The staff that works here at the residence is an interesting group of people. The cleaning ladies are psycho, and the lady who works at the front desk is an impatient, aggressive, paranoid nutcase.
I was actually woken up one morning at 7:30am by a gang of raging cleaning ladies banging on my door. Not knocking—banging. To lock your door from the inside, you still need to stick your key into the lock, and I had left my keys in the lock overnight. Lucky for me, that disables anyone using a key from the outside to come in. Therefore, instead of the cleaning ladies unlocking my door and just barging in, I actually had to get out of bed and go open the door. I didn’t mind. I later heard horror stories of the cleaning ladies not even knocking, but just opening the door and barreling in to rooms with people sleeping naked, or standing there getting changed, or doing other strange things. And the reason they came storming into my room at 7:30am? It was to tell me that I should wipe the kitchen counter after I use it. There was a mob of cleaning ladies clamoring down my hall banging on everyone’s door telling them to use a sponge on the kitchen counter after they used it. That was their only point. The kitchen was dirty, so let’s wake everyone up at 7:30am to tell them to clean it. It was ridiculous. The fact that there isn’t even a garbage can in the kitchen, and we’re not even allowed to put one in there makes it even more ridiculous. Apparently, the cleaning ladies aren’t paid enough to empty a garbage can (but yet, they’re paid enough to flock the rooms in the morning).The signs that they put up are even funnier. First of all, all of their signs were in French. But as they’re starting to notice the number of Asians that are in this residence, they’re starting to translate some of the signs into English. What a joke. You have the funniest wording on some of the English translations, that it’s almost incomprehensible. “I remind to you that to put a plastic film or other envisaged to this end on a dish makes clean the microwave.” There are also signs in each of the bathroom stalls that tell us to use the seats for what they’re for and to not stand on the edges. I’m not quite sure how they pictured people standing on the seats to use the toilets, but there must have been some reason that they put signs like that up.
The lady who works every morning down at the front desk is scary. The first time I spoke with her at the beginning of the year, she asked me what room I was in. I answered her “422”. She stared at me impatiently. I repeated myself in case she didn’t hear me or didn’t misunderstood me. “422.” Again, she just peered up at me over the rim of her glasses like she was waiting for something more. Then she burst out angrily “and what building?” “Oh, building G.” Then she exploded!! “Well, how am I supposed to know what building you’re in? Am I supposed to be psychic? You have to answer my questions when I ask you. I’m not a mind reader, you know.” And she carried on lecturing me with a fast-paced French rant until I had given her the information she needed and slipped away back up the stairs to my room. 422. Building G.
One morning, I had woken up early, made a cup of tea, and went downstairs to ask if the residence receives news from the faculty about the strike. I worded it that way and everything. Man, this woman really must not be a morning person—they should definitely put her on a later shift or something! She exploded at me again. “We are CROUS (housing in France) and we’re not affiliated with the faculties. We don’t hear anything from the school. We are CROUS. We have nothing to do with the universities. We have students from all of the faculties. How are we supposed to have news from all of the faculties? That would be impossible. We’re independent from the universities, and you’ll have to read a paper if you want news.” I really only needed the first sentence. That was the answer to my question: “do you receive news from the faculties?” “No.” Simple as that. I really don’t think I needed my head ripped off to get the message through. Oh well, maybe it helped her release some tension. I hope so, anyway.
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