From our special envoy in the galley,
Just as one avoids getting under a tree during a thunderstorm, one usually manages to avoid the Gare du Nord on a day of national strike. Epicenter of the RER B and D, which drop off France, which gets up early and for whom teleworking is impossible, the Parisian station turns into a certain idea of hell when two thirds of the trains are not running. As on this Tuesday, because of the protest movement once morest the pension reform.
After three weeks of teasing during which the unions promised to “block the country”, while the government was on the verge of announcing the seven plagues of Egypt if the strike goes on too long, here we are. A morning of strike, planted on the quay, a coffee in hand and too much candor in the heart, in search of a little humanity and optimism in this day when each camp predicted hell.
Nicer bosses
The few RERs that arrive at their destination are more crowded than Lionel Messi’s trophy cabinet, and people flee to the platform in search of some air and space. But the average user of the Gare du Nord is resilient and has seen others. Ahmed catches his breath following a journey on the verge of asphyxiation. Then relativizes: “Waiting half an hour for a metro or seeing lots of trains canceled, it’s not so extraordinary these days”. For the past few months, the Ile-de-France network has been experiencing major disruptions. “The RER B has always been a mess, it’s just a little more difficult day than the others, but not really a big difference”, continues the man who waited 45 minutes on a platform in Drancy before be able to climb. “One more or less shitty morning on the front of the RER, you know,” he relativizes, shrugging his shoulders, which he can finally deploy to their full width following being compressed during the journey.
After relativism comes the human kindness that we had come to look for: “Usually, we know that we’re going to give a shit if we’re late for work. But today our boss warned that he would be running out of schedules, due to the strike. So for once, I’m not going to run from the Gare du Nord to work. »
A second café in Châtelet, where we discover Sophie, shared between her computer and her Macchiato. There too “thanks” to a boss who is a little more lax than on other days: “Normally, teleworking is prohibited for us, but today we have the exceptional right. I’m not saying it’s a panacea, but let’s admit that working in this cafe is still more fun than my rotten open space. And I don’t have to put up with my cowardly colleagues. No small pleasure in this kind of day.
“If this is hell, I promise you should be fine”
And since we too are, in a way, teleworking to skim Paris, we took the opportunity to make a round trip of boxes for our move (we apologize to our boss who rereads these lines). While we were struggling to transport a plant to our new apartment – in our defense, a pachira who is close to two meters -, a kind soul offered to help us move the plant monster. “I too am supposed to work, but I take advantage of the compulsory telework to take a walk outside,” says Thomas, his heart on his sleeve and the very useful biscottos.
The pachira installed, we continue to rub shoulders with greenery in the nearest park. The opportunity for yet another coffee and a chat with Christelle, forced not to work today to keep her child, the fault of a school on strike. “Don’t say that this day is lucky for me or that I’m taking it easy,” she almost scolds us, her gaze half suspicious, half watching the kids running around in the grass. “I would have gladly taken this leave elsewhere than on a gray day in the middle of the week! “After the warning, Christelle concedes: “There is worse than a Tuesday with his son. If that’s it, the hell promised for weeks, you should be fine.
On the way back, we meet Martin, three-piece suit and briefcase in hand. He is preparing to return home on foot – count 1h30 and 14 kilometers of walking. “It’s long… But in my own way, I relieve congestion in the subways for workers who can’t do otherwise. This strike is going to be long, so we have to help each other. Even if it means doing a half-marathon a day to go to work? “It’s almost sunny today, it’s a sign to walk,” he says, glancing at a patch of blue sky that pierces the clouds. Certainly, but the strike is renewable and from Wednesday, it is raining in Paris… “We are going to have bad luck. Is it raining tomorrow? Well, I would go to work singing in the rain”.