Yesterday, I got excited with my darling's kind offer to drive me to Ikea (no, he doesn't like to go anywhere except sit and work in front of his laptop; and yes, I can't drive myself these days as I am unable to squeeze in between the driver's seat and steering wheel). Getting excited over a scandinavic furniture shop, you ask? I wander that myself sometimes! But shopping in a place where the prices don't strangle you at first glance and being in a familiar globalised environment eases my French claustrophobia just a little ;)! For the past couple of years, we had to settle on driving an hour to Lyon for its nearest outlet and stuff all our purchased loads in our little car. So, naturally, I am thrilled at having one finally opening in Grenoble itself!
Obviously, Saturday is not the best day to go to a popular shop, with all the weekend crownd heading towards the same direction. But we managed to find a parking spot nonetheless after a couple of rounds. The only thing I was worried about (as this 'outing' is one of those rare occasions that I get to do these days as a form of relaxation. Yes, you got it. Shopping equals relaxing for me!) was the masala-ed mackarels my hubby had pre-programmed in the oven to finish cooking at 12.00 noon... And what time is it at that point of arrival when I glanced at my watch? 11am! Shock, horror! Is my hubby crazy or what, to first, setting a limit to my shopping interlude, and secondly, to allow just a mere hour to do the Ikea tour in the 2nd largest Ikea in France, browse through products at my usual leisurely pace dreaming of our future living room and kitchen, QUEUE and drive the 20 mins, back home! By the way, just to add, my hubby turns to a monster if he doesn't feed his stomach at a specific time every meal time.
Oh well, too bad, because I wasn definitely not going to let a deadline to interrupt my pleasure! So, there I went, taking my sweet time to please my eyes and savour the clever ideas, while my hubby briskly walked forward as though there was a walk marathon record to break! As we reached the end of the shop, our greatest nightmare await us... the infamous French queue. Every counter had at least 10 agitated people waiting in line. Time is ticking, my hubby is getting nervous, as his planned timing will not be met with after all... So, he sweetly calls me, "Darling, I need you...". "Yes, love, I'm coming..." He points me out the many lanes with logos of a handicapped person and a pregnant woman. 'Femme Enceinte' (pregnant woman, yes, that is what I am). "Go in front," he tells me. "What? Pass everyone?!", I squirmed. Hmm. So, there I went zig zagging passed trolleys and looks of annoyance, fury and outrage. One lady gave me a bitchy look and even attempted to block my pathway to prevent me from passing her! My hubby explained that his wife is pregnant. She replied that she notices but gave an I couldn't-care-less-look. I got through anyway and reached the cashier. "Je peux passer?" (Can I pass?"), I asked the young chap, while pointing at my round tummy. He allowed me to, with an obvious nod, as expected, and stopped his cashing out for the lady I was about to piss off! She, at first, was confused and did not know what was going on, until she saw the obvious. She rolled her eyes and started mumbling in uncomprehensable French. I asked my hubby to follow suit and began myself to vocal MY annoyance, naturally in my preferred language, English.
I looked up at the signboard above me and said cooly, "If THEY don't like it, then why do they have such a privilige?...," talking to my husband, of course. APPARENTLY, this wondrous woman, enthusiastically responded, IN ENGLISH. "It is not because we are French! You have an option and you insisted and we let you passed," she uttered as-a-matter-of-fact-of. Bitch! What she REALLY meant to say was that, there was a choice for me NOT to insist as there is really nothing 'wrong' with me, or rather, I wasn't exactly in a state of desperation that REQUIRED an urgency to exit quickly. And what she really REALLY wanted to say was that I did not exactly look fatigued by my pregnancy and nor was I going to labour, so why did I need to annoy everyone in line and inisists on my so called prviliged priority? Super bitch! My hubby then gave HIS piece of mind, "Heck, I don't even understand my own people!" clearly stupefied by the individualistic behaviour of his fellow countrymen... I then looked at the selfish French ass of a woman to address her directly what I was about to say and said, "In MY country we don't even have such a thing. So, no one complaints and you just suffer (meaning people like me)." That's true, correct me if I'm wrong but back home in Malaysia, there are no, or at least not many, public priviliges like this, especially for the expectant but I'm pretty sure that people would let or even OFFER a queueing pregnant lady through, WITHOUT the need of a directive. That's just the way we are. That's just our culture, to sympathise and to help. Not in France, my dear!
So, back to the incident. She apparently stopped there. I guess she realised that she better not fight with a PREGNANT ASIAN lady (ie for fear of mendling with issues of racism AND bullying the 'weak'!).
After we post-mortemed the incident, on our way back home, it finally hit me why they were doubly pissed off! Not that I am defending them here... But perhaps, and maybe perhaps, IF I had politely asked each and everyone whether I could pass them (rather than barging through), then maybe just maybe, their reaction would have been less hostile? Nah... The French are just damned selfish people! Unless you are about to die or in my case, my water broke PLUS severe labour contractions began, and I was rolling on the floor, maybe they might let me beat the queue! Oh, but don't count on a smile to come with that!
Mr. & Mrs. T then reached home, ate their delicious baked masala mackerels and happily lived ever after.
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