adventures in queueland

One of the most remarkable sights in Paris is that of people lining up for something.  And I'm not talking about lines to enter the Louvre Museum or to go up the Eiffel Tower.  I am talking rather about everyday situations in which an average Parisian would find himself in a line.  For example, a stop at the butcher's.  A visit to the bakery.  An outing at the movie theater.  An evening at a concert hall.  Keep in mind that the venues just cited can attract queues that are formed outside on the sidewalk and that for a number of them, such is often the case.  It seems that this occurrence is something that most Parisians have long accepted.  A reasoning that some of them may offer is that the sight of a line of people in front of the entrance to a shop is a clear sign that the products on sale in that shop are of good quality, and sometimes of very good quality.  So queues in Paris can be good.  Otherwise, they are most likely just a matter of too many people to be served and too few people to do the actual serving.  Sure, other cities that I have lived in (as well as those that I have not lived in for that matter) can boast their own queues and this for their own reasons, but I had not paid any significant attention to queues anywhere before moving to Paris.  They seem to be a part of life in this city.  Given the good chances of finding one in front of the butcher's shop on Saturday morning or another outside the bakery on Sunday morning, something had to be done.  I mean, seriously.

It was only a few years ago that I discovered that there was personal value in creating interactions with people, especially those unfamiliar to me, a.k.a. strangers, and started doing just that.  One Saturday morning, on my way home from the swimming pool, I noticed a line of people waiting outside the butcher's shop near my place.  I had often seen a line there at that time of the week without giving it much consideration.  I hardly shopped there anyway.  But, at that very instant, I was seeing beyond the line.  What I was seeing was a group of people with unfamiliar faces, each having a few minutes to spare (before the moment came to place his order) for something to happen (a little entertainment perhaps).  In other words, ladies and gentlemen, I saw opportunity.  And thus, Operation Queues was born.

Well, the birth did not happen so instantly.  While opportunity had been perceived, a natural process of experimentation had to take place before Operation Queues took form.  The very first question ("What to do?") after discovery of the opportunity was answered by simply going to somewhere in the middle of the queue and walking along it to the end, saying "Bonjour" to each person in line along the way.  As this approach was another way of saying "Bonjour", it started out as a new phase of Operation Bonjour.  Ultimately, it became clear that such a style of interaction deserved its own operation, even if it was only necessary to say "Bonjour".  So a spin-off was created.

With a set of rules, Operation Queues became more formal.  Among other things, these rules state that upon stumbling upon a queue that has at least 5 people in the process of everyday living, I am allowed to run the operation on the queue.  Doing so involves saying "Bonjour!" to between 5 and 10 people successively in a line within the queue.  If the line was disorderly ‒ in other words, not a line ‒ then it was not necessary to do anything special.  Since the judgment of line of people as disorderly can be subjective, I sometimes let my instincts decide the course of action to take.  Also, if I have to say "Bonjour" to people in the queue who know each other and who are huddled together, for example, a family or a couple, I generally consider all of them as only one person, unless the line was too short and I wanted to reach the target of 5 to 10 people.  In this case, I would greet as many members of the group one after the other as necessary.  Other boundaries, such as the number of times it is possible to run the operation on a regular basis (twice per week at most), were established to avoid acting too much like a robot.

I remember roughly the very first time I ran the operation.  It was at that same butcher's shop where I conceived the idea, and it was a Saturday morning.  Before I even got anywhere close to the shop, I was feeling very anxious about what I was about to do (I was not even 100% sure that there would be a queue).  A familiar voice within me kept trying to discourage me from doing something so weird, so ridiculous, and obviously so senseless.  It was a voice that kept reminding me that the majority of the people who frequented the shop at that time were elderly people and that I should not bother them with my antics.  But I was already hooked, haunted by an opportunity that refused to leave me.  In hindsight, I admit that what I wanted really was to seize the opportunity.  The opportunity to give life to yet another idea, to yet another operation, and, in the process, to myself.  There was no way out but to follow through.  Soon enough, I reached the butcher's shop and saw the queue.  With my nerves raging, I proceeded to do what I had set out to do.  When it was done, I walked away, without looking back.

The moments that followed were a blur.  Everything happened so quickly.  Getting to say "Bonjour" to the first person turned out to be the most difficult step, as I had to overcome the resistance of the inner voice that kept talking to get me to abandon.  After that "Bonjour", the voice calmed down and the resistance subsided, even though the operation was not yet completed.  I had the impression of being out of myself during the ordeal especially after it.  But more important than anything was the feeling of accomplishment.  It was undeniable, and I was still alive.  I was happy.

And what about the people that I "met" in the queue?  They did not seem to understand what was going on (maybe they did not like it).  For the most part, they did not return the "Bonjour" nor did they do anything particular in response.  Some, especially those who had probably seen me carry out the operation earlier in the queue, made little or no eye contact when I approached them.  Besides, I was too focused on running the operation in the simplest possible way, and, as a result, I did not wait long enough for anyone to give me a reply.   I simply moved on the next person.

Over the past few years of running the operation in places such as bakeries, cinemas, museums, libraries, cafeterias, restaurants, and nightclubs, more often outside than outside, I received a small range of reactions from queue filers.  On average, most of the people returned the "Bonjour", sometimes with enthusiasm, at other times with indifference.  Other people just ignored me or even looked away.  Very rarely did a conversation ensue.  When one occurred, it was usually because I had taken the initiative to engage it with the person.  Attempting to make conversation ‒ a conversation with an opening sentence chosen on the spur of the moment for that matter ‒ was in fact an enhancement added to the operation along the way to make things more interesting, and it was only with the last person approached that I did so, for practical reasons.  Even then, every attempt did not always lead to a conversation.  Some people were just not keen on talking, perhaps because they did not know me.  Or maybe because I was doing something unexpected.

Granted, my own attitude has a lot of influence in the reactions that I get from people in queue.  The more enthusiastic and engaged I am during my interactions with them, the higher the likelihood that they will respond in a similar manner.  At least, that is what I believe.  On the other hand, if I am simply running things by the book just to get the task over with, I cannot expect to feel or give much joy during the interaction.  And here lies a great challenge that I face in this operation.  Bringing enthusiasm and engagement.  The only challenge greater that I see would be having people that I know and that know me participate in these interactions.  On that note, I am beginning to entertain the idea that with great challenge comes great opportunity.

And why all this fuss about queues anyway?  It is probably because I see in them a way for the individual to maintain or regain his freedom while still being a part of society.  Other than that, I sometimes feel like being a little different when I find myself in a group of people that seem to be doing more or less the same thing, especially when this "same thing" is expected.  It turns out more often than not that honoring this feeling is good for my health.  And if there is a possibility of having a positive effect on someone else in the process, even for one second, then that is just great.

operation the third café explained

Dear Lionel,

How are you doing?

It's been a year since I last wrote to you, yet I have heard nothing from you.  Not that I was expecting a reply, though one would have been nice.  Perhaps you were too bugged out by my explanation of Operation Handshake.  Then again, it was you who seemed the most curious about it among members of the team.  So this silence of yours is confusing, especially since we could talk about anything, or almost.  Just to avoid imagining what you may have thought about my letter, I am going to assume that all is good.  Don't they say that no news is good news?  Besides, I am an optimist, so I cannot afford to get too worried by the lack of an update.  I can only do my best to inspire you to write back and share your thoughts.  And to do that, I am presenting to you another operation named "The Third Café", which I designed and conducted several times while I was still in the team.  Sadly, you did not get to participate in this venture before I left.  You may not have even known about it.  But not to worry, because by the end of this letter, you will know much more.

As far its conception is concerned, Operation The Third Café actually preceded Operation Handshake.  Yet I got around to introducing it only after I had experienced consistent success with Handshake, having deemed the latter less risky.  I was already excited during the preparation of The Third Café, especially when I was writing the program that would read a file containing dozens of colleagues' names (actually about 80 names), select one of them at random, and print it to the screen.  After all those years of writing large bundles of software, who ever knew that crafting a standalone 225-line computer program could still produce so much joy?

The operation was inspired from the pause-cafés, or coffee breaks, that we would usually have in the room located between the two open spaces on the floor and that included a coffee dispenser.  These breaks seemed like the daily ritual that gave many of us the opportunity to catch up and joke around, among other things.  Even more than a daily ritual, they seemed like a vital part of the culture at work.  Sincerely speaking, I was unfamiliar with this kind of merrymaking when I joined the team.  I did not even warm up to it, preferring to remain among others at their desks who, in my opinion, were actually getting stuff done.  Today, I recognize that that attitude only reflected my insecurities at the time.  During my last few years at work, things were different, as my visits to the coffee room to mingle were rather frequent.  For sure, I was not the most often present person there, but I did have my fair share of appearances.

