Meeting the French ER Response Unit

Ok, bet I’m one of the few to whom this has happened ….

Let me start off with a lead-in story….

I completely respect if one is focused on work in the office as that is why we’re all here. And I understand that people don’t listen to what others are saying if their minds are racing and they’re thinking of the next work project ; but generally some switch in the brain will flip a bit later and then the people think, “did she really say that?”

A colleague walked into my office area Thursday morning and I opened the conversation with “I’ve discovered that all the good looking men in Paris are young firefighters and police officers ; I should know as there were about 6-10 in my apartment last night.” To which my colleague says : “What I need you to do is create a report showing…” Didn’t blink an eye, didn’t comment, nothing. Not even 5, 10, 30 minutes later. Seriously?

So you’re probably wondering – Why in the world were 6-10 French fire and policemen in my apartment. Good question. Here’s the story…

By the time I got home and got to bed Wednesday night it was about 22:00. I read for a bit and turned off my light about 22:30. About 23:00 I wake up to hear a banging sound, then it got louder. Pause. Louder again. I realized it was from my door. So I get up and stumble to the front door. Of course, I’m half asleep and foggy due to this cold I have so I neglect all the safety rules of looking through the peep hole, asking who it is, etc. and I just open the door.

Lo and behold there are about 6 young men (20s?) in the hallway. They all seem to be in dark clothes, one guy was in jeans and a leather jacket. I thought they were just being rude and knocking on all doors, being “hooligans.” They start asking me questions (in French of course) whether or not my balcony was attached to the flat next door, and if I knew who lived there, and other such things. I said, no it wasn’t connected. They asked if they could see. I again said no, it wasn’t connected. Then I noticed “Sapeurs Pompiers” on one man’s sleeve – firefighters. (Cultural note : in Paris I’ve been told that you call the firefighters first, and then they decide who to send / what type of emergency it is.) Then I see a woman, probably in her 60s, in the hallway. My brain wakes up and I realize it must be an emergency so I let 3 of the guys in and they go to the dining room (right adjacent to my front door) to check the balcony.

Then it gets interesting. The 3 of them come back to the hallway and get harnesses and helmets. They get geared up and somehow rappel over to the other balcony. I’m still having minor conversations with the other men (in French). And thankfully the woman spoke intermediate / good English.

She asked if I heard the alarm in the apartment (smoke detectors?) and I said no. She said she lives above this flat (semi-elderly couple lives there) and she and her husband heard the noises, then somehow the young man (the one in jeans and leather jacket) was in hallway or something and the two of them called the firefighters. She said the woman in the flat is sick and is/was in a wheelchair. I said I had never met her, but had met the man, and actually saw him Saturday morning.

It might’ve been around this time that the police came – enter 4 more people into the hallway / my apartment. Did I mention it’s about midnight and I’m still in my PJs, trying to follow everything in French?

Also arriving at this point is the Guardian of the building next door. (Cultural note : Guardians would be what an American calls a Concierge, but that word isn’t really appropriate here. The person lives in the building and does basic repair, maintenance, etc. and usually people give the Guardian a set of keys if they are expecting deliveries, need things done, etc.)

Two of the policemen then ask me questions – do I live there? Alone? For how long? When did I last see the people in the flat? Was it the sick woman? My identification? These two guys were hilarious, like a comedy routine, and good looking. It was becoming like Who’s On First regarding whether or not I had seen the woman. I said I had seen A woman in the doorway, but I didn’t know if it was the wife of the woman / the tenant because I hadn’t formally met her. I just don’t know how to say in French “I didn’t want to stare”. And, it seems that when the police are writing down all your contact information for whatever report, they also want to know what city you were born in. Try spelling Cincinnati in French and getting the guy to understand it and make it fit in his little notebook. I would spell it (in French), the other guy would repeat, and still the one writing it down was making mistakes! Really, it was comical.

Remember, I’m still in my PJs, conversing in French.

Eventually they get into the flat, using the keys the Guardian brought. Turns out, no one is home. So all that excitement and adrenaline rush for nothing, which I suppose is a good thing! All I kept thinking was that if someone had been hurt inside, the hour spent banging on the door, waiting for the Guardian, and all that would not have been beneficial.

Things I learned :
--Always keep a sweatshirt or robe or something by your bed in case you have to get up and answer the door in the middle of the night.
--Get smoke detectors, you’ll feel safer (note : I think my company is getting safety kits for those of us who moved over here – smoke detectors, fire extinguisher, fire ladder, etc.)
--This was actually a pleasant experience in that none of these people made snide remarks or glances about me being American, or living there alone. My French language skills seemed to suffice. None of them made comments about the size of my flat being so large for one person. (Cultural note : seems to be the norm here to ask a person how many square meters one’s flat is. And in my case, 99% of the time it is followed by some snide remark of it being so large, or wondering where my family is, etc.)