Don't Drown Your Fish

More French wisdom rolled into charming idioms starring animals: 


I drafted a short and sweet response to a client about a question. My colleague told me that she wanted a little more meat to the response, but without "drowning the fish." What is "drowning the fish" I asked? 


Apparently, the expression originates from the twentieth century and means to hoodwink, confuse, bamboozle, distract someone from the real issue or make him forget it. It is a reference to the fishing industry,  where fishermen repeatedly pull hooked fish in and out of the water to wear them out, I guess so they don't flap about as much when you finally pull them out for good. (Translated from http://www.linternaute.com/expression/langue-francaise/450/noyer-le-poisson/ with my charming commentary at the end).

Pretty good advice for presidential candidates? I think so. 

Stop drowning the damn fish!!

Squirrels and Three-Legged Yorkies

My neighbor is enjoying this fine July evening by watching Jersey Shore at full volume with his door open. I figured, might as well write you folks a blog post, complete with two stories. One takes place at the laundromat, the other at the work lunch table.

I. Bastille Day...schizophrenic weather made planning an actual activity rather difficult. Did some grocery shopping with the masses, and heard but didn't see actual fireworks. Bummer.

Sunday, I finally ran out of clean sheets and towels and forced myself to go to the laundromat. It's about a 10 minute walk, if that, and it's in a pretty chi chi neighborhood across from a famous covered market. I read the instructions, written on the wall and surmise that I must pay separately for laundry detergent. I go over to the central pay station and type in the number to have it vend me laundry detergent. I put in my euro, and clonk, out pops a wrapper with a coke brick of laundry detergent. Having never seen a brick of cocaine, and after just googling it, I have discovered that a brick is a kilogram! Who knew? So, it was probably more like 1/16 of a brick of laundry detergent wrapped in foil.

I put my stuff in the littlest washing machine (you pay depending on the size of the washer) and drop in half of my laundry detergent powder brick with my sheets. I set the temperature, trot back to the central paying machine, type in the number of my washing machine and put in my €4.20 (extortion!). I sit back with my kindle and prepare to wait. Then, I notice on the wall, in a different section than where I read the instructions, is a little diagram of a square with four sections, and it says laundry detergent, pre-wash, fabric softener, and something called "javel" (which word reference.com just told me is bleach). I am confused. Where is this little square, I ask myself? I keep reading, hoping that my laundry will get clean.

Then a rather well-dressed fellow arrives and flips this little silver lid on the top of the washing machine. Lo, the little square in which one is to deposit one's detergent! It's a front-load washer, so I was not really paying attention to the top of the washer. Humph. I note that my washer still has another 40 minutes (!) left, and does not look particularly sudsy. Oh well.

I duck out to a bakery I know that's open and get a lemon macaron. They have macaron "individuel" that are larger sized than the half-dollar size ones that you usually buy in batches of 6 or so. Or, as my husband calls them, hamburger macarons. In fact, they are slightly smaller than palm sized, so not really hamburger-size, but close enough.

After going back to the laundromat, I began nibbling on my macaron, at which point A rather iffy-looking woman with numerous missing teeth and a flashy pink hoodie walks in with a yorkie under her arm. She looks at me and says, "Bon apétit," in kind of an unhappy tone...as though I deign eat in her laundromat. All this in front of a sign that says "We remind you that dogs are forbidden." She attends to her laundry, and in follows another yorkie.

First thing I note is his face. He appears to be missing teeth on the right side of his face, so his tongue is lolling out in that direction, no longer confined to his mouth by pesky teeth. He is wet from the recent rain and I hear his owner call out in French that he should stay there and dry himself out. He turns in profile to me, revealing that he only has three legs. He starts to shake himself off to dry, and loses his balance and falls flat on his butt. As my husband aptly asked, "How do you say 'hot mess' in French." Three-legged toothless yorkie in a laundromat, that's how.

