Showing posts with label My Irish experience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Irish experience. Show all posts

Monday, 4 May 2015

My former life as a call-centre agent

I've been a bit nostalgic lately, thinking about the first few years of my life in Ireland. That's probably because I've been talking a lot with younger French people who are the age I was when I moved here.


So today I am writing about my call-centre experience. I used to work as a Customer service representative for the French market, in an international Express delivery company (that I will not name!). The job wasn’t hard in itself. I was taking calls from French customers who were enquiring about their deliveries, but what I really underestimated was the amount of moaning and complaining I would get on the other end of the line. The majority of customers were pleasant and understanding, but you had the occasional asshole who would just push your buttons.




There were different types of customers:

Mr. I have a job

“Do you understand that I work, miss? ” when you ask him if we can deliver the following day to his home address, where he originally asked to be delivered to.  
And what do you think I’m doing ? Having a party?

The loner

“I have no family, no friends, no neighbour, no car, and I can't receive my package at work.”
Why in the world did you order something on the Internet? You should just have gone to the supermarket.

The pervert

“Hi, it's Eric"
“Hi”
“What are you wearing ?”
“Sorry??”
“Are you wearing tights?”
“Err... No...”
“I'm looking for men... for my mother”
“OK... Good for you...!"

The pervert was a regular caller. Everybody knew him, and the weirdest thing was he knew most of my colleagues so well he was actually telling me about the call-centre gossip: Who was sleeping with who, which couple broke up over the week-end and all that sort of stuff...
The poor guy obviously had some mental health issues, but in a creepy kind of way, he made the atmosphere a lot lighter, especially when we were under pressure, and things were definitely not the same when he stopped calling.

The really stupid ones

I understand that some people are not familiar with Express delivery companies and when they send a package for the first time, it can lead to seriously unreal conversations.

“I'm looking for a price”
“Can I have the weight and dimensions of the box please?”
“20x30”
“And the third one?”
“The third what?”
“Dimension? Or is it flat?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“ No" (but I should, considering you don’t know a box is three-dimensional)


“My package was supposed to be delivered before 10:30 am and it’s 11, it’s still not delivered”
“I can see this is to be delivered in  New-York, is that right?”
“Yes, why is it late? Where is it? I paid a small fortune for that”
“It will be delivered before 10:30 in New-York, it’s at the destination depot. There shouldn’t be an issue”
“It’s already 11, don’t you get it???”
“It’s a pre 10:30 delivery LOCAL TIME”. It’s 4am in New-York!
“But people are waiting for this. I will never use your company again… you’re useless”

I could write a whole book just about the different types of customers and calls we were receiving. I spent three years  constantly on the phone, and trust me, it definitely built my confidence and taught me how not to take shit from other people.

Aside from the fact that I was talking to mainly angry customers (they were not going to ring just to let us know we did a great job), the good thing was I could go home and forget about it because there was very little chance I would talk to the same person again. Only that in itself was a great aspect of the job, because it meant all the stress accumulated over the day could just be let go in the evening. The other good thing about the job was the atmosphere. I have to say, during 4 years in that company, it never felt like a “real” job. It was more like going to college (or sometimes primary school). Because we were regularly confronted to stressful situations, we had to let it loose between calls. And I was one of the most serious.

Working with a bunch of French people was also a challenge. The majority of my colleagues were nice (and I kept in touch with many of them), but I will never understand the ones that didn’t try to integrate in the country and meet Irish people.

Ninety per cent of my co-workers had been recruited directly from France, so when they started, they didn’t know anybody. In fact, they ended up working and living with French people, and also going out amongst themselves. On top of that, they were complaining about Irish people (and Ireland in general).

After a year, most of the group I started with was still in the company and we had a small get together to share our experience and where we were at, after a year in Ireland.

The majority of them noticed their English didn’t improve (No…Really?) and that it was really hard making friends with Irish people. Maybe if they weren’t sticking all together they would have met locals? 

Then it was my turn. 

“So, how do you feel after a year?”
“Well, I met a really nice guy, my English has definitely improved, and I have a good mix of  foreign and Irish friends”
“Oh Yeah...But you, it's not the same, you know..."

I still don’t know what they meant. Maybe I made an effort, and that was the difference between them and me.



Saturday, 14 February 2015

Driving in Ireland

The back of my car...Not the one from the story...
 
I could tell many stories about my driving experience in Ireland. I was stopped by the Gards a few times,  I had to drive in first gear from Gorey to Rosslare when my clutch broke on the day I was due to sail to France, and I have stopped counting how many times I got lost in Dublin. But today, I will tell you a story that actually happened in France, on my way back to Ireland, a couple of months after I arrived.