So the name of the operation refers directly to the third coffee break of the day at work.  Now that I think about it, this name is an odd mix of French and English, isn't it?  I have no idea why this name spoke to me.  It just did.  Anyway, people generally took coffee in front in the coffee room twice a day.  There was the morning coffee, anywhere between 9:30am and 10:30am, and then the afternoon coffee, sometime around 4:00pm.  As I had imagined it, the third coffee break would take place at 5:00pm.  Sure, it may have been too late for some people, especially those worried that their sleeping patterns would be disrupted if they had coffee that late in the day, but that was simply how my mind saw the opportunity for a new operation.

And therein was the general idea: inviting people to a coffee break at 5:00pm.  In practice, I would run the program that I had written to randomly select a name among those of everyone working in the two open spaces.  EVERYONE.  Once the program spit out the chosen name, I would have to go to the desk of the person bearing that name, either in our open space or in the other one, and suggest that he or she join me for a coffee break.  And I would do this twice a week.

As you can imagine, the "danger" in all this would be going up to someone who I barely knew, to whom I had never really spoken, or who I hardly ever saw, not to mention the uncertainty of their reaction to this rather peculiar request.  Yet that was what made the whole thing exciting.  Of course, it is a simple matter to ask someone ‒ anyone ‒ to have coffee with you.  However, we tend to ask people that we already know or with whom we feel more or less comfortable.  Even for me that is a natural instinct, so the embracing the idea of approaching colleagues that were not familiar or that I did not like much, as simple as it was from an objective point of view, took effort.  Having deemed such an effort valuable, I resisted the temptation to run the program until it gave me the name of a colleague that I judged easier to approach.

I thought that it was important that I did the deed at the desk of the chosen colleague, as there were almost always people in the vicinity to serve as an audience.  Like for Operation Handshake, doing unusual things in public appeared to be the quickest way to get over the fear of doing unusual things in public.  And, as you probably know by now, I have a certain fondness for doing unusual things in public.  Sometimes, I feel like it is my responsibility.  But I digress.

I was very afraid about bearing this responsibility, or rather, facing the opinion that others would have of me if I did something unusual.  And such, Operation The Third Café, however exciting it felt to conceive, did not see the light of day for several months.  As mentioned earlier, the regular success of Operation Handshake gave me confidence that I needed to get it off the ground.  To alleviate the fear of starting out, I decided to run the program until the colleague chosen at random was someone that I had no difficulty approaching.  So I did this until the program gave me Sylvie.  You remember her, right?

Well, the task of walking over to Sylvie's desk was a breeze.  We had always gotten along very well.  We had had coffee together at least once, and even lunch a few times.  So naturally, my third coffee break that day went smoothly.  Before having the discipline (and courage) to adhere to the two-times-a-week rule, I deemed myself ready to run the operation for the second time only several weeks after the moment with Sylvie.  I knew that, after the easy start, I could not cheat ‒ I could not rerun the program to get a more comfortable choice of colleague.  I would have to accept the choice that I was given before I could advance.  Those were just the rules of the game.  And with those rules in mind, I went to my computer, found the program, and ran it.  In the five seconds that it took to print a randomly chosen name (five seconds more than necessary but useful merely for introducing a little suspense), my heart beat madly, faster with each passing second.  Then I saw the output on the screen.  Kamel.

Operation Handshake aside, I had never talked to Kamel.  Ever.  I was not even completely sure of who he was.  I only had a good hunch.  Also, as opposed to Sylvie, he worked in the other open space, somewhere in the middle of the wide room occupied by at least 40 people, making matters even more interesting, if not scary.  So scary that I lived through a fierce mental struggle for two days at work.  How could something so simple be so terrifying at the same time?

Terrifying as it seemed, I managed to find the courage to pull through.  I simply had to, there was no other option.  It was a do or die situation, as I like to say.  So I went over to Kamel's desk, and did it.  Fortunately, because of Operation Handshake, I had gotten accustomed to showing up at the desks of unfamiliar people just to say hello.  I do not recall in detail what transpired that day, except that Kamel found the gesture a little strange yet somewhat amusing.  James, who was in the same team as Kamel and was sitting nearby, had noticed something unusual and made a remark.  Which he probably would not have done if we did not know each other.  His exuberant demeanor helped to put me at ease almost instantly, and what had seemed so terrifying a minute before had become something so simple.

Ultimately, Kamel accepted the invitation and we headed to the coffee room, along with James.  It was a nice rendez-vous, even though I really did not know what to talk about once the main event ‒ the moments of fear before and during the approach ‒ was over.  My worries had been useless; once in the coffee room, it became natural to get to know each other.  I got the impression though that for much of the break, Kamel was as still astonished as James that I had come over to suggest having coffee.  I must have given a safe excuse when he inquired why, like "Oh, I just thought of getting to know the people around me a little more."  At the end of the day, it was a landmark moment and I was nothing short of overjoyed.  It is often said that the first step is the hardest, and I had just taken it.

In the two and a half months that followed, after which I left the company, I ran the operation a total of 18 times.  That's 18 offers to have coffee, each one made to a colleague randomly selected from a pool of about 80.  I certainly got more disciplined with time, following without fail the two-colleagues-per-week rule during my final five weeks.  As my anxiety decreased, my confidence increased.  All in all, it was a wonderful experience, one that made the time spent at work more enjoyable than it already was and more meaningful from a personal point of view.  Plus I got to know some of my colleagues better.

Among the 18 offers, I received various responses.  Some people said yes, and we had coffee together, sometimes immediately, sometimes a little later in the day.  A couple of them said no, generally claiming that they were too busy.  I was not the least bothered by their refusals, as the mere act of going over to suggest coffee was satisfying enough for me.  A few other people declined because they had already had their afternoon coffee.  I suppose another serving at 5:00pm was pushing it.

The most memorable episode was when I had to invite Mathieu to coffee.  Keep in mind that I did not know him personally, even though he was used to seeing me show up at his desk whenever I was running Operation Handshake.  On top of that, he worked in the other open space.  Anyways, at 5:00pm that day, in spite of the intense nervousness that had fallen upon me, I got up from my seat to go wash my hands before the main event.  And guess who I ran into in the restroom.  Mathieu !  We must have said only bonjour to each other then.  I was not going to start talking about us having coffee, and besides doing so anywhere but at his desk was against the rules of the operation.  So I went back to attending to my own business and he left eventually.  When I was done, I got out and went in the direction of the other open space.  I found the door, opened it, and passed through.  I instantly spotted Mathieu seated in the middle of the room, farther than where Kamel's seat was, and went straight on until I arrived at his desk.  The tension that accompanied this walk quickly diminished once I had stated the reason for my visit, as it had always been the case during previous episodes.  Ultimately, Mathieu declined.  Another busy fellow.  At least he was flattered, or seemed like it.

There you have it.  Operation The Third Café in all its glory ‒ I mean, in all its details.  You are the first to know all about it ‒ and I mean ALL about it ‒, even though I had let out a few details on one occasion when I was in the coffee room with Jerome (the tall one), Alexis, and Elid, the chosen colleague of the day.  I don't know if you were there too, my memory of that moment is quite blurry.  In any case, not a single one person among those present was aware that I was playing some kind of game.  I don't even think that they really understood what I was saying.  Granted, giving oral explanations in a clear manner is not my strongest suit.  Thankfully I can write (pretty well).  Case in point.

So I hope that you have been inspired by reading this.  Heck, I hope that you've at least felt something.  Anything.  If so, I have achieved my goal, even if you (still) don't write back.  It would be great to hear from you though.  No pressure.

Monsieur (Pre?)?Conf.

operation handshake explained

Dear Lionel,

I am very excited about this opportunity to finally tell with you all about Operation Handshake.  You know, the thing where you noticed me walking the entire open space once a week, stopping at each person's desk to shake his hand.  It has been a year since we parted ways as colleagues and I have always appreciated your curiosity regarding the mechanics of the operation.  I even remember the state machine that you drew up on the whiteboard in the conference room during my farewell party to describe to others how the operation worked based on the little that I had revealed.  You got some things right, and those that you did not, I will attempt to clarify below.  So bear with me since I have never given this much spotlight in writing to any of my operations before.

Before proceeding, I want to take this moment to let you know how much I cherished the moments that we spent working together (well, to be more accurate, the moments that we spent at work together).  You were a great guy to bother, if not for your inviting desk decorated with Dilbert comic strips. I felt elated to practice my English with you and always admired your ability to speak the language very well.  Above all though, it was your openness, your enthusiasm, and your sense of humor that I will remember the most.  How did you do it so naturally?

Anyway, the explanation that follows is for you, buddy.  I love you man!

