Weeks ago, we put tonight on the calendar for the Ubisoft company holiday party. Anthony and I worked closely with his HR department who has a wonderful service where, working through an agency, they find and largely subsidize vetted babysitters for parents who have either child-care emergencies or work-related functions.
The venue is the Cirque d'Hiver, a classic, red-velvet-and-gold-trim style circus ring inaugurated by Président Napoléon III, just 9 days after Prince Louis-Napoléon (nephew of Napoléon Bonaparte) took on the office and title of first elected president of the republic in 1852. As a creative company, Ubisoft throws very colorful, costume bashes, and this year in Paris, the theme is "Dompteur ou Dompté?," which means "Tamer? Or Tamed?" The invitation was delivered to us with two pins which are supposed to serve as admissions tickets: one with a picture of a top hat and the other of a lion's muzzle.
Anthony goes as the tamer, and I go as the lion. No, this is not a commentary on our relationship, so don't get up in arms. I mean, if you just happened to have in your house, and in your size, a leopard-spotted fur cape (not natural, naturally), what would you do? Plus, Anthony's the one with the tuxedo jacket. So now I've dressed up as a lion/tiger/leapord and have found long gloves and nylons from a local costume shop that may be more cheetah/jaguar/panther, and Anthony has his costume-shop whip attached to his belt.
The invitation says "les duos les mieux assortis seront récompensés." This means that "the duos in the best costumes will win prizes." While we don't actually expect to win, we figure we'll give it the old college try -- in this case literally, since I am wearing tiger ears from a Princeton University reunion (either my 20th, or Anthony's).
One of the first people we run into there that Anthony knows is Serge, who Anthony later tells me is the CCO (Chief Creative Officer). He recognizes me from the incredible circus-themed Ubisoft children's party held last week. There the kids had circus activities to try, video games (of course...), individually selected gifts, treats galore, free popcorn and cotton candy and crepe stands, art projects, and a visit from Santa and Raving Rabbid (it is Ubisoft, after all). It was held in the Cabaret Sauvage in Parc de la Villette, a venue built just in 1997 but made classically lavish and old-looking in that same red-velvet-and-gold-trim style.
Standing next to Serge is Emmeline, the CIO, and Anthony's ultimate boss. Both are very friendly and chatty, and Serge asks me where I work in the company. "Oh, no -- I'm a writer! I work at home. I take care of the kids. I'm just the wife! Anthony's the one who works at Ubisoft." We are speaking in French, but that's the gist of it.
About half an hour later, another colleague of Anthony's is chatting with us when she mentions that spouses are not invited to the party. At first we assume she is teasing us, but then slowly it dawns on us that she is serious and also that we have not met anybody else's husbands or wives.
Does the fact that it's forbidden fruit make it that much sweeter? Well, not more delicious than the passion fruit-white chocolate tartelette, my favorite of the finger foods. But mostly we are just baffled: In San Francisco, where the office is admittedly much, much smaller (about 250 total versus 1000 or so here in the various regional offices), the spouses/partners are always invited. And there are two buttons on the invitation, which clearly states that the best-costumed "duos" will win prizes. His HR department even knew we were getting a sitter for the event. Yes, the invitation also says "Cette invitation est strictement personnelle," which means "This invitation is strictly for employees," but even that never clued us in that spouses are not invited. To us, it simply meant that the party isn't open to the general public.
The main circus ring is turned into a dance floor, and the DJ plays a wide variety of songs. At one point, a French song comes on that Anthony and I find atrocious. Impossible to dance to, very late '80s or early '90s, just as buggle-gum-poppy as can be. But then we look around and realize that virtually all of the dancers on the floor -- nearly all French men and women -- are not just dancing enthusiastically but in sychronized choreography. Imagine everybody doing "Thriller" moves when Michael Jackson's song is played. It must have been the choreography from a video of a song that was popular when they were teenagers, and it is a cultural reference point they all share. They are on the inside of the ring throwing their hands up in unison, and Anthony and I are slinking out of the inner circle like, well, a couple of cats.
So it is now clearer than ever that I may speak the language, but that doesn't always mean I understand what's going on. There are some cultural gaps that no amount of bilingualism will bridge. On the plus side, at least we already know who will babysit the kids for next year's holiday party...me.