Owner puts down the other yorkie, who is clean, fully limbed, and well-brushed with a ponytail on the top of her head. I come to learn that the ponytail wearing yorkie is named Inès, and our mangy friend is Jude.

Meanwhile, this woman in a Prada raincoat looks on impassively. You always get a pretty good cross-section of the population in a laundromat, I guess.

II.
Today at work I had my first really amusing misunderstanding.

My coworker, A, is telling a story about going to the US last fall for an all-firm meeting of the litigation group with a then-pregnant colleague, C. Apparently, the city that they went to just smelled of food everywhere, even in the airport. With all the weird smells, C was super put off of food. In French, I heard the word "ecureuil," which means squirrel.

I'm thinking to myself, oh that kind of makes sense. Squirrels don't eat that much and the French have all kinds of expressions about animals ("poser un lapin à quelqu'un," literally put down a rabbit on someone, means to stand someone up), so be a squirrel probably means just being put off food. The conversation winds down and I ask A, what does "blah blah ecureuil" mean?

She looks at me blankly. I explain, "You said C was pregnant and she was ecureuil because of the food smell." Then, A goes, "OH, ecœuré!!! That means disgusted, grossed out, sickened!" The whole table is cracking up at my misunderstanding, and one colleague, F, I think was crying. I explain that I thought being a squirrel was an expression and how I thought I had learned something new and idiomatic! F said that she really liked the image, so maybe it will catch on as an expression now. ;)

So, in case you ever feel grossed out, just say you're being a squirrel.

Christmas in July

Word on the street is that it has been blooming hot in the States.

Not so in Paris. Not so at all, my friend.

I am currently bundled in my duvet cover, blanket, and I have a pillow on my lap for extr warmth/iPad holding...in the 6th floor attic of an apartment building. There is no heat to rise right now, so my attic is nowhere near as toasty as I had fearfully predicted.

So, I may not be celebrating actual Christmas in July but the weather is close enough that I might as well. Since my arrival in mid-May I think we have only had three days over eighty degrees Farenheit. And it's mid-July. The girls at work are grousing because there has not been the opportunity to wear summer outfits to work. One of the grousers persists in wearing all black everyday even though it is, as I reminded you earlier in the post, mid-July. I guess there is not a happy place between all black and summer wear. Alas my light khaki summer suit sits forgotten in my closet, too.

Other than the grey and chilly weather, I have nothing new to report. I still have not yet decided on my plans for Bastille Day. My friends from work are pretty much all leaving the city to go elsewhere for the weekend, so I'll probably have to do something by myself. There are still some unexplored areas of Paris for me, and I just realized the other day that I haven't gone to this one museum I want to go to, so I'm just going to play it by ear.

Work is going well. I'm still playing catch-up from being out sick most of last week, and lots of people are on vacation so we are working with somewhat reduced capacity. I have gotten to do some pro bono work, which has been interesting and mostly comprised of immigration and translation work.

Oh, on an unrelated note I have a Wednesday pick-me-up for you. I was reading a book description on amazon (yes, for a free book) the other day that makes "caulking a gun" seem almost eloquent.

The description said something like: Mary Ann was determined to show Bobby that she was his solemate. iPad autocorrect likes to turn solemate into sole ate. So, there's that.

Sixth Sense

The day has come and gone – the day of the business development breakfast that I helped coordinate here at the office. The two attorneys I was working with on the project spent hours slaving away on the invitation list because in Paris, the success of your event can be as much about what you say as who’s there (that's likely true of events in other places, too...). They got input from former colleagues, checked and rechecked the spelling of everyone’s names against prior lists, and wrestled with Outlook distribution lists until they were calling the technology help desk in incredible frustration, etc. (meanwhile, I was compiling the research for the presentation itself). A lot of time was spent on this, and there were some big names on the list, some big general counsels at French companies: all people who could send some business our way.

Except, of course, for the people on the list who are dead.

