section, I looked for the weighing scales, and didn't see them. At the checkout, flustered, I asked it was ok, as it's queue was almost non existant, and I thought it must be just for small purchases. She scanned a couple of things, then got to the veggies, saying vous devez les peser! I said what? She says peser! And works out I'm a foreigner, says something like oh shit, and au secours, summoning some guy to show the guy who's not French how it's done. I asked if it's ok to leave my other groceries there, and yep that's ok. So we go over, with the boys plus scooters, and weigh all the different veggis to get the magic barcodes that are supposed to speed things up. Arriving back, there's a queue of 5 or 6 people all rubber necking to see who's the culprit, and the check out chick is just looking out the window. I realise now that no she can't cancel the sale halfway through. I sort of said sorry, and just got on with stuffing the now scanned items into my bike bags. Ignoring all the customers who must suffer is very French. For future note, the Geant Casino of Cros de Cagnes has the weighing machine hidden behind one of the columns.
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| Wine for lunch ruining my brain. Maybe it's age. |
Trick no. 2 this afternoon, we were going out, and I'm flustered as normal, grabbing the car key, the blue bag with wallet and everthing else. Marie calls out, have you got house keys? I say yeah! Car key? Yeah! Then, oh wait! And a second later the door closes quite gently, so that I hope it didn't shut. My blue bag in fact does not have the house keys. I say, but you have yours don't you Marie? Uh no, that's why I asked if you had yours. Every time I go out, I usually double check this, as getting locked out is one of my worst fears. Then it sinks in. Why is France so hard? The front door key is the only crucial one, and can't be duplicated. It's Sunday, so getting the Real Estate to help is impossible. I ring next door's doorbell to see if I can climb across from their place. It wouldn't be the first 3-stories-up clamber for me. The bathroom door wouldn't open once, and luckily it's window is right next to the kitchen balcony. But the neighbours aren't home, so no spiderman solution.
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| Nice palace in Nice. |
We head off for a drive and a walk, which lets us get over it. Who's place could we crash at? Marie suggests a hotel. The boys probably won't smell too much in their same clothes tomorrow. I'll take the morning off work. They'll probably smash the lock who knows when, and we'll just pay a big bill.
Meanwhile, our friends, who run an accommodation business, tell us about their locksmith and their experiences. They tell us they'll look to see if they have something to help, and will call back. They did! She dropped it off at our place. We got stuck in the traffic, while Ollie complained about being hungry the whole way home. The night's not looking good!
For ten minutes Marie tries, then I try, then Marie tries. Ollie says, you have the keys don't you? We have one more go after I remember that pulling the door back helps the striker thing budge... and it opens like magic. Lordy, it's just the best feeling in the world to realise you'll be sleeping in your own bed, dinner's 15 now only minutes away on the gas, and the boys won't be smelling as badly tomorrow.
