Bon courage

I'm not sure when it first started, because sometimes it takes me farrrr too long to notice the most obvious things, but for the past few months I've become increasingly confused by all the maîtresses (may-tress: teachers) at my school adding "bon courage" (bone koor-aj: best of luck) to the end of their au revoirs (oh vwa: goodbyes) everytime I leave the room. Almost as an afterthought as I'm collecting my papers and heading out the door, I shout out my usual "Merci! Au revoir!" (mehr-see oh vwa: thank you! Goodbye!) to which the teacher responds "Merci! Bon courage!". Without fail. Every. Single. Class.



Maybe I'm just stingy with my feelings of goodwill, but for me good luck is only something I give out in dire situations, and if you want me to wish you the best of luck, well then you're really going to have to earn it. Taking an exam? Getting a root canal? Being audited by the IRS? Present me with these situations and I'll bon courage you all the way to next Tuesday.  But walking out of the classroom? Somehow that doesn't seem to merit a best of luck occasion.  But apparently I'm the only person in the Paris metropolitan area who shares this sentiment.



At first these teachers' adamant yet somehow lackadaisical bon courage's creeped me out. I felt like all my coworkers knew something I didn't, as if I were about to walk into a bomb raid completely unprepared, with only the luck wished upon me by people I barely even know as protection.  Or perhaps I've been looking so completely haggard and stressed out lately that they assumed I could just use all the day-to-day charitable luck I could get. Because, yes, in fact, I do need the best of their luck.  But I don't want them to know that.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that maybe these teachers are onto something. Paris does require a bit of luck, especially when you're a dirt-poor teacher/fille au pair (fee oh pear: nanny). Between battling the crowd on the métro, wiping snotty noses and being told by a five year-old I'm an evil person, I'm pretty much convinced only la chance (lah shans: luck) will get me out of my work life alive. Yet I've also come to realize that in a city like Paris, everyone--not just me--is riding on a whole lot of luck.

Let's face it: Paris is fabulous and if you're living here you're probably already an incredibly lucky soul anyway.  But, if you're not careful, this city will also eat away at your will to live.  Between paying five dollars for a baguette, being gouged out the eyes for rent every month, and having to deal with Parisians who aren't afraid to start a fight with you over the fact that you cut them off on the sidewalk, Paris definitely carries a mean-streak that seems to be a proud and everlasting mark of it's grittier, bohemian, pre-European Union roots.  Which explains why wishing a fellow Parisienne (pahr-eez-ee-en: Parisian woman) like myself bon courage at the end of the day isn't meant in pity (I hope!), but instead might simply be a kindhearted exchange between two people in the know: Paris will kick your ass but, if you've got a lot of courage, Paris might also make all of your wildest dreams come true.  In the meantime, we can all use the very best of any luck we can get.