I had found a job about 30 miles away from the house I was staying in. There was no direct bus or train to get there and the only solution was to go through Dublin city Centre. I didn't want to move closer to work. After all, I was living in the perfect host family, I had made friends and I loved the area. In the end, I opted to take the train to the city centre and then the bus to work. It was taking me approximately two hours each way, when the bus was on time. I found the journey to and from work very exhausting, running from the train, trying to catch the bus, get to work on time and doing it all over again in the evening. On the second day, I was so tired I fell asleep in the bus, going to the city centre. When I woke up, it was empty. Everybody had left, even the driver and nobody had thought of waking me up... I rushed to the door and thankfully it was still open. I ran to catch the next bus and eventually got home. After that incident, I had enough (I know, it doesn’t get a lot to annoy me). I rang my parents and explained that I needed my car. I didn't care how, but I wanted it by the week end. They were actually very helpful and booked a plane ticket for me to Rennes on the Saturday morning. They were going to bring my car to the airport; from there I would drive to Cherbourg to catch the ferry in the evening, and I would be in Rosslare on the Sunday morning. My father, very thoughtful, printed an itinerary to go from the airport to Cherbourg as I wasn't familiar with the area. The journey time was approximately three hours. I was landing in Rennes around 12 so I had plenty of time.

I have a very bad sense of orientation. I mainly have a visual memory so if you give me directions and explain with landmarks, I will probably find my way, but do not give me a map or an itinerary, because I will get lost. So of course, I got lost. I was on the motorway and I saw an exit for Cherbourg. The itinerary was saying to stay on the motorway but I was confused by the sign and I took the exit. Big mistake. It was the road to Cherbourg, but going through all the villages and countryside roads. When I realised my error, it was too late and I didn't know how to get back on the main road, so I kept on going. I was running late so I drove faster. Probably a bit too fast for the Gendarmes who were waiting for me on the edge of a hill. I stopped the car and waited for my fate.

“Gendarmerie Nationale, Good afternoon, can you step out of the vehicle miss, and give me your ID, Driver’s licence and insurance certificate”

I did as I was told. You don’t mess with the French Gendarmerie. Never.
“We will now proceed to an alcohol test. Have you ever used a breathalyser before?”
“No, but I'll try...”

Testing alcohol consumption is routine in France when you are stopped by the police, no matter what time of the day it is. So I blew in the little tube and of course the result was negative.
The gendarmes then went on saying I was driving too fast and I tried to explain with my puppy dog face that I had to catch a ferry to go back to Ireland, that I got lost, I was late and I did not want to miss it. They listened to me but still gave me a fine for ninety euros and then they showed me which way to go. Nice.

In France, if you are stopped and get a fine, you have to go to the “bureau de tabac” and buy a “fiscal stamp” for the amount of your fine. You just stick it on the paper that you were given and post it. Easy. Well, not so easy when you are in the middle of nowhere and you are desperately trying to find the place to buy the stamp... After a few miles however, I entered a small village and saw a “bureau de tabac”. I ran in and bought the stamp. Then I tried to find a postbox but of course, I couldn't find any. I was running so late that I decided to keep on going and I would stop at the next village, or even better, I could wait until I was in Cherbourg. I was sure to find a postbox there.

I continued my journey and finally entered Cherbourg around 7:30 pm and I got lost again. Yes there were signs for the port, but I still managed to lose my way around the town. I had to stop and ask for directions. I finally arrived at the ferry port at 8pm, the departure time. I handed my ticket and drove to the boat.

It’s only when I was in my cabin that I realised I never posted the fine. I went to the information desk, explained the situation and  asked the lady if she could post it for me once back in France because I did not want it posted from Ireland. You never know, it may have never arrived. 

I religiously kept the receipt of the fine for at least a couple of  years in case the French Gendarmerie came after me pretending I didn't pay, but I never heard from them again. 

Someone I heard from for a long time after the incident was my aunt whose birthday money she gave me that day went straight to the French government.


 

Sunday, 25 January 2015

Connemara: How a French singer made me think it was a county!

If you ask a French tourist what is the place he wants to visit the most in Ireland, he will undoubtedly tell you "The Connemara". 


You might wonder why. After all, there are so many beautiful landscapes and sites to visit in Ireland so why do French people seem to be obsessed with the Connemara? A popular French singer decided, back in the eighties, to write a song about it. It's called "Les lacs du Connemara" (Connemara's lakes). 