That’s right. We invited dead people. Unwittingly, they were left in the contact database, and we were calling people to harass those who had not RSVP’d. Turns out, some of those folks had pretty good excuses, being dead and all. I wasn't privy to any of these presumably awkward conversations but I can only imagine what they were like.

Oh, and there were retired people on the list, and people who have abandoned the practice of law on the list, too. 

Invitation Photo. Heck yes.

And then, of the 80 or so people on the list (I don't know how many were alive, practicing attorneys of that figure), 8 said they would come. Morning of the great breakfast presentation featuring a BEAUTIFUL PowerPoint presentation designed by yours truly (no, seriously, I legit took a cover photo for it and everything with fresh flowers, etc.) however, there were…three.

But!! All went well, the presentation was well-received, our three attendees were lively and asked questions after the speaker’s every point. So, perhaps a new client will come our way. Or three.

We’re talking about turning it into an article, so that would be cool, and I would get a co-author credit, so again, nice for the CV and my upcoming job hunt to end all job hunts.

Apart from communing with the dead, I have been a busy bee, delving into my most recent project: new French export controls on weapons, ammunition, and other military/defense items. 

Oh and default Microsoft Word here is in French, and then when you start writing in English it puts you in English U.K. So, I now (for work at least) spell defence with a c. Baller. 

And now I'm going to see Paul Taylor Dance Company!! Whee!! 

La Toque...or Going to Get Legal Mail

Hey ! Ami !

The above is a reference to the hip and famous French video-blogger, Norman – who I adore, by the way. Some of his stuff has English subtitles, but if you’re interested in some hilarious commentary on life, Apple addicts, arrogant bilingual people, or a song about how your life has improved since Google’s arrival, then check out www.normanfaitdesvideos.com.

Anyway, on to the actual post.

In France, attorneys have personal or firm mailboxes both at their office locations and at the massive courthouse, the Palais de justice. The mailbox is called the “toque” and it’s tucked away in the center of the Palais in an area that is FORBIDDEN TO THE PUBLIC (it says that on the door) and for attorneys only. I, of course, am not actually an attorney but a mere intern, but I guess we count.

Unfortunately, because I am a foreigner, I do not have a handy student card that lets me use the so-called “professional entrance” to the Palais. Instead, I have to use the public entrance, which means waiting in line with the masses to go through security.

In case you’re not aware, the national monument and church known for its breathtaking stained glass, Sainte Chapelle, is in the center of the Palais de justice complex, kind of in the courtyard. The public entrance to the courthouse and the tourist entrance to Sainte Chapelle are right next to each other, their respective lines fanning out along the sides of the justice complex. Sadly for me and my time, both lines funnel through essentially the same x-ray machines and metal detectors. I waited for a good half hour this morning. The trick I think is arriving there at 9. No one is there at 9 because that’s still relatively early for French time. I made the mistake of arriving at more 9:40ish, and the line for the Palais entrance was easily three times longer than I’ve ever seen it.

Apparently, I may be able to avoid this in the future if I get a written statement from our office administrator attesting that I am an intern (gosh darn it!) and no ordinary member of the public. Then with that I might be able to use the line-less professional entrance.

Okay, so. At the toque there is a lawyer-only free coffee machine (European style, little cappuccinos like, none of this drip coffee business), but what tickles me the most, and what I didn’t know before I came here, was that to appear before the court, lawyers in France still wear ceremonial robes. They’re black, like American judges wear, but sometimes (perhaps always?) they have kind of frilly white ascot type things that spill forth from the collar of the robe. They are *attractive.* But, it’s fun nonetheless to see easily identifiable attorneys walking the long halls of the courthouse.

Attorney Library

Another fun aspect of this is that there is a library for attorneys. It has print journals that exceed the materials we have available at the firm, especially if you’re looking for something older than say, 1980. Today, I had to photocopy some arbitration articles from 1974, so I stood in front of the copier with the firm-issued copy card for a good 20 minutes. But, I can’t complain.

