A Serge of Hope

Our mission, like any endeavor, started out with a feeling. A feeling that waking up, going to work, doing our jobs, coming home, eating dinner and going to bed wasn't enough of a contribution to the world. Especially when our jobs were commercial development manager and English teacher to executives. I'm the idealist in the couple and consider myself well paired with my Frenchman who is, in every sense of the word, a realist. I always have crazy ideas and hundreds of projects that never get finished and he, on the other hand, is someone who approaches life from a much more logical and pragmatic standpoint. This is why I was surprised that this whole thing was his idea. As unhappy as I am with the current state of... a lot of things actually. The way we spend more money on defense than on education, (this is the case in France and the United States, but for Canada, I don't know. I doubt it as we're ranked eighth in the world on the list of most peaceful countries. Yea Canada!) I also get pissed off when I read about the Pope and his posse of child molesters that are allowed to walk free after having committed such heinous crimes against the trusting and innocent children that they lured into their grasp. I get pissed off when I'm reminded that 1% of the population in the world has 40% of it's wealth according to a UN study that was done in 2000. I've read that the 1% have more than 50% now, but that figure is unsubstantiated. I think about these things, but quickly frustrate myself when the feeling of helplessness settles in. Helpless to change any of it, I content myself with information on these kinds of issues because worse than being incapable to do anything is being ignorant of it. My Frenchman however is not this way. He's a problem solver and so when the idea of going away for six months started to circulate in our modest little house that we rented in a suburb of Paris, he piped up and said "I think we should go away on a volunteer mission." And that was that. He's never been one for angry rants and figures about injustice. He's an action kind of guy. One of the reasons that I love him. He's the "let's not just talk about it, let's do it" ying to my "let me just tell you more about it first" yang. He's always been like this. The wall paper would never have come down in our flat if it weren't for him. The projects that he chooses are few and (compared to me at least) far between, but they will be done quickly, efficiently and well. Mine, hmmm.... well, they'll get started with gusto but finished? That's another story...

So, my husband wanted to make the world a better place and so did I, so we (and by we, I mostly mean him) made an action plan. In order to save the money that we needed to realise our project however, we couldn't be paying 30% of our income every month into our house, so we decided that we needed to move. This, in Paris, if you're a renter is a nightmare of epic proportions. Line ups of twelve couples in front of a flat that you'll be able to view, all together, for 15 minutes before the landlord looks at the paperwork that you have brought with you to prove that you make three or sometimes four times the rent and selects on the spot the person that will live there. If this flat is in a half decent area, there could be twice as many people there that you have to fight with to see the place and then push your dossier into the landlord's face. A gruesome scene, perhaps, but when you consider that the average person in France takes home 1,500 Euros every month roughly and can't live in a flat that exceeds 30% of their income, a couple making 3,000 Euros together obviously are going to be looking for something in the 800-900 Euro range and now put that 800 Euro flat in a nice or at least livable area, well, demand is going to substantially exceed supply.

Neither myself or my husband wanted a 90 minute commute in the morning, so we were looking for Paris and West suburbs. Ideally, the suburb where we were living as it's where I did my theater in the evenings, it was close to work, right on the Seine, green and really quite lovely in general. We gave notice on our house and started waging the tenant war; visiting flats, handing in dossiers for consideration, waiting in line to peek our heads in the bathroom, and it was unfortunately to no avail. Landlords saw our dossiers and our salaries and asked us the obvious question "Why do you want to live here? In a flat that is 30m2 when you can easily afford more?" Well, we couldn't really say "Because we actually want to save a ton of money so that we can leave in nine months to go work abroad somewhere leaving you with once again, an empty flat that needs to be rented." So we came up with semi-believable stories that led us to NOT finding a flat and the date we had to leave our house drew ever nearer...

Then came Serge. The man that Karma delivered to our doorstep. A retired man of about sixty that I would chat with regularly when we happened to be walking our dogs at corresponding times. We lived on the same street which was just along the Seine and would often walk our dogs there. We soon became quite friendly. It was on one such walk that I vented some frustration at trying to find a cheap flat that would help us save for our adventure. As nonchalantly as can be Serge said "Well, I've got an empty flat you know and I think your project is a good one, so I'd rent it for cheap. Meet me in front of my house tomorrow at 9:00." It was like the doctor when he looks at your sore throat, writes a prescription and says "That'll do it. Take care now." I couldn't believe my ears. I rushed home to tell Nicolas, but my potentially incredible news was interrupting his T.V. watching and couch warming, so he yelled at me. Did people like this still exist? Not my Chéri, Serge. What I mean was, did people who just did nice things to help others still exist in our time and age? When I think back to living in my small town in Canada where I grew up, yes, indeed, this sort of thing was not common place, but certainly not unheard of. The only man in town with a pool let all the neighbourhood kids swim in it, a guy who had a pick-up truck knew a friend of a friend that was moving so would go to help out, but this was Paris. People didn't care and you quickly grew accustomed to that. I suppose that's why everyone's suspicion was so great, but we'll get to that.

So, we went and saw the flat and it was... big, livable, equipped with fridge, stove, dishwasher and central heating but when Serge said the flat was empty, he forgot to mention that it had been as such for almost twenty years. It was kitch and filthy, but bigger than what we had before and warmer. The best part though was Serge told us that if we paid the taxes and the charges on the flat, we could live there for free. FREE!!! The total cost of the a fore mentioned expenses didn't even come up to 400 Euros a month. I was waiting for the shoe to drop. I was waiting for a lewd proposition or an agreement to hand over our first born. Five and half months later I'm still waiting. This skeptical attitude however was all I was met with when I told others of my good fortune. There were even those who advised me not to take the flat as he could later charge us with squatting and all other sorts of things. People just couldn't comprehend that this wonderful, smiley old man just wanted to help out and that made me kind of sad. What if we didn't have to assume the worst in people? Think of all the mental energy we could save! This was what got me thinking about why people are nice if they don't believe in God. If Serge had been a priest or a nun, (Sergette?) I think there would have been less questions and dubious commentaries...As far as I know, Serge is not the pious type and is prepping the BBQ on Sunday morning as opposed to heading off to mass, but still in a time where it really seems to be every man for himself, Serge gave us, people that he didn't even know very well, an enormous leg up. A leg that would enable us to go on our mission.

The guy who invented Mormonism just sort of whipped it up. Invented an experience where he spoke to God and Jesus. (Or he could have really spoke to them because the only time I ever smoked weed, I too talked to God and he was a real dick head to me but anyway, I don't think Joseph Smith had been toking back on the green canoe when he claimed to see two thirds of the Holy Trinity.) I think that religion is bullshit and especially Joseph Smith's as it was just an excuse to marry and fornicate with underage girls. If I could do the same however, (invent a religion, not fornicate with underage girls,) I think Serge would be the first saint. Or the prophet, or at least a bishop or something. He preaches the doctrine that I think we all should follow. Be nice for no other reason than we're all there is. You're not racking up points for the afterlife, because when you die, you're dead and maggots eat your body. That's it. So, give unselfishly. Assume the best in people and help where you can. Don't just do something because an ancient book tells you to do it. Don't only think about yourself, paradoxically, it's the most surefire way to be unhappy and don't be a taker. People who take what others give and don't pay it forward in equal or superior amounts are takers and they suck. When someone is good to you, pay it forward. Serge "rented" us his apartment for next to nothing and the next day my piano I was trying to sell, I gave away to some young guy from Paris and I hope he was as happy to get a break as I was. Serge, our angel.