Going on Strike Again

If you ask the French about their tendency to go on strike at opportune moments they won’t deny it. They’ll probably even affirm with pride that they go on strike better than just about any country around. The first time I lived in France it was the public transportation and I found myself getting a lot of exercise for about a month. The second time, it was all branches of public service - high school included and though I went to work, the students didn’t come. This time it’s French universities. And it amuses more than surprises me that these strikes always fall between winter and spring vacations.

About two weeks ago I noticed big spray painted pieces of cardboard going up around campus depicting Big Brother and bottles of poison, urging the students “not to swallow” the new law that had just been written. Something about large companies having the right to hire and then fire someone without
reason doesn’t sit well with young students who will be out there looking for work soon. And I understand them but it seems fishy to me. Would France really write a law like that, knowing it wouldn’t go over with the masses? In a country where once you become a teacher, you’re guaranteed work for the rest of your life and if they don’t have work for you, you still get paid, I doubt it. I think after the last strike someone in a government building somewhere held a meeting to decide what to strike about next time. “What kind of ridiculous law can we write to get them really riled up? It’s a long stretch
between vacations.”

Not that I’m complaining. I haven’t worked for the last two weeks and I‘m still getting paid. It’s not that I’m participating, either. Oh no, I won’t meddle with other countries’ issues.

Each day I ride my bike over to work ready to start anew but no one can even get into the building - all the entrances are barricaded with chairs and tables.

And as the weather gets warmer, as the sun comes up earlier and earlier, as I ride my bike to the university and then back to another free day, as my boyfriend pouts in jealousy on his way to
work, I tell myself, “Appreciate this day, girl, because you really got lucky, here.”