The inspiration

The idea for the operation was a convergence of several things.  Firstly, there was the practice of shaking hands at work.  It seemed too French to go shake the hand of each person in the team upon arriving at work in the morning.  The subject even came up occasionally in conversation, inside and outside of work.  I was quite amused by the whole thing.  I had never experienced, thought, or discussed anything of the sort while working in the U.S..  While most people in our team did not actually shake hands in the morning, the practice had already left an impression on me.  I have Joao in particular to thank for this.  He was very disciplined during his first couple of weeks at work about going to shake the hand of everyone in the room (the one that I shared with him before we moved to the open space).  I even expressed my gratitude to him in his greeting card during his farewell party.  At the time, Operation Handshake was in its infancy.

Then there was the workplace culture.  Whenever a colleague shook hands, he usually did not bother going beyond his team.  And the open space was shared by several small teams, but each person clung to his team; note that I was far from being the exception.  Outside of work requirements and random gatherings by the coffee machine, there was not much interaction among members of different teams.  It resembled the French society but on a much smaller scale, where people spent virtually the whole time with the people that they already knew.  I mean, it was great, except that there were other people too with whom we shared the open space.  I thought that things could be more interesting if we took the time to go meet colleagues that we weren't used to talking to, just to greet them or to acknowledge their presence in some sense, without the context of a project.  I also imagined that a more open workplace would help to ease inevitable tensions and to prevent false assumptions that colleagues tend to have.

Yet the primary motivation for kicking off this operation was personal.  I felt invisible at work.  Maybe I did not need to have that sentiment, being the English-speaking foreigner that could also speak French well, that was curious about French culture, that was kind of a cool guy, and whose jokes were somewhat funny.  But that was how I felt.  Beyond my efforts to always abide by some unspoken French code of conduct ("le code", in the words of my friend Mélodie), I shrunk myself and what made me different out of habit ‒ I had been doing so for years.  So I felt the need to stop making myself invisible and consequently feeling bad about myself.

Not wanting to ask everyone to look at me nor wanting to strive to gain attention, this idea came to mind.  Somehow.  No one else was doing something like it.  It seemed fitting given the combination of factors mentioned above.  I loved it, and did not want to let it die.  Such had been the fate of other similar ideas that I had conceived, and this probably because they were different from what most people did.

I wanted therefore to accept what made me different instead of rejecting it by not letting it show.  Truth be told, many of the most enjoyable moments in my life were those where I had expressed my difference.  So why try to hide it, right?  The best way that I came up with to go about things was obviously to show my difference, to make sure everyone had a chance to know about it.  I mean, if you believed that everyone kept seeing your difference and that you were enjoying being different, there would be no more reason to hide your difference from anyone, right?  Thus, I felt it necessary to target as many people as possible for the operation.

Since I had difficulty expressing my difference in the midst of certain people, I also wanted to perceive each person in the open space in the same way as any other person.  Without seeking to become friends with him, I wanted most of all to not see him as an obstacle.  So whether he was someone that I liked, or someone that I liked less, or someone that I knew hardly or not at all, I was going to go over to offer him a handshake.

Being public was also key.  Like I said, I wanted to give everyone the chance to see me doing something unusual in order to become desensitized to the feeling that everyone was looking at me.  The thought of that feeling had often prevented me from expressing myself in certain situations, and I wanted to get rid of it.

The procedure

The operation as you may remember it involved me arriving at work one morning during the week and walking the entire open space to greet each person by shaking hands with him until I sat down at my desk.  It was that simple.

The details

But it was also complex, of course.

It included several details, and I did my best to make them easy to remember.  I quickly learned that the lot of details made the game more fun.

Regularity. I sought to go shaking hands once a week.  I figured that one day a week was good enough spacing.  I certainly did not want to program myself to shake hands everyday.  Neither did I want to become too predictable.  And yes, I did not want to bother people too often either.  As far as the choice of day, there was nothing special really, contrary to what you all were thinking.  The whole thing was largely dependent on my mood.  That said, if it was Thursday afternoon and I still hadn't run the operation all week for some reason, I would plan on running it the following morning, whether my mood was cooperating or not.

Timing. I planned on arriving by 9:30am; sometimes after 9:15am but always before 9:45am.  I even timed my departure from home to be on time, waiting occasionally in a seat in front of the RER platform if I was too early!  Regarding the choice of time, 9:30am seemed reasonable.  I estimated that the open space would have a decent amount of people at that time (at least half the capacity) and that most of them would not yet be too absorbed in their work.

Entrances. It took a while to get the system of entering the open space worked out.  Not that I was even thinking about that when I launched the operation.  I just noticed that I was moving always in the same direction and therefore I decided to vary things up.  I ended up taking one of the two entrances one week, and the other one the following week.  When I started covering the adjacent open space (see below), I had four entrances to play with, two per open space.  So I continued the same system of alternating entrances, though in a clockwise direction.  That kept matters simple, since I had to only remember the entrance that I took the previous week to figure out which one to take on a given week.

Handwashing. I washed my hands in the restroom before showtime.  It is only the right thing to do before shaking dozens of hands in a matter of a few minutes!  I got around to washing my hands afterwards as well.

Scope 1. Once I was getting comfortable with the operation in our open space, I decided to branch out to the adjacent one.  In other words, I would go there to shake the hands of people who we saw much less, who we knew much less, and with whom we worked much less, if ever at all.  The strangeness of that idea was too alluring to pass up.  Besides, I wanted to keep my spirits up by thinking bigger.

Scope 2. Over time, after taking about 5-10 quick minutes of a given day of the week to visit about 40 people on average in two open spaces, I was once again used to the operation as it was and thought about taking it a step further.  So I traded in quantity for quality.  I decided to visit one open space on one day of the week, and the other on another day of the same week.  I figured that this would allow me time to chat briefly with the people that I greeted, if they were so inclined for a chat.  I can assure you that not everyone was!

Conversation. Quite naturally, the time to engage in conversations came.  Even if I found myself on occasion already chatting with people during my visit, I felt the urge to structure things a bit.  So I decided to prompt conversations with specific people each week, in addition to the spontaneous chats.  Since I was not really at ease with conversing with unfamiliar people or with certain people that I knew, I settled on asking "Ca va ?" ("How are things?") after the handshake and seeing where that led to.  The few reactions that I got have been pretty much forgotten since and, in any case, this part remains the least developed of the operation.  I am glad however for having tried.

The results

The results were incredible.  You know, Handshake became my first successful operation and the only one for a long while, if we define success by the fact that I went through with it every week without fail.  Whenever I realized that I was on a winning streak, I became more motivated to ensure that the streak continued, even while seeking new challenges within the operation.

Yes, it took effort to keep the streak going.  Why?  Because there was a certain stage fright that was often present, notably in the early stages of the operation.  After all, I was coming out of my quiet and comfortable corner, to which I had confined myself for a long time to avoid bothering anyone, to begin approaching each person in the open space in a regular and unusual way, exposing myself to public scrutiny in the process.  Some people must have turned heads.  Nevertheless, it was not always easy getting into the mindset necessary to accomplish the task.  Most of the time, I heard voices in my head trying to dissuade me, saying things like "Why are you doing this?  There is no point", "Do you know how weird it's going to be?", "You don't work with those people; you don't even know them.  Why are you going to bother them ‒ just to shake their hand?  They will not be pleased at all."  The voices were so persuasive that I had the shivers in the restroom after washing my hands, carrying not much else in mind but the weight of the duty that had chosen to fulfill.  In order to calm myself in these moments since I was getting acquainted with them regularly, I kept in my pocket a piece of paper on which I had written within the comfort of my apartment.  It had words of encouragement and purpose to remind me how my unwanted feelings would persist if not worsen had I refused to take action.  Fortunately, I was able to do take action, each time, in spite of the fear.  At some point, the fear that had escalated began to diminish.

One of the turning points that I truly cherished was that when I started doing la bise ("cheek kisses") with the ladies.  After so many handshakes, the ice had broken and it had suddenly become natural to advance to the bise stage with them.

It was also amusing how some people, a few of whom that I did not know well, would stop by at my desk during the day to shake my hand and then continue on their journey without having said a single word to me.  I took it as a compliment, a sign that the operation was appreciated.  It just brightened my day.  In fact, you were one of these people!

Among the many gifts that you guys gave me during my farewell party, the antiseptic soap was one of those that I found quite touching.  I have hardly used it!  I may just keep it as a souvenir of good times.

I wonder sometimes if my initiative helped improve the lives of others at work, even if a little.  What do you think?

For my part, I just felt that I was more like the person that I wanted to be.  I started to enjoy the time spent at work more.  I felt more open, more spontaneous, more assertive, and certainly less invisible.  More visible?  Who knows.  But I felt good, and better among you guys.  It was sad that it came to an end, but such is life.

