Something happened this weekend that made me realize I might actually know how to get stuff done in France.
On Saturday, we dropped by the Aquarium Tropical over at the beautiful Palais de la Porte Dorée, as many deep 12ème parents tend to do when it’s soggy outside. As we rolled up to the entrance, I noticed a sign that said “AQUARIUM COMPLET” next to the security guard. “Hey, aquarium complet” I whispered to my husband. Without discussion, we both went into Parisian Persuasion mode. We were still going to make it inside that aquarium.
“Oh, uh, so the aquarium is full?” my husband asked calmly (in French, translated for your convenience).
“Yes, it’s full.” The security guy answered. “There are a lot of people in there, so yeah, it’s full for the day.” We both sensed a lack of confidence in his reply; he was but a cog in the wheel of the aquarium’s operations. My husband proceeded.
“Ah, so, no more visitors today then?” A useless question, but necessary in ways you’ll understand shortly.
“No, no more visitors today for the aquarium,” the guard continued nervously, turning his attention to a few women who were going in for a different exhibit.
“What about people with cards?” My husband began.
“Cards?”
“Yes, we have annual passes,” I explained calmly, careful not to act as if this gave me any special privilege over anyone else. It was just a fact.
“Oh, I don’t know actually, I don’t know about annual passes, uh…”
“Maybe we’ll just go in and see?” My husband offered.
“Yes, sure, go in and see, why not?” The security guard let us pass.
Up the steps to the aquarium, it was clear that there was a line for people waiting to buy tickets, which we walked past. We flashed our passes at a few people who simply nodded at us, and we made it into the only somewhat crowded aquarium. Et voilà.
As I sauntered triumphantly into the aquarium, it occurred to me that not so long ago, I’d have seen the “aquarium complet” sign and just gone home. But now, we were able to take a “hard no,” a printed door sign, and turn it into a “maybe,” which in France is sometimes as close to a “yes” as you’ll get.
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In America, a sign that says “no” would have stayed a “no” unless I went to a very dark place. I definitely would have asked to speak to a manager or requested to compare my experience to the existing policy, and used that incongruence as the basis for my right to enter. I’d have started calmly, then escalated as necessary, using my position as a paying patron as leverage. I ultimately would have been allowed to enter because someone in management would weigh the risk of my negative Google review, of my not renewing my pass next year, of an email to their boss. I would let all this go down as calmly as possible, but at the first sign of irritation or disrespect, I’d be speaking to the mom of the President of the aquarium, or the chief clown fish keeper or whoever was in charge.
But that’s not how you get things done in France. There’s a myth that you can’t get anything done at all in France, with its many vacations, levels of bureaucracy, and much red tape. This is a slight exaggeration. You can get things done in France, just more slowly and by very different, more subtle and egalitarian means.
Why is it different? You can’t push the same buttons in France that you can in the US, because the same things don’t matter.
For example, no one here is that worried about the poor reviews that will come with slow service, because slow service isn’t considered bad. Slow service is thorough, intentional, and considerate. Fast service is rude, rushed, and casual. And as far as reviews go, it’s widely accepted that Google and Yelp reviews in France are left only by tourists and not to be trusted. There is no record to hold service levels to account, because caring that much would be tacky. If you tried to push the service button, it simply wouldn’t compute.
So, how do you get a desired outcome in a culture where rushing and looking like you're trying is considered garish? It’s not always easy, but you can still get things done now and then if you stay calm, act like a local, and play the long game. Alors, some tips for getting sh*t done in France.
“No” Isn’t Absolute
I once walked into an epicerie that was also a Mondial Relay pick-up location, and the proprieter started telling me my package wasn’t available before I even told him why I was there. I could have been there to buy an avocado, for all he knew.
“Non Madame, No…” he began as I crossed the threshold of his establishment. I began to ask him if he meant “no” because he was closed, or what exactly he was saying no to, then he switched to “Okay, let me see,” and agreed to look at my package information. He quickly found my package, gave it to me, end of the transaction.
“No” is the starting point for service in France. Everything is “no,” then you slowly work toward a solution. In the US, everything is possible, and then we slowly realize together what will or won’t work. “Yes” to “no” is a slightly more convivial and optimistic (unrealistic) journey; that’s the wrong vibe for France.
This initial “no” can be very deflating for Americans. You must understand that it doesn’t actually mean “no” at all; it just means “maybe, maybe not,” or even “most likely yes,” even though it sounds like you’re hearing “non.” I marvel at the number of times I got a “no” then said “okay, merci” and left an establishment without even trying to reason with the person trying not to help me. Now I know that I have to linger and prod for a while to make my way to a “yes,” which brings me to my next point…
Don’t Stop Asking
The easiest way to get results is to keep the conversation going. Let’s say you’re picking up a package from La Poste because you’ve received a text and an email saying your package is available. But once at La Poste, the clerk can’t find it or simply doesn’t want to, so they say it’s not there. This might sound like a silly situation, but there’s a reason I’m giving you this advice: it happens all the time.
