About two decades ago, I started to do extensive research about true crimes. It led me to write my first book, and several of them since. Being the early 2000s, digital cameras were still very expensive, so, when I went to archives or libraries for documentation, when I couldn’t do copies — which happened a lot, because old documents were too large or fragile — I pretty much had to integrally transcript on a notebook each and every newspaper article I needed for my stories. That was long, and sometimes exhausting, but totally worth it.

When I left my folks to live near Paris, I did buy a digital camera and a laptop, and man, did it radically change my efficiency!

But when I went to the main French library, I was scolded like a child by librarians when I tried to take pictures of newspaper articles. I was very surprised; that was the first and only place I was reprimanded for it, so I thought there were special rules I didn’t know about. Since I didn’t like their tone, the place, and a few other things about it, I stopped going there for almost a decade. 

But to be honest, the library was the best place to go to find pretty much every French newspaper ever published without having to drive hours to go to local archives, where staff were usually way nicer and none used such drastic rules! Since one of my books truly needed every piece of information available, I drove to about sixty different places throughout the country to complete my files during the next few years.

Meanwhile, some colleagues confirmed for me that no other study place in France worked that way — only official archives, and even then, only with files containing sensitive information, and absolutely not newspapers. So, I tried my luck again in the library, only to be rebuked once again when they saw I brought my camera. I tried to ask if they were sure they weren’t wrong, but it was like talking to a wall, so I called it a day and used my laptop to type the articles.

I went there about ten times in two months, and a librarian eventually noticed that I was ordering about twenty newspapers on each visit. He asked me about my work, and when I explained I had to copy articles, he asked, “Don’t you ever bring your camera? It would be way faster!

“But every time I’ve tried that, your colleagues have told me it’s forbidden!” I exclaimed.

“Not at all!” he assured me.

The truth was that about a week before that precise day, library management did realize that laws had changed about photographs in libraries and did accordingly apply them. The problem was that my very first try at that library happened… about six months after the law was effective.

I honestly couldn’t repeat each and every curse word that came right away to my mind about these bureaucrats without being censored definitely there.

But believe me, there was a huge bunch of them.

I work IT support for an optician. They have stores all over France and in a few other countries. They also have a subsidiary with a production site some distance away, but still in Paris. This site is comprised of two buildings.

August is an “off month” for the whole company. Most activities go down, and more than half the personnel is on vacation, including the entire personnel of one building in the distant site, meaning that the building is closed off.

Of course, that’s when the troubles begin!

We get a warning that the Internet has gone down on the production site. Worse, the network material that we need to check is in the closed-off building. Of course, the most mobile tech of the team is yours truly, as I am on a bicycle and everybody else depends on public transportation.

Going there takes me twenty-five to thirty minutes, in 38 to 40° C (about 100-104° F) heat. Sadly, I have to wear dark trousers because of the dress code.

I grab the keys to the closed-off building only to find that, while it opens the metal curtain, it doesn’t open the main door. After searching a bit, the only option is to go back to the main site to find the other key, another twenty-five minutes in the scorching heat.

Turns out the guy who handed me the key thought he had four identical keys. Wrong: he had two sets of two different keys and only gave me one. I gulp down a half-litre of water and stash another in my bag, courtesy of the company. Back to the production site I go. Again, twenty-five minutes of rather intense pedaling under the merciless sun of early August.

Of course, opening the main door and the metal curtain does not end my troubles. The alarm is on, and the guy who controls the alarm remotely can do so only when the Internet works, which, of course, is the one thing that has gone down.

He finally gives me a code that will get me in. Of course, the d*** thing is super-sensitive, and if you take five more seconds than needed, you get your ears blasted. Ah, well. It only lasts less than a second.