Until next time dude.  Make sure that you forward this "algorithm" to François.

Regards.

Monsieur Conf.

operation rescue

If there was an operation that I was struggling with greatly, it would have to be Bar Games.

I mentioned Bar Games previously in an article but I have not really presented it.  Well, let me take the opportunity to give you an introduction.

Just like Operation 50 First States, Bar Games has me going through the arrondissements of Paris from the 1st to the 20th.  But unlike 50 First States, which takes place on the street, Bar Games takes place ‒ as you guessed it ‒ in a bar.  Or in just about any nightlife venue with a counter and patrons who can have drinks there.  The general idea is to create unusual (if not fun) situations with people in a bar, and to up the ante on my antics each time I move up an arrondissement.  From the 1st to the 7th, which is the last completed arrondissement at the time of writing, I have done things like saying simply "Hi!" to random people, inviting them to a toast with "Cheers!", and asking them "So are you guys left-siders?".  Oh yes, the interactions happen in English.  And what results is sometimes surprising, usually in a good way.

An arrondissement is completed once I have carried out the operation in the above manner in five different bars within that arrondissement.

My struggles with the operation have been recent.  It was not about completing the operation, but simply about launching it in a given bar.  These difficulties started in the 7th.  Perhaps it was due to the small number of eligible bars in an arrondissement filled with embassies, government buildings and posh residences.  Or perhaps it was the result of a lack of resolve on my part.  Whatever the reasons may be, I had a hard time.  What should not have taken more than two months (to get through five bars) took six.  So when I finally completed the arrondissement, I felt more relieved than joyful.

Ladurée Champs-Elysées

As bad as it was in the 7th, things were even worse in the 8th.  I could not get past the first bar!  As I had a rule of starting an arrondissement by going to the bars that I had visited before, I had to first make it past the bar of the Ladurée site on the Champs-Elysées, which I had been to on two occasions in the past with friends.  Actually, it was the only bar that I remembered in the 8th, so I really had to get through it in order to move on.  But I couldn't.  I stopped by on at least five different nights and everytime except once, I could not muster the courage to leave my seat to approach the other few patrons around.  The one time that I did manage to do that, the response from the people at the first table was "Well, I am happy that you are a left-sider.  I am here with my friends and we are just trying to enjoy our evening together."  Yet given the body language and the voice tone of the girl who delivered those words, what she seemed to be really communicating was "You could not bother us any more than you are bothering us now."  I was crushed, and without a bounce-back strategy prepared, I abandoned the idea of going to the other tables and returned to my seat, believing that I had done something wrong and feeling more ashamed than discouraged.  I quietly finished my drink, paid the bill, and exited the bar.  In short, a failed operation (again).

Sure, all this was my own interpretation of the events.  It was like as if I was looking for real proof from the patrons or the staff of the bar that I was doing something wrong by running the operation there.  Why?  Well, the bar looked posh, compared to any of the ones I had been to in the seven past arrondissements.  And posh places tend to elicit a certain kind of behavior from the people who spend time in them.  Say the kind where people stay at their table and where there is no mingling with people at other tables.  Of course, there is no rule stating that this is the behavior to adopt in such establishments.  But most people behave like this, in places beyond posh bars for that matter, so this is considered normal or at least socially acceptable behavior.  While being guilty of acting in a very similar fashion in bars, I thought that it was a crippling habit, since the operation that I wanted to carry out clearly required something different.  As a result, each time that I went out, I experienced a conflict between my fear (of what people would think) and my desire (to do something unusual), and ended up giving into the former.

After the stress of too many failures, I decided to get out of this conflict by taking a step back.  A step back, almost literally, since I was envisioning a return to the bars of the 7th, the previous arrondissement.  Clearly, I was not ready to take on the challenge of those in the 8th, so why not go build confidence doing something less difficult, something which I had done before anyway, and after that retake the step forward?  The idea sounded too good.

Too bad that it did not work out too well when I tried it out.  When I went out to the 7th, I found out that the first bar was no longer there.  Or perhaps it was being renovated.  In any case, I saw no one and no entrance.  I had put all my eggs into one basket ... er, I mean bar, and I had to accept trying out the other bars if I wanted to take my idea seriously.  The warrior in me decided to continue.  But without a total resolve after the bad news of the first bar.  Ultimately, upon catching sight of the crowd in the second bar from outside, I lost all focus, gave up on the operation, and started figuring out my way home.

Strike two.

I was fed up.  Though still the warrior, I came up with an even bolder idea than the previous one.  Going back to the Ladurée bar in a do-or-die situation and burying the operation for good if I did not complete it there.  In essence, it was like a win-or-go-home event, as some American sport commentators would say.  It seemed like the necessary thing to do, and it was dirt simple.  Do I care enough about my beloved operation to keep it alive, or am I satisfied with imagining solutions (to my problems) that I will never implement?  That was the question.  And hesitating to respond was giving me too much stress.  I deemed a resolution necessary, so that I could move on.  It's not like I absolutely needed to do Operation Bar Games.  After all, I could suffer.

But since I did not want to suffer, I decided to carry out my new idea the day after my return to the 7th bombed.  Besides, I needed to achieve my quota of operations completed during the week, and time was of the essence.

D-Day.  I was pumped about the task that I was going to accomplish and naturally a little anxious as well.  The do-or-die aspect was extremely motivating.  I was just going to enter the bar and do what I set out to do: approach the patrons, regardless of whether they were young or not, with a family or not.  I would leave them alone only if their reactions showed that they were not open to my visit.  And if the members of the staff were displeased with it, then they should better let me know.

I arrived around 9:10pm.  I spotted a group of four young people seated at a table beside the entrance, and a young couple and a baby in stroller on the right side of the U-shaped counter.  I passed the couple on my way to my usual spot.  I was a little sweaty and decided to chill for a moment, in spite of these opportunities ready to seize.  "I'll use the time to prepare myself mentally for the task", I told myself, while hoping at the same time that this decision was not the sign of a loss of focus, however small.

I ordered my usual glass of cranberry juice.  Actually, I did not have to ask for it.  The server at the bar knew that it was what I had always got during my previous visits and suggested it.  She gave it to me with a strawberry hanging on the rim of the glass, which was a new touch.  I sipped away while reading the book "Dieu voyage toujours incognito" by Laurent Gounelle (English edition: "The Man Who Risked It All") that I had brought out from my shoulder bag.  All the while, I kept my mind regularly on the clock, knowing that the real reason I was there was not to read a book, as exciting as it was.

I decided to jump into action at 9:30.  I was just going to do it, that is, get up off my seat and start approaching the group of four, whether it was considered wrong or not, whether I was still sweating from anxiety or not.  Beforehand, two Asian girls had arrived and had taken seats at the left side of the bar counter.  It was certainly good news, since I needed people to be able to get the job done.  But they had ordered to eat, so I was not going to bother them for a toast, at least for the moment.  "Shit, I'm playing it safe again", I told myself, critically.

So 9:30 arrived, my nerves were tingling madly, and in almost robotic motion, I got down from my seat, took my glass in hand, and started walking towards the group of four by the entrance.  And when I could, I was thinking, "I hope that they [the male and female servers] won't think this is weird and won't end up kicking me out."  Clearly, I had some issues with taking the risk of making mistakes ... mistakes in public.

Eventually, I reached my destination and delivered the magic words, accompanied by the appropriate gestures.  "Hi!"  "Cheers!"  "Are you guys left-siders?"  The two guys in the group seemed cautious and kept mum, whereas the two girls with them were quite responsive.  One of them was especially cheerful, which put me quickly at ease.  In fact, she did not only reply my question by telling me that she was right-handed (or left-handed, I forget which), she also started a new conversation by asking me what I thought about French President François Hollande.  That was a first.  Moments later, I said goodbye to them and left to head back to my seat, elated about having broken the ice.  Then I just had to do that four more times.

For some reason or the other, I was not sure whether to approach the young couple next.  I passed them again without talking to them.  Well, you snooze, you lose: minutes later, they packed up and left the bar.

While a part of me lamented the loss, another part eagerly awaited an opportunity for Approach #2.

Shortly afterwards, a French family of four walk into the bar and take seats at the left side of the counter, beside the Asian girls and directly across from me.  There was the man, his wife, and their two adolescent children, a boy and girl.  Hmmn, going over to a French family to ask them if they were left-siders.  How unusual.  As a result, I was hesitant.  Besides, they too were going to eat, like their Asian neighbors.  I decided to return to my book, keeping an eye on them to find out if they had finished eating and if all that they had left were drinks.  And then, a middle-aged French couple arrived and took seats on my side of the counter, three or four seats away from me, where the previous couple and baby had been earlier.  This was wonderful.  "I will not falter, like I did with my previous neighbors", I said, trying to convince myself.

