I swear, it is just about time I take myself to mechanic-stuff and plumbing-type school so I can fix all the *^$#@! objects that always *&^%$#@! break.
So my toilet broke. I call my concierge, the guy who takes care of the apt complex. He comes right away to fix it. Good as new. Totally awesome.
Two days later (as in, just a few minutes ago) I come home and find him still in the building (he usually leaves around 4 or 4.30 and it's definitely later than that right about now!) and he says that it was good I called him b/c if I'd called the agency who owns the building they'd have charged me 30 or 40 euros to fix it, but him, he fixes things for cheaper. This is all in French, mind you, and I'm really tired, so I sort of stare at him in a haze, like, what? Are you saying you want me to give you money? He was like, you know, give me whatever you want, like 20 euros or whatever. So I pull out the absolute last of my money, a 20 euro bill, and give it to him, in total shock. He's a lovely guy, my concierge...it must have been awkward for him to have to explain to me that I had to pay him, but now he's got some beer money, woohoo!
So lesson #435: Apartment maintenance in France = NOT free like it is in America. Score one for my homies! When does my teaching contract end, again? lol!
OK, off to a Turkish restaurant to stuff myself with...whatever Turkish people eat. My hash friend Late For Dinner is moving back to Turkey after a year of being in Paris, so we're having a goodbye party for her tonight. I plan on drinking beaucoup...maybe by the end of the night my broken toilet story will actually be funny!