Paris Journal 2002

FUSAC stands for "France-USA Contacts."  It is a biweekly publication that contains classified ads and display ads with items or services of interest to Americans in Paris, or to those who have something they'd like to sell to Americans in Paris.  Some of the ads are in English, and some are in French.

Tom is under pressure.  His publisher has given him a deadline.  He must be finished by the end of the month.   The key for the letter "A" on his keyboard is sticking.  The pressure mounts.   He's increasingly frustrated.  Do you realize how often we use the letter A?

No, it really isn't that bad.  The sticking A key is just a minor annoyance.  But the idea of finding a new keyboard has become an assignment, a challenge.  It is a challenge because finding a QWERTY keyboard, the kind used by English speakers and writers, is not an easy thing in France.  But, we reasoned, this is Paris.  This is a world-class city.  We think one could probably buy an AZERTY keyboard in New York, because New York has lots of non-English speakers.  Paris has lots of non-French speakers, so why should this be such a big deal? 

We started with the obvious.  We went to Darty, an electrical appliance store where lots of Parisians buy things.  We see them walking the streets of Paris, clutching their Darty shopping bags.  Darty sells lots of computers and peripherals, it seems.   We tried Office Depot.  (See July 26 to read about those ill-fated attempts.) 

I tried Office Depot's web site.   (See July 29.)  They e-mailed me and offered to let me cheat by ordering one through their export office in the U.S.  But like Lance Armstrong, I don't cheat.  I must play this game right; the "clavier QWERTY" must be found in Paris.  Paris must be as much of an international city as New York is.  It must!

I tried FUSAC.  (See photo and explanation, at left.)  My hopes soared when I saw the display ad on page 33 for Micro King in the 17th arrondisement.  They bill themselves as "The English Speaking Computer Service."  So, I called, said "bonjour, madame," when a young woman answered the phone.  Then I asked meekly if I might speak English.  She said, with excellent pronunciation, "Yes, sure."  But as our conversation progressed, it became apparent that while her pronunciation was good, her vocabulary was limited.  My French vocabulary is bigger than her English one.  I felt guilty.   I should be the one struggling here.  She said that yes, she thought they had a QWERTY there, but she had to . . . . uh . . . . she didn't know the words to say.   She didn't know how to tell me that she needed to ask someone and call me back.   So I finished her sentences for her.  She called back in a half hour.    She had called to tell me that she was wrong, they didn't have any QWERTYs there, but if I wanted, for 80 euros ($80) they could . . .uh . . . uh.  I finished her sentence, "You can order one for us?"  Yes, she said.  I asked how long it would take.  She didn't know how to answer.  But I told her we needed one right away, but thank you, I really did appreciate very much her efforts and her calling me back.  We politely said goodbye to each other.

I vowed to conduct the remainder of the quest in French.

I determined that special ordering would not only take too long, but it would also be cheating.  This QWERTY must be found in Paris!

So I studied Les Pages Jaune (The Yellow Pages.)  In Paris, this tome is in two volumes.  The first contains an index where I determined that the listings I wanted were not under "ordinateurs," which is French for "computers."   The listings were under "Informatique, matériel et fournitures."

These listings are then sorted by arrondisement.  They go on for several pages.   I studied and studied the listings, looking for the right sort of place.  I called the most likely place in the 15th, where we live.  The place is called Axe Informatique Bureaucratique.  The conversation, in French, went something like this:

Mr. Axe:  Hello, Axe Informatique Bureaucratique.

Me:  Hello, sir.  Uh, I'm looking for a QWERTY keyboard, a keyboard for English.  Do you have this kind of keyboard?

Mr. Axe:  But no, no we don't have a QWERTY keyboard!!!

Me:  I understand.  Is it possible to buy a QWERTY keyboard in Paris?

Mr. Axe:  In Paris?  Of course it is.  But not at this store.   Another store.

Me:  Do you know where?

Mr. Axe:  No, I don't know where.  But another store in Paris will have it.

Me:  Thank you very much, sir.  Goodbye.

We will surely have to look beyond the 15th arrondisement, I concluded.  I studied the yellow pages again. 

There!  Voila!  In the 9th arrondisement.  There is a shop that dares to call itself an English name:  Computer Shop.  If they dare to use an English name, they better have an English keyboard!  I called, but I did not dare to speak in English.  I used my bad French.  I was getting tired, and French words don't come too easily when I'm tired.  This conversation went something like this:

CS:  Hello, Computer Shop.