I decided to make my next move around 10:10.  I had guessed that the Asian girls would have finished eating by then.  I was still hesitant about the French family beside them.  The French couple beside me were likely targets as they were having drinks.  Soon enough, the clock struck 10:10.  I got up and started walking towards the other side of the counter, passing by the couple.  I did not stop until I was behind the girls, drawing their attention.  I delivered my lines and raised my glass, but their comprehension of my words and gestures did not seem to inspire them to do more than say "Hi" in return and smile when I said "Cheers!"  Without great surprise, they did not give the impression of having understood my English when I asked if they were left-siders.  So I left, but not without smiling back.  Two down, three to go.  I was feeling high and brave enough to go over to the French family just nearby before I noticed that they were talking with the server at the bar.  It felt uncomfortable waiting behind the two Asian girls for their conversation to end.  My feelings of euphoria had quickly disappeared.  So I turned around and walked towards my seat, stopping before the French couple.  My interaction with them was pretty quick; they used the "I-don't-speak-English" card, at the same not appearing offended about my visit.  But I was not disappointed at all.  On the contrary:  I just scored another approach, with two more to go.  And I was thinking to myself, "I can do this!  I can really do this!"

Back at my seat, the family of four had ordered dessert.  I decided to wait before heading over and picked up my book again while I continued sipping the cranberry juice out of my glass.  Once they had finished dessert (and could certainly order nothing more), I wanted to make my move.  Except that I was now out of juice!  So I gave in to the idea of ordering another glass.  But that it was not the female server who was around, but the male server, who handed me my drink without a strawberry.  Great.  Despite the disappointment, I did not waste time in redirecting my attention to the family.  The father was about to ask for the bill.  "No!  Wait!", I shouted, without a voice.  It was then or never if I was going to make my move.  Well, I did not budge, believing that it was no longer any use to go over there, even if their drinks were still on the table.  So I just watched them leave as I began to regret the several opportunities lost to approach them.  I mean, it was not like I absolutely wanted to have a conversation with them.  I just wanted to ask them my questions.  Why would I not allow myself to do what I want?

I carried on this session of self-criticism for a long while, especially since no new patrons were coming in.  The place looked dead.  In truth, with the exception of Valentine's Day, the bar was usually devoid of people on each night that I had come.  Sure, it was relegated to the back of the building, beyond the restaurant which was facing the Champs-Elysees, and behind the shop near at the entrance that was very popular with tourists.  Some curious people slipped into the bar, but only to look around, take pictures, and then leave.  And in my mind I was telling them, "No, stay!  Have a drink!  Wait a while!"

I kept dwelling on those missed opportunities.  If only I had done this, if only I had done that, this operation would have been done, and I would have been a happy man.  I am almost there, just two more approaches.  This operation cannot die.  What will I do?  I mean, I'm still in the fight.  I don't want to give up, but nobody's coming in anymore.  Time's running out.  I think they are going to close the bar soon.  Oh no!  Now I feel really bad after all that hesitation towards earlier opportunities.

After thirty minutes of suffering during which I tried to avoid the pain by concentrating on my book, a group of four entered the bar and took seats by the entrance.  "Yes!", I said to myself, joyful.  They looked like a family ‒ a man, a woman and two teenage girls ‒ and they seemed American.  They placed their order, which included drinks and desserts.  I decided to wait a while before moving in.  During this time, I saw a young couple enter the room, and it looked like they were going to stay.  "Yes!  This is it.  You got this", I told myself.  They settled into seats at the counter, with their backs to the entrance and within close proximity of the American family.  Soon enough, they were standing, taking pictures of the place.  Tourists!

At 11:10, I felt that it was time to end this drama once and for all.  So, without as much resistance as before, I got up and went towards the table where the American family was seated.  The man had just gone out of the bar, which left me alone with the woman and the two girls.  I arrived and delivered my opening, which had a rather lukewarm reception.  The girls looked hardly interested, and did not engage much in the conversation.  I was practically speaking with the lady, who was more welcoming, though not that much.  "Well, it was nice meeting you," she said, smiling.  I wished them a good stay in Paris and wasted little time in heading over to the young couple a few steps away.

It was the fifth and hence the last visit of the operation, and probably be the longest and the most comfortable.  The best for last, perhaps.  Anyway, I met Zach and Katrina ‒ we even had proper introductions ‒, who said that they were from the left coast (to mean the west coast) of the United States.  Los Angeles to be more precise.  Zach told me that they were in Europe for two weeks, spending the first in Paris and then the second in Brussels with a quick trip to Bruges.  Having visited Bruges on two occasions, I suggested places to visit, notably the Chocolate Museum and Fry Museum.  They were both curious about what left-siders were and I explained the concept to them.  I doubt that I succeeded in retaining their interest.  Note to self:  I need to improve my communication skills on a subject this important.

Five minutes later, I was back at my seat, overjoyed.  I could not believe that I had actually completed the operation.  After all those attempts made and all those glasses of cranberry juice drank.  I was free to move on.  I was in a great mood.  I was even in a greater mood given that I had came close to not finishing, as the server informed a group of three men upon their arrival that the bar was already closed.  Imagine.  If I had not taken the chances that I did take, I would probably not have been able to complete the operation and it would have died.

But no, it gets to stay alive.

My satisfaction reached a high.  I began to open up more to the two servers.  I learned from the girl that the bar would close for the summer in about two weeks ‒ what luck that I came that night ‒ and that she was going afterwards on vacation to Greece for two weeks.  Later on, when she was absent and the guy was around, I asked him what his vacation plans were.  Los Angeles.  "Really?", I asked.  "That customer at the end of the counter is from Los Angeles, you have got to talk to him", I added, pointing to the spot where Zach was.  "Oh, I was there last year, so I know my way around," he replied.  He said he really liked the city.

At 11:30, almost two and a half hours after my arrival in the bar, I took off, having settled my two drinks.  There was still some cranberry juice in the last glass.  I could not take it anymore, my mouth was not having it.  As I approached the exit, I passed by the family of four and said goodbye again to Zach and Katrina.  A minute later, I had poured myself out onto the Champs-Elysées.  The avenue was lit up and buzzing as usual.  I joined the crowd of passers-by, my spirits high and my conscience calm, as I enjoyed knowing that Operation Bar Games got to live again.

Maybe if the bar often looked like this, the operation would have been done with earlier?

bring on the crowd

On July 14th, a.k.a. Bastille Day, a.k.a. France's National Day, I set out to run Operation 50 First States in the 11th arrondissement of Paris.   Besides trying to make the operation a once-a-month affair after taking on the 9th in May and the 10th in June, I was savoring the opportunity to celebrate Bastille Day in my own way, passing through Place de la Bastille, the site where the former Bastille prison was stormed on July 14th 1789.  Talk about a marriage of my history with France's history!

I planned to get things started at Place de la Nation, a square located between the 11th and the 12th.  Since I had already challenged myself with approaching individuals, couples, and groups, each category at least a hundred of times, I had felt the need to make matters more interesting.  Besides, I was at the halfway in covering Paris, with 10 arrondissements down and 10 more to go.  Could there have been a better time to change the rules of the game?

Change was desired, but which one would be the best to make the game meaningful yet exciting, to me and potentially to the people that I would be meeting?  Certainly not that of making the questions any less ridiculous nor that of asking them in French.  I had looked within and remembered that even though I had succeeded in asking people the 50 questions, I had often felt uncomfortable if there were many people around in close proximity, to the point of sometimes shying away from the target.  Crowded, popular places were often the most challenging.  Not only did I worry about rejection coming from the target for my unusual behavior, I feared judgment coming from the people around the target and myself.  It was just a thing of discomfort.  Yet it had to be the basis for the change that I desired.

So I had decided to ask the same questions to the same categories of people, but making sure each time that there were people around to potentially witness the event.

Now let's go back to D-Day.  Bastille Day fell on a Sunday and Place de la Nation, one of Paris' largest squares, was pretty devoid of people in the morning.  Besides, most people, including myself, were distracted by the national air force's planes whizzing through the sky to celebrate the day.  Let's not forget my objective: 10 sites to visit and 50 people to ask, each one in front of an audience.  I had time to think about it ‒ the streets being practically deserted, I did not have much to do ‒ and the whole thing just seemed less and less feasible that day.  So I conceded defeat, and instead joined in with those watching the planes fly by.

