Jour férié.
Well, as I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned, today was a ‘jour férié’. This is basically a bank holiday. But not like an English one where you get drunk in the middle of the day, and supermarkets operate Sunday opening hours. Oh no. I emerged this afternoon at 2pm (I missed Carrefour’s ‘ouverture exceptionnelle’) to be greeted by a ghost town at JFK. Seriously. It was quiet as it was normally at 7h45, if not quieter. So odd. That said, SuperAsya and Subway didn’t deem today important enough to close. After all, what’s a couple of dead soldiers against making money, eh? So, yes, Robert and I went to town, which was busy. Cafés were open, even some shops were open. All-in-all, I was disgusted. Disgusted that France didn’t do it’s bank holiday properly.
That said, when Robert and I emerged from Virgin Megastore, I got clipboarded. I thought “Run, run run!!” but my mouth said “D’accord”. So, after having asked to see the questions, I managed to survive. I expressed my satisfaction, and my dissatisfaction at how the store had recently swapped round the way the escalators work – you have to go to the back of the shop to get to the escalator taking you upstairs, passing one leading you out. She nodded and agreed that I had reason. Then it all finished, and we ran away. I was afraid. Afraid that there were more lurking about. Also, puzzled that she didn’t stop when she could clearly tell that I was not French, let alone not from around these parts.
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