The End of an Era; and, Paris Afterthoughts

It became official today. After an epic tenure marked by stunning successes, bitter disappointments, volatile personality clashes and life-long friendships, my manager at Michael Guiney's informed me today that the store will no longer need my services after Christmas. The official explanation is that holiday sales have been weak and post-Christmas is going to be quite slow. He and I understood, however, the real reason: I am a threat to his job security.

My approaching departure from the world of bargain retail has led, of course, to nostalgia. Allow me to recount some of the more interesting memories. My first day on the job––my first day in retail––when I was instructed to organize the women's underwear. Or my big break: promotion to the "hardware department." There my humiliation subsided, as I was stocking Christmas decorations and scented candles instead of enormous women's briefs. Or my proudest accomplishment in hardware, the erection of a formidable rug display. There was the day that I was told to condense the contents of two shelving units of kitchen wares into the space of one shelving unit, a feat all thought to be impossible. I did it in one afternoon without breaking a sweat.

The shining moment of my time at Guiney's, without a doubt, involved the complicated relocation effort of a large bin full of brushes (or, as we would say in the US, a box full of brooms). Three employees including myself were tasked with moving the bin down one floor so it could be placed in front of the store as a clearance item. Weighing in at about two hundred pounds, and of awkward proportions, the bin was too much for us to get down the steps without serious injury to ourselves and/or customers. We stood around the bin, each man deep in thought. We furrowed our brows, scratched our heads. Then it came to me: take the brushes out of the container, and move them downstairs separately! My plan was a smashing success: the empty bin's weight was manageable, and I carried my head higher from that day forward.

There were countless other victories, large and small. Too many to describe. My final days at Guiney's have come full circle. I am back in the women's department, only this time I am pricing gloves and winter hats––a task reflective of my senior status, of how far I have come.

***

The rumors are true, it takes forever to get anything done in Ireland. Over two weeks ago we stopped into a bank to open up a joint account, as we had finally received our PPS numbers. We gave the bank all of the information they needed; they made copies of all of our documents, and put it all together in a package for Dublin (everything has to be done with the permission of some person in Dublin. Katherine's co-worker, Paula, says that her 'favorite' phrase is, "We just have to send this up to Dublin, it will only take a few days.").

"This will take five days, maximum," we were told, after which our account information would be mailed to us. Well, we came back from Paris and, two weeks after this bank visit, nothing had arrived. Katherine went back to the bank today to see what was behind the delay. What was behind the delay? The slight hiccup that they managed to lose all of our information. Gone! All of the photocopies, forms....they are "sure" they sent it to "Dublin," but "Dublin" never got it. That's okay, nevermind the fact that I need a bank account to get paid. Or that fact that it should take all of fifteen minutes to set up an account and deposit money.

While we're on the topic of things moving as slow as molasses in January, I should say that we just received out "welcome letter" from the electric company. We've been here for over a month, and we just got notification that our meter has been activated. Our lease is only for three months, I wonder if we'll ever see a bill?

***

As for Paris, my advice is to go. It's a wonderful experience. If you've any appreciation for art, architecture, or just enjoy looking at completely over-the-top opulence, then the city founded by the Celtic Parisii tribe is the place for you.

I thought I had seen fancy, I thought I had experienced luxury. I was wrong. Katherine aptly called Paris "The City that is Forever Competing with Itself." That's the key to the grandeur: many successive generations of megalomaniacs determined to leave an unrivaled mark. But I'm not down on it at all. On the contrary, I'm glad there are places where we can see what happens when individuals, when societies, really push the envelope. Sometimes the results are jaw-droppingly beautiful (as in experiencing the Louvre for the first time), or shockingly heinous (as in the Reign of Terror during the French Revolution, when over 1100 people were beheaded for, well, I can't really say what).

I could go on and on about our experience, but instead I will be briefly suggest some activities. First, go to (and in) all of the clichéd places: the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame, le Jardin du Luxembourg, Sacre Coeur, and so on. Second, admire––and consume––the wonderful food. There's nothing like it. And third, walk everywhere. At night. They don't call it the "City of Light" for nothing.

I highly suggest a winter visit, the crowds were very manageable and there's the chance of snow:

Between us, Katherine and I have over a hundred pictures. Conveniently, Katherine has posted all of them on her Facebook profile. If you're interested in more visuals, take a peek at her Paris photo album. If you don't have Facebook, then I can post more pictures here (if I'm asked nicely).