Once I got back home, I sought ways to restructure the operation.  One major change was to divide the 50 states into lots of 10 and devote a run of the operation to a single lot, nothing more.  10 being much more manageable than 50, the new operation would deter me from rushing to get through to the finish line.  In other words, I could take my time more with 10.  In addition, the restructuring also seemed like a shift from quantity towards quality, which I appreciated.  As far as sites, I divided the selection by 5 also, thus making it the requirement to visit 2 sites during each run.  I would pick off from where I left off and celebrate only when I had covered the 5 lots by blogging about the adventure.

To kick off the revamped Operation 50 First States ‒ which could be called Operation 5 * 10 States ‒ I returned to Place de la Nation, which I had chosen along with Rue de Charonne to be my 2 sites.  On the Saturday in August that I was kicking things off, targets were easy to find.  However, audiences were not, partly because I was not sure how much of a crowd was sufficient.  I eventually ended up settling on a minimum of four people in the vicinity, excluding the target and myself.  It would have been difficult to find a larger audience for each question.  Still however, I went around and around the Place de la Nation, hoping to find a crowd.  It was like struggling to give life to a newborn!

The birth was ultimately successful, and I made my way towards Rue de Charonne after counting 2 targets.  On Boulevard de Charonne, there was an open-air market with people around.  After feeling apprehension about being in a crowd and debating whether it was ethical to do what I had planned to do, I went on with it, walking up the long corridor of the market and approaching people.  And since it was easy to find enough people to form the audience, I did not need to count.  As far as choosing the target, I contented myself with interrupting those with seemingly nothing else to do but walk, ignoring those in queues.  It was surprising that what I had feared doing was turning out to be rather effortless.  I must have been in a zone.

I got out of the market having asked 4 people, but I still had not reached 10.  What I had reached though was Rue de Charonne.  So I took it, with the plan to end up near the Bastille neighborhood.  Almost instantly, I saw a covered bus stop where about ten people were waiting and standing for the most part.  Opportunity!  It was the turn to ask a woman, so I scanned the bus stop.  I found a few middle-aged women before my eyes landed on a young woman, who was quite pretty.  Tending to shy almost always from the pretty girls, it became clear to me that it was her that I needed to approach.  And without hesitation, I went up to her, doing my best to remain focused, and said: "Hi.  Are you from Tallahassee?"  She didn't seem to understand, and didn't say anything.  But I clearly had her attention.  At the same instant, I had the impression that the eyes of several people were on me ‒ something that I actually confirmed by sight ‒, and I instantly got nervous.  But I managed to ask the young woman the question again, doing my best to be clearer.  She replied "I do not understand", at which point I let out a faint smile and vanished.  I couldn't believe what I had just done.  I had managed to enter a dense crowd of unfamiliar people, on the street, drawing the attention of many of them while asking the prettiest among them a ridiculous and apparently incomprehensible question.

It was as if something fundamental in my psyche had gotten unlocked.  My mind began to race, as I let myself imagine how much fun playing with crowds was going to be.

small talk

Inspired by the discovery of a book titled "Le grand art de la petite conversation" (English edition: "The Fine Art of Small Talk") at a FNAC store in Paris last week, I thought that it would be neat to address the topic of small talk.  The book was written by Debra Fine, a communication expert, and I am still reading it.

In order for the loner in me to have the social skills necessary for a fulfilling life, it would make sense that I strove to get better in small talk.  Fittingly, I devoted an entire operation to the subject.

Operation Small Talk would resemble what follows Operation Bonjour when it comes to having an interaction with a stranger.  Whereas the latter requires merely saying "Bonjour" to an unfamiliar person who just happens to be at the right place and the right time, the former is all about having a light conversation that starts off with something other than "Bonjour".  In essence, Operation Small Talk gets directly to the heart of the matter, bypassing the rule of beginning with a standard greeting.

The operation consists of creating 10 small talk moments in the course of a week.  For someone who was naturally sociable, which currently does not apply to me, this would be a trivial task that could even be completed in one day.  What constitutes a small talk moment is a verbal exchange that I initiate with a stranger and that does not begin by "Bonjour", "Excusez-moi" or something similar.  People at work in places like shops and restaurants do not count as strangers, since they are generally expected to cater to people.  As far the exchange itself, I started off simple ‒ saying something to the unfamiliar person and hearing him respond once.  If he does not respond, then there is no small talk moment.  In general, I do not retry with some other sentence; instead, I accept the rejection and move on.  Once I complete the operation 10 times over 10 separate weeks (meaning 100 small talk moments), I take things to the next level ‒ for example, saying something to the person and hearing them respond on two separate occasions.  After that, I keep setting up more difficult levels to reach, until each exchange ends up being a substantial conversation.  At that point, one could claim to be naturally sociable and the operation would be no longer necessary.

Any moment of small talk created in the hopes of connecting with someone does not require deep topics of conversation.  In addition, there is more than the weather.  There are your surroundings, which are usually rich with all sorts of information, be it people, animals, objects, behaviors, events, etc..  There is also your mind, which is busy processing this information in multiple ways, which in turn produces even more information.  Imagine that this new information that you just produced was shared instantaneously with someone within your physical reach.  That would potentially be a small talk moment.

In order to increase my chances of creating these moments, I do my best to remain aware when I am surrounded by people.  Even though I like exploring the contents of my mind, I figure that sharing with someone a thought that I just had would also allow me to discover things.  It could be some practical information that I was not expecting to receive on a subject that I was familiar with or an opinion on a topic that I knew little about.  In addition, the discovery could lie somewhere beyond the person's actual reply.  I could find out that the person actually had a friendly demeanor whereas I had initially assumed otherwise or I could recognize that despite our obvious differences, we were both essentially seeking similar things.

As if Debra Fine's book does not say enough about the value of it, I would argue that small talk helps people (including the person initiates it) to open up and thereby encourages trust.  Interestingly enough, it seems that if we had more trust in ourselves and in others, we would be able to open up even more.  I may be a loner, but I want to be open too.

I conclude with two examples of small talk moments that come to mind and that both happened recently.

One evening two weeks ago, in an Eric Kayser bakery that I go to several times a week, I picked up on an unusual yet rather pleasant smell.  Yet all I was surrounded by was bread and pastries.  In all truth, there was also a variety of bottled drinks and boxes of prepared dishes in self-service, but the smell could not come from there.  Noticing that there was a lady ahead of me in line, I said, '"Ca sent le poisson ici !" ("Why it smells like fish in here!")  She turned around, looking amused, and said, "Effectivement, je sens le poisson aussi !" ("Indeed, I smell fish too !").  I was relieved.

At lunchtime last Wednesday, I was in the cafeteria of my work building.  I took a break from approaching the pretty girls around by joining the queue for the grilled dish of the day.  Along the queue was a dessert stand, from which I picked up one of the ready-made fruit salad bowls.  The guy behind me also picked up a bowl, but I noticed that his was about only 60% full.  Hello!  Small talk moment!  So I intervened by saying to him, "Il y a encore de bols qui sont plus remplis de salade" ("There are still bowls that have more salad"), indicating with a hand gesture the difference between the contents of his bowl and those of the others on the stand.  Once he understood, he replaced his bowl almost instantly.  "Merci !" ("Thanks!"), he said, before making a comment that I did not hear clearly on the benefits of eating fruits.

journée presque parfaite

I had hoped for a good day, but I was not expecting it to be that good.  I mean, this is a post that was not meant to happen.

It all started on Monday morning in Paris, on my way to work.  I took the metro, getting the opportunity to interact with a few commuters via Operation Metro.  Albeit startled (who wouldn't be?), they smiled and returned the "Bonjour!" when I greeted them.  The best part was that I had wasted no time before I got into the act.  I had not asked myself whether or not to do it, if people were already watching me or were going to watch me, or how weird it was going to be.  With an intense focus, I had simply jumped in and created the interactions that I had set out to create.  Afterwards, I picked up where I left off in my book of the moment: "Ces impossibles Français", Chapter 5, "Au rendez-vous des libertins".  I coasted for the rest of the ride.  My mind was at ease.

After the morning spent at work, I got back on the metro during lunch break.  I had decided to finish scouting Jardin des serres d'Auteuil, a botanical garden within a major greenhouse complex.   I had visited the garden for the first time only the evening before, to determine if it was a suitable location for a future sketcher outing.  Since I had to take three different metro lines to get there, I had three chances to run Operation Metro.  Yay!  Of course, I had my usual anxieties about deciding to stand out among passengers in the metro, but for the most part, I was looking forward to the opportunity.  By the time I got out at Porte d'Auteuil, the closest station to the garden, I had scored only two out of three points for the operation.  Why?  Because on the second leg of the trip, I had interactions that were more involved ‒ and more interesting.

