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Every evening, the same ritual is visible in almost all street of Paris. People stopping about eight at a front door. They look in their bag, or wallet, browse agendas and memos, obviously trying to remember something. Until they find their cellular phone. " Allo! Oui, c'est moi."(followed by some cramped laughter). This is the moment they call about the forgotten front door code. I could almost swear a peak is registered at France Telecom.
The front door code is a matter of life and death in Paris nowadays. This means, friendship without "le code" is inexistent. When you give your phone number to someone, that is personal, when you give him your front door code, that is intimate. Did you ever notice that there are rarely names on Paris front doors? The cipher block at the entrance keeps unexpected guests outside.
"Just dropping by" doesn't exist in the Parisian vocabulary. Like keeping a grip on the unknown, the unexpected. The code looks like a symbol of inaccessibility to the Parisian home, or let's be honest, to the Parisians. Remember the good old days when the simple question of a grim concierge "Ou allez-vous?" made you crawl back. Now the digicode is king. In almost every building.
But..how can you get it? It's a ritual. I have known seldom more faithful friends than Parisians. But like you have to conquer a woman, you have to conquer their friendship. Only after flirting, trying, making numerous rendezvous, offering lunch, they invite you home and something like …..5349B. Voilà le code!!
Luckily, this habit didn't spread out over all France. In Normandy they just walk in their friends home and mock those crazy, suspicious Parisians. "Here in the countryside, everyone is welcome. Do you want to join us for a meal?"
My last adventure was peculiar: some friends in Honfleur called me for dinner. " Oh yes, we forgot to tell you, we installed an electronic bell with code, but it doesn't work so well. Just blow the horn when you will be in front of the house."
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