Attendre

He drove an old silver Renault – dented and corroded in places, and it clearly hadn’t been washed in a while.  Barely room enough for two, it resembled, as my sons like to say, a clown car. 

He slowed and rolled down the window to get my attention.  “Madame?  Vous êtes très sympathique…” he paused,  “…et très belle”.  And with that declaration he grinned and drove off. 

OK…let me fill in the back story. 

Ten minutes before, about a dozen of us stood in a strange amalgamation of a queue in the local stationery and sundry store, La Presse de Tournamy.  One cluster gathered around a clerk near the front of the store, and another loosely circled a second register further back.  Neither clerk was having a good day – computers were stalling, the credit card machine jammed, a customer forgot an item and left to retrieve it while we waited.

The crowd, many of whom had popped by on their lunch break to purchase a lottery ticket or a newspaper, was getting subtly restless.  We shifted in our places and juggled the items in our hands.  A few empathetic smiles were exchanged among compatriots. 

But unlike similar American experiences, no heavy sighs escaped.  No complaints were raised.  No tapping of the feet.  No one wandered off to find the manager.  No one threw up his hands and walked out in a huff. 

Instead, we were adhering to the refined French practice of trying to not look like you are in a hurry – blissfully on France time – while being steady in the pursuit of an end.  It’s a delicate line to walk, but an artform I am embracing.

And then one man decided to play the odds. 

I watched him slowly shift to an acceptable mid-point position between the two registers.  He shuffled around, pretending to examine a circular stand of kids’ birthday cards while really watching to see which clerk would get his act together first. 

When the clerk at the front register seemed to have a breakthrough, he leaned closer to that queue.  Timing his move, he thumbed through a few knick-knacks on a shelf.  But the clerk realized he was out of bags and left for the back of the store.  So, the man slumped and shifted back to center position. 

I smiled to myself watching this person teeter on an invisible high wire with surprising deftness.  “I see you”, I thought.

And then our clerk finally broke through the levy.  The lead horse breaking free from the pack.  As we slowly ordered ourselves into a tidier line, the “middleman” began navigating the awkward merge – trying to appear like he’d been near the front of our line all along. 

I continued to eye this man with curiosity.  As I too have been guilty of the same shenanigans a time or two, I felt a soft spot and some humor for the quandary he’d put himself in.  Gradually, he caught my eye and I motioned him in before me. 

“It’s ok,” I thought to myself.  “We’ve all been there.”

Neatly combed grey hair sat atop his kind, round face which was weathered from seven plus decades of life.  His rough hands and tanned neck and cheeks suggested time spent working outdoors.  Coupled with his slightly bowed legs and broad, stooped shoulders I suspected that his work had been more for livelihood than leisure.  He stood maybe 5 ½ feet tall and his well-worn white and grey striped shirt hung loosely across his frame, covering a slight protruding belly – a prize likely won by his now retired life. 

In his hands he carried a folded paper road map of northern Spain.  In an instant I was transported to the times my parents would go the AAA office (yes, there used to be an actual office) and bring back road guides of wherever we were planning to go.  We would spread the maps out on the kitchen table and use a highlighter to show the routes on our journey. 

The great adventure before the actual adventure. 

I loved envisioning the various turns on the highways – the towering trees we might see in the green national forest regions – the great expanses we might pass as we drove through the white areas of the map.  Years later, when my husband and I planned our two RV trips with our sons, I couldn’t help myself and printed out old fashioned road maps.  Delighted, I highlighted our route and taped them on the wall of the RV – and then sat back to watch the wonder bubble up in their young eyes. 

Yup, boys, there is just something about a roadmap.

Anyway, as the man’s turn came, the clerk scanned his small map and announced 8 euros.  “Non!”, the man proclaimed and explained that on the display the price was 6 euros 50.  In my typical impatience, I personally would have just paid the extra euro and a half and moved on.  But not this man.  He had waited his turn, worked hard to get to the front of line, and would not be thwarted.

The clerk’s shoulders slumped and he sighed.  Another problem at the register.  The manager was called, who then had to walk back to the map section to check the pricing on the display.  There was much reviewing of the map with its tiny printed price, the computer price, and the display price.  And finally, confirming the error, the computer had to be overwritten, the new price added, and a new transaction made. 

During this time, our little queue broke down and some went to the other line which was now moving more steadily.  Oddly, from inside I felt at ease.  Maybe being here, slowing my life down was a good thing.  At least now, I was game to wait.

And I had the thought, what is waiting anyway?

The French word for waiting is “attendre”.  I love how the French use this word vs. our English equivalent of “wait”.  When you dig under the meanings of these two words, the difference becomes clear.  Attendre comes from the latin “attendere”, which means to stretch one’s mind or energies toward something; to pay attention.  This compares with our word, “wait” which comes from old Anglo-French “waitier”, meaning to watch, often with hostile intent; to be on one’s guard. 

And maybe that’s the nuance I felt at that moment.  Instead of being “on guard” for ways that I might be taken advantage of, I was on France time where it was easier to “stretch my energy” and pay attention.  I could lean toward patience and attention. I could relax and find common ground with those around me.  

And when the man looked sheepishly at me, I only smiled and said “pas de soucis” – no worries. 

Issue resolved, the man held out his hand to the clerk – coins totaling exactly 6 euros 50 carefully counted out and placed confidently on the counter.  And then he was gone.

I finished a few more errands among the collection of stores and headed to the car thinking about my next stop at the produce market.  My mind had moved on, so encountering him in the busy parking lot was a bit of a surprise. 

We’ve all had that experience when we see someone out of context – it’s jarring.  Here was a strange French older man stopping his raggedy car to give a woman a passing, somewhat flippant compliment.  Something I would typically regard as off-putting. 

It took a moment for me to comprehend his words, but as the man smiled and started to drive away I could only smile back – and feel fortunate for that moment.  It was an exchange of two people paying attention.  Seeing each other, acknowledging our common humanity – flaws and all, and recognizing ourselves in the other. 

As much as I admired his compliment, I knew it was our shared experience that was sympathetic, kind, and beautiful.  It was the gift of having the time to be generous of spirit. 

And that is what attendre is all about.  

Bisous,

Hanna