Waiting for the metro at Charles de Gaulle - Etoile to begin this remarkable second leg, I noticed a very pretty girl standing nearby.  Then I noticed that the backpack that she was carrying was partially open.  Which provided an opening for me to go talk to her.  She was accompanied by another girl, but that was secondary.  If I hesitated for a second before approaching her, it was because I was busy appreciating this unexpected opportunity to accomplish Operation Insecurity.  Eventually, I went over.  I said "Bonjour", and followed with "Votre sac est ouvert" ("Your bag is open").  She verified it, smiled and said "Merci", and I left to return to the spot where I was waiting before.  Great.  Wait, I left?

The only thing that saved me from self-torture after this "hit-and-run", as my friend Sophie would say, was another interaction that took place in the metro after it had arrived and I had entered.  Mind you, I was still in Operation Insecurity mode, so I needed to approach another attractive girl to conclude.  As a result, Operation Metro was no longer applicable, and it got suspended momentarily.  In the metro, there was a pretty woman seated at a certain distance in front of me (I was standing).  She had a small backpack on her lap on which it was written "Keziah".  After the customary hesitation, I dodged a couple of passengers in order to reach her.  "C'est pour Keziah Jones ce sac ?" ("Is that Keziah Jones' bag?"), I asked, referring to the Nigerian singer and guitarist who actually became well-known in France for performing in the Paris metro.  "Non", she replied with a smile.  "Il est à mon fils" ("It's my son's").  I developed the Keziah joke some more and a conversation ensued, about the origin of the name, French and English languages, and the like.  In the process, she complimented my supposed French sans accent, whereas I did the same on her English (she was Congolese).  I found it even amusing that she asked me which French words tended to reveal my accent when I said them.  I admitted that some words with the "r" were problematic, and she inquired whether the "l" was also an issue.  I thought about it.  Indeed, my colleagues, all francophone, had once teased me during a meeting when I had said "les rules" (in a French manner), a word that had both "r" and "l" in it.  But I digress.  Eventually, the lady had to get off and thanked me for an enjoyable chat.  What she probably did not know was that I was just as thankful, if not more.

Scouting the garden (after I had eventually made it there) was blissful, just as the day before.  I took the opportunity to explore other areas and to ask the woman working at the entrance about picnic spots and restroom access.  But what really gave me the thrill, just like the day before, was standing on the border of Roland Garros complex, which is literally across the street from the garden.  I walked up this street on my way back to the metro station, gazing at parts of the rounded exterior of Court n° 1 that were not hidden from view by metallic bars and trees.  I was particularly drawn to the surface at the top of the court, on which there was a long series of names inscribed for successive years.  Names like G. Kuerten.  S. Graf.  M. Seles.  A. Agassi.  V. Williams.  S. Williams.  M. Navrátilová.  J. Henin.  R. Federer.  And R. Nadal, over and over again.  I imagined myself linked to these champions, appreciating the moment of being close to the history of the French Open beyond newspaper articles and television and computer screens.

I made the trip back to work via metro, bus and tram and the afternoon passed by.  The next delicious moment happened on my way out of the building.  When I got into the elevator to get to the ground floor, I was the only person.  I wondered if the elevator would stop at an intermediate floor.  And it did.  And then I wondered if the person about to enter would be male or female.  With a slight amount of nervousness, I hoped that the person would be not only female, but solitary as well.  And the person was.  She entered.  I said "Bonjour", she said "Bonsoir" in response.  As usual in these circumstances, I scolded myself for not using the appropriate greeting for the evening.  Yet I was too focused on this rare occasion to care much about appropriate greetings.  When the doors of the elevators closed, I turned to the lady and asked, "Vous venez ici souvent ?" ("Do you come here often?")  She replied, in a more or less serious manner, "Mais je travaille ici" ("Well I work here").  We both stared at each other for a brief moment, her facial expression more puzzled than mine.  An awkward silence set in.  We still faced each other, but we no longer had eye contact.  I noticed a faint smile on her face nonetheless.  A guy got in at a lower floor, but that did nothing to change the vibe.  On the ground floor, the woman got out of the elevator, then out of the building.  I lagged behind, reflecting on what had just transpired.  Needless to say, I was glad about it.  A bit troubled, but glad.

Since it was rush hour, I decided to try out Operation Rush Hour before entering the metro to go home.  I was already out on the street, and the lady from the elevator was nowhere to be found (even though I was not necessarily looking for her).  I spotted a group of three girls coming my way.  Hesitation.  Then I spoke to the closest one as I passed her.  "Bonjour, le mois d'août, vous passez vos vacances où en général ?" ("Hello, in August, where do you usually spend your vacation ?")  "Rwanda", she said.  Here was a reply, and even a reaction, that I had not expected.  In fact, I was expecting a mild form of repulsion (which only goes to show my comfort level with this type of activity).  But no, I was talking with a group of Rwandan girls.  We (they and I) got to know a little about each other, but it did not mean much since we dispersed within the minute.  Later on, I came across a woman who I found older and less attractive than the Rwandans but attractive nonetheless (call me a bit desperate), and stopped to quiz her on when the next public holiday was.  The ideas that I have sometimes.  But she was quite agreeable and played along.  Each time (out of two) that she suggested a holiday that fell on a weekend, I contested her response, saying that it did not count.  So we reached a conclusion that the next real holiday was on November 11, otherwise known as the anniversary of the signature of the armistice that ended World War I in 1918.  We then separated and I completed my journey to the metro, where I did not hesitate to run Operation Metro once more.  Pure joy.

Back at home, I announced an upcoming group outing to Jardin des serres d'Auteuil on the Paris Sketchers website.  I also wrote a first draft of this very blog post.

And to think that these events happened because I decided at each instant to take responsibility for loving myself.

May the most of the following days be similar, or simply presque parfaites.

honneur aux jolies filles

One Friday evening last year, I stopped outside a supermarket somewhere in Paris near the Saint-Lazare train station.  I was accompanying two friends, Jeannette and David, to a house party and we wanted to get some food beforehand.  At some point during the stop, I was observing the streets packed with people and I noticed the abundance of pretty women around.  Fascinated, I told David something to this effect: "Man, there are so many pretty girls in this city!"  He replied rather dryly: "Yep, there are pretty girls everywhere.  But it does not mean anything if all you do is look at them."  Right.

Several months later, with this moment still fresh in mind, I launched Operation Les Jolies Filles.  Indeed, Paris does have lots of beautiful women, and I felt ready to do something more about it than just look from afar.  Actually, I wanted to change how I perceived women in general.  I had grown tired of the fantasy in which I held them, as well as the suffering that resulted from maintaining that fantasy.

In other words, Operation Les Jolies Filles was designed to do away with something of an inferiority complex.

The operation as I had imagined it certainly had the potential to transform the turn of events in a situation similar to the one that occurred in Angoulême last July.  It presented itself also as an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted with women in France, since the only reply that I could muster to questions like "So how are the women in France?" or "And French women?" was "I don't really know", because I just didn't know.  An answer based on what I thought was the stereotype, that French women were "difficult" and "demanding", was naturally a no-no.

So during the first five months of the operation, I said "Bonjour" to random pretty women that I passed on the street.  The interaction remained at that.  There was little chance to wait for a "Bonjour" in return, much less to have a conversation, since I was already gone looking for the next pretty girl.  I did this every other day, and targeted at least two women and no more than five on operation day.

After taking my time to greet 250 women, I figured it was high time to take things a step further.  I therefore decided to stop after approaching a pretty girl to interact with her.  But only to tell her "Je vous trouve très jolie" ("I find you very pretty") before moving on along.

For three days straight, I failed to get this next step off the ground.  It was not that I did not cross paths with a pretty girl, but that I could not push past the fear of saying something that was unusual and unnecessary to a girl that I did not know at all, and on the street of all places.  In addition, I was afraid that my actions would make the girl think that I was trying to pick her up, which I was not comfortable with.  At the rare moments when I was able to overcome all these mental obstacles, I tried to get the job done.  I looked at almost every woman coming in my direction and got ready to do my act if I had deemed that she was pretty, only to end up doing nothing as we passed each other.  It was a sequence of events that repeated itself over and over again, leaving my mind increasingly in utter chaos.

But on the Sunday morning of September 1, I broke through.  I was not having it.  I was just going to do it.  I had to push past the fear.  Besides, how painful could it be to compliment a girl?  I had been told often that girls liked that kind of stuff.  So I got my mind ready.  Instead of taking the metro or a Vélib' like I usually did when going to Marché d'Aligre, I was going to walk there and talk to the first five pretty girls that I found on the way.  Which I actually did.  Well, five out of six.  Or seven.