The library is pretty cool – it has the old fashioned green bankers lamps on wooden tables set throughout the space, and the walls are filled with two stories of books. The second story sort of rings the space, and is accessible through a little spiral staircase in the corner, and there is a ladder that runs along a rail. It’s kind of outdated, but to find where in the library your particular journal is located, you go to the welcome desk and look through a binder that has the journals ordered by title. My journal today was on shelf 24. Not being that familiar with the arrangement of the library yet, I had to wander about to find it. I’m sure I looked a bit lost.

Well, I’m off to church! 

Busy-ness (?), Trains, and Church

Chers amis,

Whew.

It’s been an odd combination of busy and not busy at work. Sometimes, I’m running around working and gathering stuff, and end up skipping or postponing lunch or staying later than usual. Other times, I’m a wee bit bored and end up surreptitiously doing what I call “professional development reading” on law blogs, news sites, etc. because no one has an easily delegable task for me to do.

Toughest of all, however, is holding out everyday until the French-approved lunch time of 1:30. It has even surpassed the keyboard dilemmas. I’ll have you know I have become quite competent on the AZERTY keyboard, and then I get confused when I go home to my QWERTY iPad.

What have I been doing for the past week and a half? Let’s see:

I’ve worked on some commercial lease negotiation stuff, some research for the upcoming firm-hosted breakfast conference that I mentioned in my last post, and some French memo writing for a big lawsuit going down in French Polynesia.

Biggest and coolest of all though is being the unofficial point person for outside counsel on this one matter (a corporate reorganization in Eastern Europe). Essentially, I get to call and ask counsel in different countries whether they’re going to make our deadline, ask and answer follow-up questions and generally liaise between my office and theirs. Then, I compile their submissions on their country’s law into a memo to our client, and I edit their English along the way. So far, it’s been a very cool cross-border experience.

As I mentioned in my last post, generally everyone has lunch together in a conference room. The variety of lunch discussion topics has been pretty amusing. It’s ranged from attractive male and female tennis stars (not being all that familiar with tennis stars, it took me a while to pick up on some of the names being tossed around), soccer (of course), childbirth (usually it’s all women at these things), really bad reality TV shows (did you know that Ice-T has a show with his wife Cookie, or something like that?), the incomprehensible celebrity of the Kardashians (enough said), what high school everyone’s kids are going to (in France, I think it’s an application process even for public schools where you list your first through 3^rd choices, etc.), to the Queen of England and her Jubilee this week (with some Kate and Pippa gossip thrown in). Also, having read the Game of Thrones series, I was asked to give some spoilers, haha.   

On the sight-seeing side of things, I went to the town of Chartres on Saturday to see its renowned cathedral and just explore. I took the train from my nearest train station, Gare Montparnasse, which is only 2 metro stops away. I arrived at the train station and made my way from the metro area to the big main line train area, and tried to get my e-tickets from an automated ticket withdrawal machine. 

After 5 failed attempts to withdraw my tickets, I ended up going to stand in line to speak with a real person. I was in line for *quite some time,* nervously glancing at my watch as my departure time grew nearer and nearer. Once I was able to speak with a representative, I discovered that picking up your tickets at the automated machine does not work so well if you have a foreign credit card. The machines apparently only take cards with “puces,” or those little shiny SIM card looking things that some credit cards have. So, my lowly little PNC Bank debit card didn’t cut it.

I got my ticket with, oh, 4 minutes to spare until departure. The platform was clear at the other end of the station and the representative asked if I had a suitcase. When I replied that I did not, she kindly suggested that I run, unless I wanted to wait around an hour and catch the next train. I decided that waiting was not really that exciting of an option, so I booked it from platform 1 to platform 22 (of like 25). I ended up getting a little turned around and looked at platform 21, but the train sitting at it was dark and locked, so another Cartres-bound traveler and I headed on to 22. I saw that the first car was down to pretty much standing room only, so in great wisdom, I ran down to the next car and leapt aboard literally as the automatic doors were closing. It was somewhat of an exhilarating morning.

