Cleaning Paris
EARLY MORNING METRO IN THE 80's
One ridiculously early morning, after enjoying a basement club on the Left Bank, I was seated at a sidewalk table with my coffee when a refuse collection vehicle appeared from around the corner .. easing to a halt just feet away. I expected to see some very dirty looking guy climb off the truck, walk to a can that had been left out, throw the contents into the truck, and climb back onto his perch as the driver moved to the next stop. Forget expectations .. what I witnessed over the next few minutes remains with me today, many years later, as one pivotal point in my understanding the City of Light and her wonderful inhabitants.
The truck didn’t come careening around my corner with any usual sounds of squeaking brakes or grinding metal as the refuse was compacted. This truck was quiet and unobtrusive, almost polite in the way it entered the space I was enjoying. Maybe that‘s why it caught my attention, allowing me to view the most incredible scenario unfolding before my eyes. Emerging from the truck were several men, all dressed in the same uniform .. bright orange jumpsuits. The jumpsuits were not only spotless, they actually appeared to be ironed, custom fitted, and the men wearing them were immaculately manicured. They all had stylish haircuts, were freshly shaven, and were obviously enjoying their work. These Trash Men Performers could have easily been the inhabitants of a fashion ad, with their svelte physiques and elegant style. The performance they gave was absolutely astounding. Brooms were pulled from the truck, and a water hose magically appeared. All the nights’ trash was quickly swept into the street where it was immediately washed to the sewer. The entire environment changed in a flash .. from cigarette butts, discarded bits of paper, and the occasional pile of dog shit, to a pristine sidewalk which reflected hypnotic lights off its surface. The men whistled and sang as they performed the task of dispensing refuse into the depths of Parisian sewer labyrinths. When the song was over, they hopped back onto the truck and flew away .. into the city night .. I felt excluded.
Parisians are generally attractive and seem to be born with fashion consciousness. I seriously doubt they give much thought to clothing preparation because I’m totally convinced the “look” is now a portion of their genetic structure. Pride of ownership in Paris is evident in each of Her children, and they will never allow their birthright to be compromised by shoddy dress or cracks in the aloofness they exhibit toward anything not indicative of their city. Theirs is a fierce pride, borne of many conflicts and broken promises through the ages, and now supported and uplifted by the incredible beauty surrounding them on a daily basis. This pride is embellished by the fact they inhabit one of the planets most frequently visited cities. City of Love, City of Light, the city that has seen conquering heroes as well as vanquished martyrs pass through Her gates.
She is an incredible lady.
I believe every Parisian enjoys the mystique of love associated with their home. This love knowledge is written in an obvious manner across their faces .. as if to be purposely suppressing some special tidbits of intimacy from all mere mortals unfortunate enough to be born anywhere else. Maybe She should be called City of Secrets. It would destroy so much to know what they are thinking that I’m happy to suffer any looks of indignation for the greater good of retaining the status quo.
It’s not difficult to understand those Trash Men Performers of Paris. They are natural, being what they were born to be .. displaying what their heritage demands of them. They are simply exhibiting what is expected of them by all the others who are deemed by fate and good fortune to be borne of Her. I don’t mind admitting my envy. Madame Paris is the siren of all siren’s .. the call is irresistible.
The show was over .. my coffee finished ..
As a man who loves Paris and wants to make certain I assist in the effort to always retain that which is undeniably unique and special .. I acted on the overwhelming compulsion to leave a bit of trash on the sidewalk ...
The truck didn’t come careening around my corner with any usual sounds of squeaking brakes or grinding metal as the refuse was compacted. This truck was quiet and unobtrusive, almost polite in the way it entered the space I was enjoying. Maybe that‘s why it caught my attention, allowing me to view the most incredible scenario unfolding before my eyes. Emerging from the truck were several men, all dressed in the same uniform .. bright orange jumpsuits. The jumpsuits were not only spotless, they actually appeared to be ironed, custom fitted, and the men wearing them were immaculately manicured. They all had stylish haircuts, were freshly shaven, and were obviously enjoying their work. These Trash Men Performers could have easily been the inhabitants of a fashion ad, with their svelte physiques and elegant style. The performance they gave was absolutely astounding. Brooms were pulled from the truck, and a water hose magically appeared. All the nights’ trash was quickly swept into the street where it was immediately washed to the sewer. The entire environment changed in a flash .. from cigarette butts, discarded bits of paper, and the occasional pile of dog shit, to a pristine sidewalk which reflected hypnotic lights off its surface. The men whistled and sang as they performed the task of dispensing refuse into the depths of Parisian sewer labyrinths. When the song was over, they hopped back onto the truck and flew away .. into the city night .. I felt excluded.
Parisians are generally attractive and seem to be born with fashion consciousness. I seriously doubt they give much thought to clothing preparation because I’m totally convinced the “look” is now a portion of their genetic structure. Pride of ownership in Paris is evident in each of Her children, and they will never allow their birthright to be compromised by shoddy dress or cracks in the aloofness they exhibit toward anything not indicative of their city. Theirs is a fierce pride, borne of many conflicts and broken promises through the ages, and now supported and uplifted by the incredible beauty surrounding them on a daily basis. This pride is embellished by the fact they inhabit one of the planets most frequently visited cities. City of Love, City of Light, the city that has seen conquering heroes as well as vanquished martyrs pass through Her gates.
She is an incredible lady.
I believe every Parisian enjoys the mystique of love associated with their home. This love knowledge is written in an obvious manner across their faces .. as if to be purposely suppressing some special tidbits of intimacy from all mere mortals unfortunate enough to be born anywhere else. Maybe She should be called City of Secrets. It would destroy so much to know what they are thinking that I’m happy to suffer any looks of indignation for the greater good of retaining the status quo.
It’s not difficult to understand those Trash Men Performers of Paris. They are natural, being what they were born to be .. displaying what their heritage demands of them. They are simply exhibiting what is expected of them by all the others who are deemed by fate and good fortune to be borne of Her. I don’t mind admitting my envy. Madame Paris is the siren of all siren’s .. the call is irresistible.
The show was over .. my coffee finished ..
As a man who loves Paris and wants to make certain I assist in the effort to always retain that which is undeniably unique and special .. I acted on the overwhelming compulsion to leave a bit of trash on the sidewalk ...
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