“La carte bleu” is a necessity in any shopper’s wallet. Or a debit card as they refer to it in the UK. I’m not sure if that’s because all debit cards are blue in France, or if it’s just a saying. But currently I’m lacking in that department. Sod’s law has it that my bank isn’t open at the weekend. I mean, whoever made that rule up was in need of a little reformation.
Today I needed to pick up my debit card from the bank because I received a letter saying it had finally arrived! Hooray. They obviously didn’t use the word finally in the letter, but after being in Paris for 3 whole weeks sans debit card, I was starting to get fed up with eating stale sandwiches filled with grated emmental and soggy tomatoes. As tempting as that sounds. Eating out of the bin was never really the backup plan…
I knew the bank closed at 17:15 but I didn’t leave the office until 16:40 as I was filling out forms at Human Resources (ironically, giving them my bank details). The journey home takes anywhere between 35 and 45 minutes so I was slightly hedging my bets, but I was determined to satisfy the current emptiness of my wallet. And being as good looking as I am, I knew for a smile I could win over any banker’s heart. #sarcasm. Nevertheless, I ran to the train (in the rain, I’ll have you know), slipped twice, stumbled onto the metro only to have my bag squished and my face almost sliced in two between the sliding doors. I then ran like an absolute loony from the metro stop towards the bank, arriving at 17:15 on the dot, rang the doorbell (you can’t just “walk in”), and a man comes up to the door and shakes his head. I put my hands together in prayer - begging, pleading, smiling, winking, miaowing…I even mouthed “PLEASE”, but again he shook his head. I pretended to weep, but for all he knew it was just the rain smudging my mascara. I looked like one of those lost, abandoned puppies left on the street begging for shelter. Or the heroine out of a romantic drama who turns up at an imposing mansion after a 30 mile trek in the pouring rain only to get rejected by the presumptuous porter who is unaware that the love of her life is sitting at arm’s reach within the confines of this stately palace. Except the love of my life in this ever so unromantic situation is played by “la carte bleu” in the starring role, and the stately palace is simply La Societe Generale.
He then proceeded to pull down the blind so I couldn’t see inside. Was my beauty really that piercing that he couldn’t bear to look at me?
Coming to think of it, my lonely hearts ad should probably be:
Money-less Monty must meet minted man to make Monty merry.
Without a debit card this weekend, I have approximately 11 euros for splurging. Guess I’ll be ordering a glass of your finest tap water then…
Watch this space.