The train took about an hour, and after my arrival in Chartres I headed straight for the cathedral and wandered about inside checking out the stained glass. I honestly did not notice the famous labyrinth on the floor of the cathedral – I think it was pretty obscured by the chairs/pews – but I got my step-mom an oversized postcard of it anyway.

After touring the cathedral and gift shop, I had lunch at a restaurant just outside so that I could see more of the cathedral’s exterior. I read some and then someone was doing a mini-organ recital in the cathedral, so I got to enjoy that as well. By this point, I was kind of running out of ideas of what to do, so I toured the more touristy streets and perused some different shops. I ended up passing some time in the small park just in front of the cathedral where I read some more, and unbeknownst to me at the time, ended up getting a pretty impressive sunburn. The weather was warm but there was such a breeze that I never felt uncomfortable – ergo, how I never noticed that I was burning. Oh well. Ended up catching an earlier train back to Paris than I had originally scheduled.

This Thursday, I’m considering going to see a performance of Verdi’s Requiem (I did a paper on requiem masses in high school, so I kind of have a radar for them now) at a theater outside of the Louvre but I don’t want to get a ticket in advance because I would hate to miss it if something came up at work. I.e., last Friday I was supposed to go to a lecture on arbitration and the media at a local university from 5-7. I cleared it with the managing partner more than a week in advance, but by the time I got phase one of this Eastern European corporate reorg memo out to the client, I would have been late to the talk, so I didn’t go. I don’t want to tempt fate with Verdi.

I’m also excited for Friday, June 22 because I bought a ticket to see Paul Taylor Dance Company (a modern American company) perform at a theater here in Paris. I have never gotten to see them in the US – one time, I was in DC and they were performing at the Kennedy Center the day after I left…same thing has happened in NYC – so I am thrilled to finally get to go!!!

I know this is turning into a mammoth post, but I have to mention church, too! I went to First Church of Christ, Scientist, Paris last Sunday and it was nice, but it didn’t feel like *home* for the next 10 weeks. So last Wednesday, I tried Second Church, which is conveniently close to where I work…and I loved it. I was invited out to go out to dinner within minutes of my arrival by a fellow American (who has lived in Paris for more than 30 years). I arrived at church carrying a small tubular kind of fan that my friend had loaned me for my apartment – it ended up being quite the conversation piece.

After the service, I spoke with a few people and everyone kept asking about the fan and wanting to write down the make and model because it’s a unique size and they like it. Kind of odd, but I definitely felt included. Dinner after the service was great, and I’m looking forward to going again.

Hopefully, I’m going to get better about posting more frequently!

Bisous! 

You've been waiting for it -- first week of work!

Bonsoir mes amis,


Sorry for the delay in posting -- it's been quite a busy week! I started at the firm on Monday and my dad and step-ma were in town Sunday through Tuesday evening, so I had dinner with them each night after work. Today I had dinner with a law school friend, her partner, and their son! It's been a much more socially active week than I had imagined it would be. I pictured myself all alone this first week and how hard it was going to be to transition to living by myself again and not having Husband around. But, although I miss Mr. H. like crazy, I've been pretty blessed to feel like I have a "normal" life here with friends and family. It's kind of just like home but people smoke more (even more than in Pittsburgh, which seems impossible to me) and I speak a different language at work. You know, little differences.

So, work. Which I know you are all dying to hear about. It's very cool and there are several things about which I am DORKILY excited. For instance, I have my own email address with the firm, and my own phone line, and my own key and badge, and there is pretty much all you can drink tea, coffee, Evian, and Badoit (like Perrier).

