November 15, 2009

Rob has been here for 10 days, which has been wonderful. This weekend he took the girls to EuroDisney. Besides hanging out with us, he's done battle with the formidable headmistress at our original school, who thinks the new French accounting system, which centers on keeping the tuition of departing students while filling their slots immediately with new tuition-paying students is perfectly reasonable. Rob and the headmistress have spent some quality time together and she is "reconsidering" her position.

He has also been dealing with infrastructure issues. Last week we took a field trip to Ikea. As you know, Ikea is generally located just outside a major city in a suburb. Your route through the store is mapped out in festive little yellow footprints, so that you are forced to pass things that you have no use for, but that are incredibly cute and cheap. As a result, you find yourself filling up your big yellow Ikea bag with lots of bright blue plastic dishes, orange storage boxes and other stuff that will make your house look like, well, like Ikea.

Well, Rob decided that Claire and Erin needed a bunkbed. Erin has been sleeping on a futon in the room they share, which doesn't sound too bad until you learn that there's no room to open the thing and she's been forced to sleep on it folded up. Not a problem when you're visiting for a few nights, but not a viable long term arrangement.

Rob did his research and discovered that the best available bunkbeds are at Ikea, and that we didn't have to travel to Sweden to find one! They have Ikeas right here in France! However, they are located outside the city in a suburb. No problem, we thought, we'll order online and have it delivered. Unfortunately, online orders take 15 days and Rob isn't coming back until December, by which time Erin will look like one of those 85 year-old French women that are shaped like an upside-down "L" and persist in waving their canes at anyone under 60 and muttering about the war. We did not even consider the possibility that I could put together the bunkbed, for several reasons. First, I am still suffering post-traumatic stress disorder from trying to put together a TV stand in the 1980s. Second, it would be very difficult to make a Sophie's Choice and knowingly have one of the girls sleep on the bottom bunk where they would be very likely to suffer a crush injury as a result of the top bunk collapsing completely (thanks to my tossing out those extra screws that were left over at the end of the assembly process; if you've ever put anything from Ikea together, you know that there are never any screws left over). Third, I'm in Paris dammit and if it doesn't involve a baguette, coffee or wine, I'm not doing it.

Aha! Rob had a brilliant idea. We called the nearest Ikea store and tried to order the bed by phone and request an expedited delivery. We are nothing if not resourceful. The woman on the other end of the line (working in the "deliveries" department, mind you) informed us that she had no earthly idea how to process a delivery order over the phone and we would just have to come in to the store.

So, on a Tuesday evening, Rob, Erin and I embarked on our journey to Ikea.


First we got on a metro (subway). Then, we got on a light rail train. We bought our tickets, bounded down the stairs and hopped on, thirty seconds before it left the station. I looked at the map just to be sure we were headed in the right direction. And we were. Except we'd gotten on an express train. Erin pressed her little nose to the window as we zoomed by the station where Ikea was. After we managed to get off the train from hell and retrace our steps on a local train, we finally reached our station. Were we done? NO, we weren't done! Now, we needed to find the bus to take us from the station to the shopping center where Ikea is located. At this point, Rob and I were giggling hysterically and people (including our daughter) were moving away from us on the bus.

By the time we got to Ikea, we were exhausted. However, they were incredibly efficient and we were in and out in about 15 minutes, which was about two hours less time than it took us to get there. Here's the best part. We had an incredibly helpful sales guy. This was surprising, since sales training in France consists of learning the following phrases:


1. "What will it take to get you out of my store so I can go back to smoking my cigarette and looking bored?"
2. "Do you want it or not?"
3. "I don't care what time it is. We are closed."
4. "That looks terrible on you."


Once they have mastered these phrases, they are required to read that famous sales book, "Getting to No," and voila! They are ready to sell.


It turns out that the three French people who actually enjoy selling stuff to other people are all working at Ikea! Our incredibly helpful sales guy had clearly flunked sales training and consequently was not qualified to work in clothing stores, phone stores, insurance offices or restaurants. He was very apologetic for not speaking better English, although we did teach him to say "Awesome!" He was happy to see us, he was happy to sell us the bed and he was happy to send us downstairs to pay for the bed, where get this! Another happy guy took our money! Awesome!!

Our incredibly helpful sales guy had informed us that they could deliver our bunkbed the next day. I thought Rob was going to cry. There was one slight catch. The bed would be delivered from the depot. The mattress was in stock at the store. So, if we wanted both items delivered, we'd have to pay twice the delivery charge. The sales guy looked at Rob and said "The mattress rolls up; it weighs only 5 kilos. If you are any kind of man, you should be able to carry it." And so, Rob carried the mattress on the bus, and the train, and the metro and down the street all the way back to our apartment. He is now officially Parisian.

The next day, the bunkbed was delivered during the four-hour window that we had requested. Rob and I hugged each other, we hugged the kids, we hugged the delivery guy. Rob put the bunkbed together the next day and guess what? Not a screw was missing.


Kiss your minivans for us.