The venue is the Cirque d'Hiver, a classic, red-velvet-and-gold-trim style circus ring inaugurated by Président Napoléon III, just 9 days after Prince Louis-Napoléon (nephew of Napoléon Bonaparte) took on the office and title of first elected president of the republic in 1852. As a creative company, Ubisoft throws very colorful, costume bashes, and this year in Paris, the theme is "Dompteur ou Dompté?," which means "Tamer? Or Tamed?" The invitation was delivered to us with two pins which are supposed to serve as admissions tickets: one with a picture of a top hat and the other of a lion's muzzle.
Anthony goes as the tamer, and I go as the lion. No, this is not a commentary on our relationship, so don't get up in arms. I mean, if you just happened to have in your house, and in your size, a leopard-spotted fur cape (not natural, naturally), what would you do? Plus, Anthony's the one with the tuxedo jacket. So now I've dressed up as a lion/tiger/leapord and have found long gloves and nylons from a local costume shop that may be more cheetah/jaguar/panther, and Anthony has his costume-shop whip attached to his belt.
The invitation says "les duos les mieux assortis seront récompensés." This means that "the duos in the best costumes will win prizes." While we don't actually expect to win, we figure we'll give it the old college try -- in this case literally, since I am wearing tiger ears from a Princeton University reunion (either my 20th, or Anthony's).
One of the first people we run into there that Anthony knows is Serge, who Anthony later tells me is the CCO (Chief Creative Officer). He recognizes me from the incredible circus-themed Ubisoft children's party held last week. There the kids had circus activities to try, video games (of course...), individually selected gifts, treats galore, free popcorn and cotton candy and crepe stands, art projects, and a visit from Santa and Raving Rabbid (it is Ubisoft, after all). It was held in the Cabaret Sauvage in Parc de la Villette, a venue built just in 1997 but made classically lavish and old-looking in that same red-velvet-and-gold-trim style.
Standing next to Serge is Emmeline, the CIO, and Anthony's ultimate boss. Both are very friendly and chatty, and Serge asks me where I work in the company. "Oh, no -- I'm a writer! I work at home. I take care of the kids. I'm just the wife! Anthony's the one who works at Ubisoft." We are speaking in French, but that's the gist of it.
About half an hour later, another colleague of Anthony's is chatting with us when she mentions that spouses are not invited to the party. At first we assume she is teasing us, but then slowly it dawns on us that she is serious and also that we have not met anybody else's husbands or wives.
Does the fact that it's forbidden fruit make it that much sweeter? Well, not more delicious than the passion fruit-white chocolate tartelette, my favorite of the finger foods. But mostly we are just baffled: In San Francisco, where the office is admittedly much, much smaller (about 250 total versus 1000 or so here in the various regional offices), the spouses/partners are always invited. And there are two buttons on the invitation, which clearly states that the best-costumed "duos" will win prizes. His HR department even knew we were getting a sitter for the event. Yes, the invitation also says "Cette invitation est strictement personnelle," which means "This invitation is strictly for employees," but even that never clued us in that spouses are not invited. To us, it simply meant that the party isn't open to the general public.
The main circus ring is turned into a dance floor, and the DJ plays a wide variety of songs. At one point, a French song comes on that Anthony and I find atrocious. Impossible to dance to, very late '80s or early '90s, just as buggle-gum-poppy as can be. But then we look around and realize that virtually all of the dancers on the floor -- nearly all French men and women -- are not just dancing enthusiastically but in sychronized choreography. Imagine everybody doing "Thriller" moves when Michael Jackson's song is played. It must have been the choreography from a video of a song that was popular when they were teenagers, and it is a cultural reference point they all share. They are on the inside of the ring throwing their hands up in unison, and Anthony and I are slinking out of the inner circle like, well, a couple of cats.
So it is now clearer than ever that I may speak the language, but that doesn't always mean I understand what's going on. There are some cultural gaps that no amount of bilingualism will bridge. On the plus side, at least we already know who will babysit the kids for next year's holiday party...me.
1 comment:
So the same here in Japan... Spouses? never- everyone is meant to flirt with the cute OLs....
Post a Comment