Boulot, Apéro, Dodo

Translation: "Work, Drink (aperitif), Sleep."

I was supposed to get out of work at 15h00, but there are some renovations going on at work, and we needed to relocate the entire computer lab to another room. Of course, the students were still using the computer lab en masse at 15h00, so we had to wait for a while. By the time the move was done and I could leave, it was almost 18h00. Now, this wouldn't have been a problem, were it not for the fact that I had a date for an apéro with a friend at 19h45 and I still needed to go by home and drop off some stuff. So off I went, zipping home, zipping back out, and arriving about 15mins late.

We met for beers at Bombardier Pub, which is a British ex-pat pub near the Pantheon. I usually make such an effort to drink at French bars, clubs, cafés, etc., it's always amusing to go to these places that are a combination of American/English/Canadian ex-pat havens and foreign-anglophile fantasy dens. The servers in particular (all women) did a good job of speaking French capably, but with a noticeable English accent. Anyway, we had a great time chatting and catching up (we had been trying to hang out for nearly 3 weeks without success). After he left for dinner, I stayed behind for another pint and then headed home.

I was supposed to go out again later that night to see some friends spin at a bar, but I was already feeling a bit tired. Also, I had to be up at an ungodly hour the next morning to take a group of students to Versailles, so I couldn't be out very late anyway. I stopped at the Asian traiteur (take-out) near my place and headed home; if I wasn't so tired after eating a bit of dinner, I'd go out.

I was traumatized when I walked into the take-out place and the woman at the counter sneezed into her hand, and then looked at me, saying "Can I help you?" This in and of itself wasn't a big deal (she was far away from the food), but when I made my order, she reached for the food without washing her hands. As she spoke, it was clear that her sinuses were congested and that she was ill. Thankfully, she wasn't touching my food with her hands and she "heated" everything in a microwave anyway, but I was thoroughly grossed out. In fact, I was a bit sad, because I realized at that moment that from now on, I wouldn't be able to conveniently pick up chinese take-out on those days when I'm too busy to cook. The next traiteur asiatique is several blocks away. Crap!

Anyway, after going home, eating my food, washing my hands and the containers thoroughly (and taking a vitamin C pill just in case), I decided I wasn't going out. I was tired, and even if I forced myself to go out, I would still have come home far too early to actually catch my friends' set. So I fired off an apologetic email and hit the sack.