The environment is so collegial -- some staff and attorneys all go out to find food at like 1:30 and bring it back and we all eat what we've bought in the conference room. Everyone has made a real effort to include me in things, inviting me to go "chercher un manger" (look for food) with them, explaining legal concepts to me, etc.

That's probably been the biggest and most obvious difference -- I'm doing some work in French law but I have a very introductory background in it, so essentially I am starting from a very basic level. But again, people take the time to explain things to me and usually, there's at least some corollary in the US system that I can kind of compare a given concept to, and then things start to click. Mostly I have been working on non-billable business development things, but I have gotten to help on one big lawsuit, so baby steps, I say.

Speaking of business development, the firm is hosting a breakfast mini-conference in June sometime, and for the invitations we wanted to include a picture at the heading to give the e-cite a classier touch. We had some photos done, but the coffee cup with coffee (it's breakfast, get it? We had a croissant too) wasn't on a saucer and the photographer didn't have enough time to re-do because she's was going away for Memorial Day (US based photographer, obviously). The lead attorney on the project was...dismayed to say the least by the lack of saucer. Efforts were made to convince him that it kinda sorta looked like a mug so a saucer is optional, but to no avail.

So, we have a photo shoot the next morning. I am dispatched to find a pretty looking croissant. I complete my mission and we start cleaning the table we've decided to stage the shoot on. None of us have a good actual camera so we bust out our iPhones. After two little shoots, some cropping and some resizing, I can proudly say that I, avocat and budding photographer, took the photo that will be featured in the invitation. Not what I expected to be doing for part of my first week, but we'll just call it resourceful. We worked some fresh peonies into the shot, too. It came out quite well for 2 lawyers and one lawyer-to-be putzing around with their phones. All in the name of business development, I suppose.

But honestly, the biggest "little" problem has been my computer keyboard at work. In case you didn't know, the French do not use the "standard" QWERTY style keyboard that we have in the US.

Instead, it's AZERTY.

Just pause, and think about it.

All of a sudden apple becomes "qpple" and Aztec becomes "Qwtec." Also, the enter key is in a weird spot so I keep hitting the *. That's not a frequently used thing, so why is it there!!!!! Like why wouldn't you have to shift to get an asterisk? Having it be a basic keystroke is ridiculous. Anyhoo.

I am determined not to ask for a QWERTY. This is my hero quest, my Everest, my wilderness journey: become an AZERTY-proficient typist. I am getting better already, and it is quite handy for French because the commonly used accented letters are there already. So that's nice.

Well, I'll update more with some of the sight-seeing stuff later. Just thought it would be better to share some of this first week of work stuff while it is in fact still my first week of work.

Ciao ciao,

Cate

PS Everyone says ciao ciao and all I picture is the dog, chow chow. I have to stop from laughing every time. I have a feeling that breed has a different name in French...

Museum and Lunch with the Big Boss

Hi there,

Let's see. Tuesday, I sent a quick email to my boss in Paris to let him know that I had arrived, found my apartment, etc. and then Hubbiekins and I went to the Musée d'Orsay, which is probably my favorite museum in Paris. This statement does not mean much, as I've only been to Paris once before and I think I've only been to two museums. So, I guess I mean, d'Orsay > Louvre because, although the Louvre is très cool on the outside and has many of the world's masterpieces, it's SO freaking huge that I get the illness my family affectionately calls "museum head" very quickly after entering. Also, I'm not so much into antiquities and the Louvre has quite the collection of that stuff. So, d'Orsay it is.

We had to stand outside in line for 20ish minutes to get in and buy our tickets, and it was COLD. And started to rain, and neither of us had brought rain gear. But we made it inside to the ticketing area before the heavens really let go. I got us the reduced rate for being youngins under 25, so that was a nice use of my French as I like saving money.

We were kind of already a little worn out and frozen by this point from walking to the museum and standing in line, so we stopped at the cafe on the ground floor of the museum and took a little break with some water, Fanta and 2 "petits pains" or little breads, otherwise known as dinner rolls.

