Culture Shock

After the concert at 10 pm, in need of a banana for my fruit smoothie tomorrow, I search in vain for an open store or supermarket. This is one of the disadvantages of living in a city, NY, that truly never sleeps. If you think that the rest of the world is going to be as crazy and open all night just because you need toilet paper, ice cream or bananas at 2 am, you are sorely mistaken. In the rest of the world, and quite especially here, they are very particular about their schedules. They wouldn’t dream of working past the civilized hour when everyone goes home and stops for the day. So, yes we have no bananas until demain.

Café Marly (across from the Louvre pyramid). Lunch (meaning: homicidal starvation).
No one at the gate to deal with the barbarians. No hostess to speak of. So one takes matters into own hands and starts looking for table to park tired ass from the Louvre. Voila, hostess appears stopping you midway and asks in total bewilderment, as if this does not happen with every single arriving party, where the hell do you think you're going, but nicely and in French. You say table for two, she says go wait at the door. This happens with absolutely everybody who walks in, while waiters scream after the patrons all day long “Madam! Monsieur! And send you back to the door.
Here’s some friendly unsolicited advice:
A simple sign at the door, coupled with an elegant velvet rope if you want, as befits the place, saying: "Please wait to be seated”. Or if this fails, a hostess who stays at her post.
Easy. Non?