Paris Syndrome: Why I Hate Parisians

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Parisians aren't a particularly popular species.  And, I shall hasten to add, not unfoundedly.  The truth of the matter is that they're rude and, well, that sums them up quite nicely.

If I were to throw around some adjectives; words like cold, grumpy, unsympathetic, unforgiving, disengaged and unfriendly spring to mind.  It's interesting to note that many of these adjectives begin with "un".  They're all the things normal people aren't.  Is it bad genetics or a cultural thing? I'm worried too that this Paris attitude (not to be confused with the letting agency of the same name) is contagious. I've already noticed that I don't smile nearly as much.  Although on reflection, this could be attributed to four things: 1) You never receive a smile back, 2) They probably think you're hitting on them, 3) They think you're giving them the go ahead to harass you, 4) The notion of smiling is so confusing to them that you may cause them brain damage.  In a nutshell, smiling is risqué.

And apparently I am not the only one to think this.  There's this wonderful article I read in the Huffington Post about the Japanese experiencing something known as Paris Syndrome.  It is actually considered to be a real psychological disorder and even has its own Wikipedia page.  The cure?  Getting the hell out of Paris, probably with a counsellor sitting beside you, soothing you throughout the 12 hour plane journey home while you flood and possibly sink the plane with your tears of agony.  I kid you not when I speak of hallucinations, depersonalization, extensive sweating - all brought on by Paris and its toxic inhabitants.  Why do the Japanese react this way?  Because they read magazines wherein Paris is painted through rose-tinted glasses. They’ve essentially been sucked into the idealised depiction of Paris prevalent throughout Japanese advertising…and were oh-so disappointed by the apparent romantic illusion they’d conjured up in their naïve little brains.  This is by no means a criticism of Japanese people who suffer from Paris syndrome.  Rather, it is a dig at those who cause it.

Politeness and social graces?  Forget about it.  They’re harder to find than a needle in a haystack.  Want to give the exact change in a shop?  Don’t go there.  They’ll watch you count all your pennies and then refuse to accept them, taking your 20 euro note instead.  And then they’ll get pissed off that you don’t have 10 centimes to make a round figure.  Beats me.  In restaurants they tap frustratedly on their notepads while you place your order, then throw your food across the table, then have arguments about their wages in front of you, then put the bill on your table half way through your meal, then stare you out of your seat so that you feel uncomfortable and leave so their business can “thrive”.  In buses they refuse to answer your questions but instead stare out into the road, hoping you might just disappear like a fly stuck to the windshield.  In supermarkets they chat to their friends as they scan your purchases, refusing to look you in the eye.  

I was once in a café in the Jardin du Luxembourg with a friend when a waiter refused to serve us for nearly an hour.  He gave a typically Parisian, brute response of “j’arrive” whenever we tried to track him down, but he never did arrive.  After this considerably long wait, I huffed and puffed like one would on a cigar, and marched off, friend in tow.  It’s safe to say that they won’t be graced with my presence ever again.

One of my favourite experiences (I’m being unsarcastic for once) was in a US breakfast diner in Paris where they kept asking me if I wanted another refill on my "Cuppa Joe", checked the food was to our liking and made sure that we were happy little bunnies.  But in real Paris, you'll be lucky if the ketchup you ask for twenty times isn’t thrown across your table with a colossal splat.  Talking of ketchup, a waiter once dropped a tray next to me and “accidentally” flung ketchup and mayo onto me and my handbag.  Did he apologise?  Of course he didn't.  He just shrugged and went to clean up the floor as if nothing had happened.  

One time I was in Zara here and I went to the check-out.  I changed my mind last-minute but apparently it was "too late".  But I hadn't even paid yet so how could it be too late?  Are you telling me it's illegal to walk out of the shop empty handed just because you typed a few things into a till and tapped finish?  Not like I signed a contract on entry.  Just use the bloody backspace or start over again...the point is that you're supposed to give me an incentive to return, not a reason to never want to step foot in the store again.  Sheesh.

In the bank they refuse to serve you if you don't belong to that branch.  *Unless you kick up a fuss that is.*  But I'd watch yourself because you might get arrested if you don't stay on your guard.  I found it particularly amusing when a friend of mine recently went to her bank to take out some money - probably something short of 300 euros.  The bank genuinely told her this would not be possible.  The reason? "We don't have enough money to give you."  And you call yourself a bank?!  Point…defeated.

 

All in all, I am reminded of a scene from the Grinch where, shall we say, the Grinch expresses his contempt for the button-nosed Whos.  Trust me, I'd rather be shacked up with a bunch of Whos than Parisians.  But the sentiment is the same.

And the beautiful irony?  They think you're the rudest of all if you don't wish them "bon appetit" when they're eating a meal.

NB: For the nice Parisians out there (please come out of hiding and introduce yourselves!), I salute you! You're not all rotten :P But for pete's sake, please stop calling us Brits "les rosbifs"! Merci.