After our snack break, we started on the ground floor and worked our way up to the top of the museum. In hindsight, the opposite path might have been the better choice because by the time we got to the fifth floor -- which is room after room of Impressionist masters, we were kind of done. Anyways, I was particularly excited about a painting my Millet (another greatest hit is "The Gleaners") called L'Angelus, or I think something like "morning prayer" in English. It depicts two farm workers in the field gleaning after the harvest (I think) and they pause as the sun rises and the church bells ring for morning prayer. The map of the d'Orsay has a convenient legend of where to find its most renowned pieces, and Angelus is on the Millet hallway. Husbie and I walk the Millet hallway. Spot the Gleaners, but I can spy no Angelus. So, I go to information and (in French) say how we have just walked the length of the hallway, no Angelus, what's up. Response: it's on exhibition in Moscow and won't be back for two months. So I didn't get to see it this time, but the good thing about my extended stay is that I will still be here in two months, so hopefully I will see it when it returns.

After heading through the rest of the galleries that I was interested in, we walked to Les Invalides, the site of Napoleon's burial because I was under the impression that it was free. Wrong. The burial site in the church, and the entire church itself, has been incorporated into the Musée de l'Armée (Army Museum) and entrance to the whole museum was included in the fare. I may be completely wrong about this, but I thought that the last time I came to Paris (2004) it was free because it's a church and churches are free. That is no longer the case and Husband and I decided that we didn't really care about Napoleon that much. So, we took the metro home.

At home, I checked my email again only to discover that my boss had emailed me not 20 minutes after we left that morning asking me to call him so that we could set up a time to meet this week to go over my internly duties as he will be traveling for most of my first week of work. Problem: I didn't have a phone and the Skype test call I did over the 3G on my iPad didn't go so well, so we ventured back down the many stairs to the SFR store where I acquired a cheapo pre-pay phone. Then we tromped back up the stairs so that I could make my phone call. Set up lunch for the following day.

Wednesday, May 16 -- Lunch with the big boss

I am a little fish in this office that I will soon call my workplace, so boss is an unclear term because apart from the other interns, everyone is in some degree my boss. So by lunch with boss, I mean big boss, and by big boss I mean managing partner of the Paris office of the law firm. Husband and I took the metro out to my workplace, which was good to do because I have to change trains twice and this lunch presented a good opportunity to practice. We practiced a little too well and arrived an hour early, so we stopped into a restaurant so that Husband could eat as he would not be joining me for my work lunch. After a quick lunch for him, I headed to the office and he set up shop in a little ice cream cafe nearby.

The office is very very nice and it's in a very stately building with quite an impressive door. The firm has the entire second floor for its office suite. I introduced myself at reception and sat down to wait for lunch. I ended up going with both the big boss and a senior associate to lunch at a nice restaurant. I had the seared sesame soy tuna --yum! We had a good chat, and I got the new intern spiel over lunch. The three biggest points were to ask questions about anything at all that's unclear, to integrate myself with the firm, and to ride herd on my time sheets (which I will have to fill out to keep track of what time I am spending on which projects, etc.). After lunch, I got a quick tour of the office and was introduced to everyone who happened to be there, so several attorneys, some support staff, and a fellow intern.

After the tour, I wrestled with the stately door. It said to "ring and push hard." My apartment door is like that too -- there's a button that you push to unlock and then you shove on the door and out you go. Problem was, I could not f or the life of me find what I was supposed to ring/push. So I tried the other door with a big turns handle. I opened it, sort of, and shimmied out throught the crack. I discovered Hubbie turning the corner to come and find me. While we were chatting about what to do next, the building manager came over and fixed the door that I had opened incorrectly. So oops. I will have to figure that one out quickly. We ended up just heading home so that I could change out of mu suit. Did not end up going to church because by the time I got changed we would have been late to the English service and H didn't seem all that keen on going to the later French service.