You won’t get your package by appealing to their logic, showing them the email you received saying the package is there. Nor will you get your package if you appeal to their pride by asking them to do their job and figure it out. These will just piss them off and remind them that they are in a service position, which they resent. Hey, I get it, I don’t want to have to do things for people, either. But we want our packages, so what do we do?
Instead, you ask them many small questions, all while acting like you are on their side. You are both in this together. You are also befuddled by the fact that the package can’t be found. You are also angry at the man, at the system, for requiring any of us to use computers to find packages in the first place. Ask them extremely obvious things: could the package be behind another package? Could it be in the wrong spot? Could the computer be wrong? Could you have been at the wrong address? Could it have been stolen? Could they look one last time?
Do not ask them real questions like what you should do, that will make them feel too accountable, and they don’t want to feel that. Keep asking these small questions until they either A. get motivated enough to find it, or B. they commiserate with your situation and start to recommend solutions. It will feel like it’s taking a while, but never fear, everyone else in the line lives in France, so they will be used to this type of thing and won’t think twice about it.
You’ll get your package because it is at that location after all, you got the email saying so. You just need to use the many small questions to chip away at the “no” for a while until the “yes” feels attainable to everyone involved.
In fact, asking questions is a great way to engage in small talk in France in a culturally acceptable way. American small talk falls flat here, probably because it feels superficial, probably because it is superficial. We Americans know this, but concede that our version of small talk is a means to make an early human connection. In France, if you want to talk to someone, ask them some questions, even low-stakes questions you don’t know the answer to. It opens the door to a conversation and a new friend, or potentially some extra help finding that damn lost package at La Poste.
Don’t Act Entitled
This does not work in France, because the customer is almost never right. Also who TF do you think you are, thinking you’re special because you’re a customer?
The fact that we’re trying to spend money that will keep a business open does not bequeath us any power, and honestly, thinking that it should just makes us look like assholes. The shopkeeper or checkout lady is the expert in this situation, and you are lucky if they will deign to shine their talents upon you and your wallet today.
Demanding, even expecting good service or results, is just a reminder that service even exists, that a power dynamic is technically at play. In France, people get pissy if you appear to think you could in any way be better than, above, or entitled to anything. Even if you’re literally a paying customer just trying to exchange goods for money so you can get on with your life, you must act like you’re at the mercy of the store, not the other way around.
The tiniest glint of entitlement will get you shunned and kicked to the end of the line, as I once was at CDG for calling out an airport worker who was rude to me. He was rude to me, but who did I think I was for pointing it out to him, a customer or something?
Match The Energy
Part of trying to relate to that bureaucrat or Monoprix employee you are trying to get to help you is to match their energy. No matter how slow that line is moving, no matter how patronizing that prefecture employee is being, you have to build rapport by having the same mood that they do, no better, no worse.
Are they annoyed at the situation? Guess what, you’re annoyed, too. Is the line moving slowly because they aren’t good at managing the line? Now we’re both joking about how bad the line is, conveniently avoiding the fact that it’s because they’re not doing a good job.
This is very counterintuitive, but if they happen to go nasty and rude, like the lady who interviewed me for my French citizenship, you have to go nasty and rude too. In that situation, I made the American mistake of fawning; she was treating me like goo stuck to her shoe, and I thought maybe kindness and apologies would win her over. Huge mistake. I should have met her where she was at, asked told her to stop interrupting me, and I definitely should not have smiled my big dumb American smile. She would have respected me more and maybe actually made eye contact with me at the end of our appointment. I even tried to crack a joke to add some levity to our exchange, which is probably why I still haven’t received a single update on my dossier.
Quick Hits
Some additional tips that I won’t explain because (as always), this is already too long.
Over-document
Over-explain
Bring a child with you if you have one, the younger the better
Don’t enter the situation looking too confident; it looks presumptuous
Don’t smile until you’ve already achieved what you need to achieve; it freaks people out
Don’t try to achieve anything between July 15 and September 1. No one is working, no one wants to do anything, and you’ll just get frustrated and revert to ineffective American ways.
If you hear the words “pas possible” or any variation, replace them with “peut etre” in your head so you don’t get disheartened. Nothing is pas possible, it’s just not possible yet.
Introducing Contributor, Selby Chambers
Immerse yourself in all of Selby’s articles on her Contributor page.
Trained my brain on France, as above, then moved to the UK where shopkeepers think I’m some kind of psychopath with no boundaries
This is perhaps the definitive guide on getting past “le non.”