Initially, Michel Sardou wanted to sing about Scotland but his co-writer came back with a leaflet about Ireland instead. The singer thought it would be interesting to write about the conflict in Northern Ireland, but his friend refused (too risky probably) and showed him the movie "The quiet man". So they decided to write about an Irish wedding instead.
The song was an instant hit, and is still Sardou's biggest success with 3 millions singles sold by 1988.

I was a child when the song was released, but it was still played in night clubs when I was a teenager. I remember, it was always the last song of the night, and everybody was up on the dancefloor, singing along. It's probably the most famous French song about Ireland.

However, I have a major issue with some of the lyrics. Michel Sardou made me look like a fool when I came to Ireland and claimed that Connemara was a county. After all, that's what he sang: "From Tipperary, Bally-Connelly, And Galway, they arrived in county Connemara"... I was so sure to be right that I felt really stupid when I eventually looked at a map. So, thanks Michel, to make me look like a proper eejit. 

If you want to enjoy and understand the song, you can watch the video and read the English translation. I've always wondered if the lyrics were reflecting some sort of reality, especially the part where Maureen dives naked in one of the lakes or the fact that they have the wedding in Limerick, and guests come from as far as Kerry...

Don't hesitate to tell me what you think about it!




  


Terre brûlée au vent Land burned by wind
Des landes de pierre Stone heaths
Autour des lacs Around the lakes
C'est pour les vivants It is, for the inhabitants
Un peu d'enfer A little bit of hell
Le Connemara Connemara


Des nuages noirs Black clouds
Qui viennent du nord Coming from the North
Colorent la terre Colour the land
Les lacs, les rivières Lakes and rivers
C'est le décor That's the landscape
Du Connemara. Of Connemara


Au printemps suivant The following spring
Le ciel irlandais The Irish sky
Etait en paix. Was peaceful
Maureen a plongé Maureen dived
Nue dans un lac Naked into a lake
Du Connemara. Of Connemara


Sean Kelly s'est dit Sean Kelly said to himself
"Je suis catholique, "I am Catholic
Maureen aussi" and so is Maureen"
L'église en granit The granite church
De Limerick Of Limerick
Maureen a dit "oui" Maureen said "yes"


De Tiperrary From Tipperary
Bally-Connelly Bally-Connelly
Et de Galway, And Galway
Ils sont arrivés They arrived
Dans le comté In the county
Du Connemara Of Connemara.


Y avait les Connor, There were the Connors
Les O'Conolly, The O'Conollys
Les Flaherty The Flahertys
Du Ring of Kerry From the Ring of Kerry
Et de quoi boire And something to drink
Trois jours et deux nuits For three days and two nights


Là-bas, au Connemara Over there, in Connemara
On sait tout le prix du silence They know the cost of silence
Là-bas, au Connemara Over there, in Connemara
On dit que la vie They say that life
C'est une folie Is madness
Et que la folie And that madness
Ça se danse Dances


Terre brûlée au vent Land burned by wind,
Des landes de pierre Stone heaths
Autour des lacs Around the lakes,
C'est pour les vivants It is, for the inhabitants
Un peu d'enfer A little bit of hell
Le Connemara Connemara


Des nuages noirs Black clouds
Qui viennent du nord Coming from the North
Colorent la terre Colour the land
Les lacs, les rivières Lakes and rivers
C'est le décor That is the landscape
Du Connemara Of Connemara.


On y vit encore There, people still live
Au temps des Gaels In the age of the Gaels
Et de Cromwell, And Cromwell
Au rythme des pluies With the rhythm of the rain
Et du soleil And the sun
Au pas des chevaux And horses hooves


On y croit encore They still believe
Aux monstres des lacs In monsters of the lake
Qu'on voit nager That are seen swimming
Certains soirs d'été Some summer night
Et replonger And dive back in
Pour l'éternité For an eternity


On y voit encore You still see
Des hommes d'ailleurs Men from elsewhere
Venus chercher Come to find
Le repos de l'âme Some rest for their souls
Et pour le cœur And a little more warmth
Un goût de meilleur For their hearts


L'on y croit encore They still believe
Que le jour viendra That the day will come
Il est tout près It's close at hand
Où les Irlandais When the Irish
Feront la paix Will make their peace
Autour de la croix Around the cross


Là-bas, au Connemara, Over there, in Connemara
On sait tout le prix de la guerre They know the cost of war
Là-bas, au Connemara Over there, in Connemara
On n'accepte pas They don't accept
La paix des Gallois The peace of the Welsh
Ni celle des rois d'Angleterre...Nor that of the Kings of England...

Translation credits: GreatFrenchSongs