Me:  Hello, sir.  Uh, I'm looking for a QWERTY keyboard.  Do you have a QWERTY keyboard?

CS:  Yes, sure.  We have several.

Me:  How much for the QWERTY?

CS:  Well, it depends.  We have one for 25 euros, and one for 85 euros, and several in between.

Me:  Oh, good!  My husband and I, we . . . . uh . . . What time does your store close?

CS:  Nineteen hours and a half.  [7:30p.m.]

Me:  Oh, good.  My husband and I, we . . . uh . . . tomorrow . . . we . . .

CS:  Will come by?

Me:  Yes, thank you.  We will come by.  Tomorrow.  Thank you very much.  Goodbye.

By now Tom had finished working for the day so we took the Metro to the 9th.  We walked up a hill to avenue de La Tour Auvernge.  The "tour," or tower, is no longer there.  But judging by the hill, it must have offered quite a view.   Historical markers in several parts of Paris have informed us that there used to be a number of towers in the city, constructed for the purpose of providing a great view.

The great thing about Paris is that you can find surprises everywhere.  In this adventure into the 9th, we found a fine little park called Square de Montholon.  We sat there and watched pigeons and children playing.  Several kids were being watched over by nannies from African countries.  Several others were with their moms & dads who had just picked them up from day care after work.  This is what you do in France -- after work you don't just go home and eat dinner.  You stroll, you take the kids to a park, you do a little shopping.  Then you eat dinner late.

We also discovered a street that had been turned into a pedestrians-only market.   It led to a series of narrower passages that had been covered over with glass over a hundred years ago. These passages were filled with all kinds of interesting shops.   It was a good place to be, with the skies threatening to rain.  The wax museum, Musée Grévin, opens onto one of these passages.

Back to the Computer Shop.  When we arrived, we walked in and said bonjour to the two guys working there.  The shop was exactly what I expected.  It was small.   Computer hardware, mostly used, but some new, was stacked up everywhere.  We used our French, struggling a bit, to explain what we needed.  The older of the two guys, who was about 40, began rummaging through a pile of keyboards, examining each one.   Finally, when he was near the bottom of the stack, he pulled out a Compaq QWERTY keyboard.  It was filthy.  And it was missing a key, but not an important key.   The missing key is just that windows key that nobody I know ever uses. 

Tom was a bit concerned about the connector - it seemed to be missing a pin.  He asked about it.  The older guy said it didn't matter.

The guy was embarrassed, because the keyboard wasn't perfect, it was missing a key, and he knew he told me he thought he had several.  We assured him that the missing key wasn't important, and he said yes, but he really wanted to try to make it right.  He tried to find a similar keyboard.  He popped a key off of one, and alas it was very different.    He was so disappointed.  I assured him that it was okay, that such was life.  He smiled at that. 

We asked how much for the keyboard.  He said 10 euros ($10), but he seemed to be ashamed.  We thought it was well worth $10 to try to get a keyboard with that essential vowel in working order.  Tom handed him the ten, while the younger guy was cleaning up the keyboard with a special spray cleaner and paper towels & tissues.   We expected that he'd spend about two minutes to clean it up a bit, but no.   He was meticulous.  He worked for several minutes. 

The older guy had gone back to whatever he was doing on the computer, but he eventually asked us, by way of making conversation, if we were American.  He must have figured that if we were English, we would have our own keyboard or means of getting one.  Tom answered yes, and then the guy asked if we were from New York.  I said we were from Florida.  Ohio is just too hard to say in French, and nobody here seems to have heard of that state anyway.  But Florida ignites the French imagination.  His eyes widened, and he was positively illuminated with this idea.  He said it was hot in Florida, and in New York, and in Paris now, and Tom said maybe the entire world.  We laughed.  He told us we were very nice.  I think this is code for "thank you for not asking me to speak in English - it makes me feel so foolish to try to speak in English - thanks for being willing to be the idiots here."  Eventually the younger guy handed us the keyboard.  It looked brand new.

We took it with us and meandered through the 9th, through the covered shopping passages, stopping to have coffee and mineral water at a tea shop.  We still weren't sure if the quest for the QWERTY was over.  Tom was worried about the missing pins in the connector.  I felt guilty that we had perhaps deprived Parisian commerce of its only remaining QWERTY keyboard.