The first encounter was interesting and clearly the most important.  In a large and virtually empty square, I saw the target, a bespectacled young woman with matte skin and curly hair.  Having decided that she was pretty, I stopped her with a "Bonjour" before following through.  "Je vous trouve trrrrr, très jolie."  A faint smile let itself out towards the end.  With a larger smile, the young woman replied : "Merci, c'est gentil" ("Thank you, that's kind of you").  The end.  Sure, I finally tasted success, but what was that R about?  The very thing ‒ the pronunciation of the French R ‒ at the core of my greatest complex with the French language had resurfaced to spoil the long-awaited occasion.  Or rather, perhaps, to make it more memorable.

Naturally, I felt good about the done deed and could not be more delighted with the result.  After all, the target got a sincere compliment.  I got a courage experience.  At the end of it, we each felt better.  Win-win.  I love win-win situations.

I followed suit with the remaining targets without much trouble until the operation was completed.  Target 2 looked at me and promptly ignored me.  Target 3 reacted by making hand gestures that seemed to say she did not understand, while she moved her lips at the same time as if to say something even though no sound came out.  In any case, she did not bother to stay.  Target 4 ignored me, without the slightest sign of eye contact.  Target 5 said thank you with a smile.  The best part of it all was the summary that my friend's Aziz gave after I recounted the day's events to him: "2 thank yous, 2 ignorances, and 1 confusion."

I see this kind of interactions as something playful for everyone involved.  And so, I look forward to more thank yous, ignorances, and confusions.

"do you have a joke?"

Before 2pm on Saturday, February 28, 2015, I showed up at Gare de Lyon, one of the six major railway stations in Paris.  I had no train to catch and I had not come to pick up someone.  I had no ticket on hand and I was not going to purchase one.  I was not even getting something to eat, and I had no need for the restroom.  No, I was only there to run Operation Insecurity.

Operation Insecurity is nothing more than a spin-off of Operation Les Jolies Filles, which was also targeted at pretty women.  In all honesty, it is exactly the same thing as Operation Les Jolies Filles.  I had just changed its name to remind myself why I was running it: to overcome my feelings of insecurity towards doing unusual things in public.  And to help me were the pretty women to be found all over Paris, whether they knew it or not.

Once I stepped into in Hall 1 of the train station,  I began looking for a target.  Walking the length of the hall, in the area that separated the platforms from the dispersed travelers, I kept my eyes open, scanning the crowd.  To calm my nerves and keep away the dissuasive thoughts, I repeated a quote from the mythologist Joseph Campbell that I had remembered only after failing the same operation in the same place five hours before: "Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain."  It was a quote that I believed in, given the numerous successes that I had had when running challenging operations in the past.

I got through the hall without a single approach.  That's not to say that there were no pretty women around, on the contrary.  I just did not make out any clear-cut opportunity or, when I did, I did not muster the courage to do anything about it, telling myself that I did not know what to say to the girl, even though I had allowed myself to say anything that came to mind.  All the while, moments came and went as quickly as the number of people that were moving all over the place.  Not to be discouraged, I kept on moving myself, armed with words of wisdom from Joseph Campbell.

I made my way into the Galerie des fresques, which linked Hall 1 to Hall 2.  Soon enough, I spotted a woman in a very colorful outfit walking towards me, alone.  As the gap between us got closer, I quickly looked around and verified that there were people nearby : some were standing by on her left, others walking behind her, and several walking behind me.  Perfect.  As I crossed paths with the woman, I got her attention by saying hello, in English.

"So how was vacation?", I asked.

"..."

"You know, the school vacation period just ended."

"Yes ..."

"And it lasted two weeks."

"Yes ..."

"So how did it go?"

The woman kept silent for a short moment before continuing.

"I don't quite understand.  Do you speak German?"

"German?", I asked in return, surprised.

"Yes, German."

"No, I don't.  Are you German?"

"No, but I speak it."

"But you do speak French?"

"Yes", she replied.

I was intrigued as to why she had asked me if I spoke German instead of asking me if I spoke French.  We were in France, after all.  Or did I miss something?  In any case, I was not going to switch to French for the sake of convenience, so the interaction swiftly ended and we parted ways right after.

I kept on walking until I reached Hall 2.  Upon entering, I found myself on one end of the floor.  I went straight towards the platforms to be in the middle of the action while walking towards the other end of the floor.  Of course, I was still keeping a lookout.  And my efforts were about to pay off when, somewhere along the middle of the floor, I noticed two women standing together, facing the trains.  One was looked like she was in her late 20s or early 30s.  The other was perhaps her mother, as she looked much older.  Without hesitation, I jumped into action.  It was what I wanted after all.  Action.

"Hello", I said, looking more at the younger woman, who was closer to me.

"..."

"Are you waiting for your train?"

"No."

"Oh, you are waiting for someone then?"

"Yes."

Silence.  All the while, I could pick up a certain discomfort on their part (or was it on my part rather?).  The younger woman was giving me one-word answers, though I took some responsibility for this, having coming up with such simple questions in the first place.  The other woman had turned her head away and remained quiet.  As for me, I had run out of things to say, and it seemed that the best thing to do at that point was to end the conversation.

"Well, have a good day", I said, smiling.

"Thanks", said the younger woman, with a faint smile.  The other woman kept her silence, though she gave a hint of a smile.

I completed my tour of Hall 2 and left, going through the Galerie des fresques again to return to Hall 1.  Having initiated a conversation on two separate occasions inside the same building, I had completed the operation that I had failed only five hours before.  But I did not feel satisfied with this victory.  In fact, I felt like I had not given an acceptable effort, notably with the two women that I met in Hall 2.  The interaction with them had been simply too brief, and the questions that I asked them did not require more than "Yes" or "No" answers.  Also, I had been taken aback by their relatively distant reaction.  "I mean, why can't some people just lighten up sometimes?", I complained to myself, almost impulsively.  And at that instant, my mind got to racing to thinking what I could do foster light-hearted interactions with strangers (in this case, with pretty women).  Then an idea emerged and stood over everything else in my consciousness.  I liked it and decided to give it a go.

I was already back in Hall 1, which seemed more crowded than before.  But I was undeterred.  In fact, I was more determined than ever, Joseph Campbell's words still by my side.  I walked below the main departure board suspended in the middle of the hall, among the dozens of travelers who had their eyes fixed on it.  Nearby, I saw three girls standing in a small circle, talking.  Given the mass of people around them, it was an excellent opportunity for me to feature my insecurity.  So I chose to go capture it.

"Hello", I said.

"Hello".

"Do you have a joke?"

"Er ... what?"

"Do you have a joke?"

"A joke?"

"Yes.  A joke.  Do you have one?"

The girls looked amused.  I guessed that they also felt perplexed.  But they were game, and started conferring quietly among themselves.  It took place quite quickly, and I could not record everything that was going on.  However, I remember being pleasantly surprised by the success that I was having in pulling off this stunt.  Some silence had crept in, so naturally, I made sure to pick up the dialogue.

"Okay, I'm waiting for a joke!", I stated, with a hand gesture meant to convey my impatience.

"Do you speak French?", one of the girls asked me.

"Yes, I do.  But not today."

She seemed to take that well.

"What about a bad joke?", another girl asked.

"Well, a bad joke is still a joke", I conceded.

"All right, I am going say it, it's in French."

I moved in closer to listen.  I found it a bit odd yet humorous that I was going to have to understand a joke in French even though everyone was aware that I had chosen to not speak a word of French.

"Qu'est-ce qui est jaune et attend?"  (In English: "What is yellow and wait?")

"'Jaune', OK, I got that. 'Attend'?  Like from the verb 'attendre'?"

"Yes."

I thought about it for a while, trying to come up with an answer.  I asked for a clue, but I don't think that my request registered with the girls.  Helpless, I did not spend much time before giving up.

"Jaune-attend!", one of them said.

"Jaune-attend?  Wha ... oh!  Jonathan?  The name Jonathan?"

"Yes."

"Wait ... Jonathan ... pronounced in what language?  French?  English?"

I cannot remember their reply.  But the joke ‒ or rather the riddle ‒ was more or less understood.  I just assumed that the French pronounced the name Jonathan differently compared to native English speakers.  "Jaune-attend", I repeated.  "Hmmn."

"Not bad at all, not bad", I added.

The girls were all smiles.

"Do you mind if I use it?", I asked them.

"Not at all", one girl replied, giggling with the others.

I decided to end the interaction.  I had the feeling that I no longer had anything plausible to say.  My mind was blank actually.  I felt that I had already redeemed myself after the disappointment of the previous encounter.  Pleased about this last experience, I wished the girls "bon voyage" before leaving them, even though I did not know whether they were going to take a train or if they were simply waiting for someone to arrive.

Alone once again and feeling liberated more than anything, I headed for the bus stop outside the train station, amusing myself with ideas to take things further with this operation.