Finally able to get to work, I do the usual IT checkups. I power everything down, wait a bit, power it back up, and so on. Nothing budges. I do note that the modem is stuck at a step in its power-up sequence. I take note of everything and then go back to the main site. Once there, I task one of my colleagues with contacting the Internet service provider to see what’s wrong, since that error code is for them. I, for my part, am done with my day and quite happy to be rid of this situation! I’ve spent my whole afternoon either on my bicycle or waiting for stuff to happen, with little or no AC anywhere.

A couple of hours after I get home, my colleague tells me he’s found the crux of the matter:

The contract with the ISP has not been renewed, and of course, the service has been cut. Even better, the service will take up to a week to get back up. It’s a vital part of the still-active production team’s work, and it is now completely inoperable!

I am a French Canadian woman visiting Paris as a tourist. I am traveling by myself. I have never boarded a plane in my life before. I have never even set foot into an airport. Unfortunately, between my anxiety due to the novelty of the experience and turbulences, I’ve felt sick during most of the flight and have gotten no rest.

Adding jetlag to the equation, I’m far from my best upon arrival, so I decide to take it easy and explore the area close to my hotel on foot. I head for the Basilica of Sacré-Coeur and start climbing the long stairs in front. I try to figure out where I am supposed to enter as I am climbing, but I see no indication. A group of young men is sitting in the grass. One of them gets up and walks confidently towards me, so confidently that I’m starting to wonder if he is a volunteer for the Basilica.

He addresses me in several languages for some reason while I’m trying to figure out why he is there. He then makes a sign for me to put one hand in front of me, which I do. He gets what seems like a simple sewing thread spool out of his pocket and makes a gesture to put it around my middle finger.

As if hit by lightning, I suddenly get extremely uncomfortable at the idea of a stranger attaching anything to my body. Without thinking, I bolt away. He calls me back, but I only glance behind to make sure he is not following me while scrambling away from him as fast as I can.

The experience leaves me completely puzzled. I later ask a French friend in Paris if he has any idea what that was about and he is as clueless as I am.

Five years later, I am browsing videos at random on the Internet, from dashcam scams to tourist scams. I finally stumble on an intriguing video. It turns out that this was a variant of the “Friendship Bracelet Scam” in Montmartre, only in my case it was apparently a ring variation. If I had let him string my finger, he would have harassed me for money or one of his friends could have tried to steal from me. At last, I can make sense of what took place. As far as I can tell, this scam had yet to be widely documented at the time of my trip.

I am slightly mad at myself that I let him even approach me. I use an anti-theft bag whenever I know I might find myself distracted in a crowded area at home and take even more precautions when I travel without anyone to rely on. However, I am also very relieved that my instincts kicked in just in time to keep me out of harm’s way even if it took place in a moment I was, understandably, not as alert as usual.

The lesson I derived from the experience is that I’m likely to be most vulnerable right upon arrival. Two years later, a fake and insistent taxi driver in a New York airport also got me confused before I ever got a chance to see the multiple written warnings everywhere, but again, I escaped him and gathered my thoughts in a restroom. I’ve yet to have anything unsettling happen to me after the first day of a trip!

I’m a customer, waiting to have my prescription filled. One of my medicines is called UVdose.

Near me, another customer, an elderly lady, is asking for the same one.

Lady: “Oh, yes, I forgot! I need a box of overdose!”

I am on the bus today heading home. Some seats are marked for disabled, elderly people, but everyone can sit there, especially if some are free. A mum and her daughter are sitting on these seats but there is one free just in front of me. An elderly lady enters and stands in front of the child.

I’m usually very polite with people, especially elders.

Elderly Lady: “I want this seat! Give it to me.”

Me: “You have a seat there, madam.

I point to the empty seat in front of me.

Elderly Lady: “No, I want this one!”

The kid stands up silently and the old lady literally pushes her to sit.

Mum: “Please, could you at least let my child move out of the way?”

Elderly Lady: “She should move faster!”

That makes me really mad.

Me: “You should be ashamed, madam. You know what you are? An old hag!”

Elderly Lady: “…”

And you know what? She was getting off at the next stop one minute later!