Small Town Girl

I knew from day one that my best bet for a job was a local bar. I was told from my arrival here the only way to learn French was to work in the towny bar where no one spoke English. I tried all along to find something bigger and better. But really, I think my best bet is where the Frenchies hang out. That’s not so bad.

Our waiter Saturday night at the Bar du Porte promised me they were looking for a young, English-speaking cocktail waitress inside and that I should return with a CV. I marched back into town today armed with a stack of resumes and stopped at restaurant after restaurant after restaurant. Though I saw my waiter (and now new friend, Nicholas) the manager insisted he was not hiring. Everyone else told me they were full – but my resume was impressive and they’d call me back. Yea right. I’ve heard that line before. Papagayo still says that and I worked there in weeks.

So I was feeling discouraged, thinking that the best advice I could ever offer someone trying to move to a foreign country would be to stick with whatever job you can get – even if you hate it. It’s money, and you need money to live.

But as I passed the Pit-Club, the local bar by the campground, I figured… what the hell. I’m desperate. The man washing the plastic lawn chairs outside stared in wonder as I pulled into the dusty lot. I pulled myself out of my sauna of a car, digging my spiking heels into the rocky dirt, adjusting my satiny red skirt as I stood up, flaunting my pearl necklace and diamond earrings, and I knew I didn’t fit in. But again, I’m desperate.

So I marched inside and spoke to the manager behind the bar. He spoke no English. Neither did his one waiter. But apparently I speak French, so we did well. We conversed for a while and he told me he was looking for someone to help him behind the bar – and when I told him I really didn’t know how, he promised he’d teach me. He’ll call in a week if they get busy and he really needs me. I’d learn French fast! Hahah

I returned home thinking I had lots of good news to share, but my parents were there full of their own stories from their own adventures – visiting the historical city of Gordes, shopping for jewelry in Isle sur Sorgue, exploring the Abbey de Sénnaque. And they were relaxed, having been heavily pampered by the staff at Les Bories and spending a good 24 hours swimming in the indoor pool, sunbathing in the outdoor pools, and – well – who knows what else…

Ok, I’ve got to go help make dinner. And by help, I mean I need to learn how to make dinner because for some bizarre reason I promised – begged even – to make Christine & Xavier (both very wealthy with a great palate for food) and Ludovic & Patricia and all of their children a thank-you meal and I don’t know how to cook for the life of me. How do I get myself in these messes?