The first year I spent living in Paris, I must have stepped in what the doggies "do" 2 or 3 times before I learned to look more at the ground and less at the scenery. I also developed an allergic reaction to the air pollution that was serious enough to warrant a visit to a medecin. I found a General Practitioner in the Pages Jaunes and made my rendezvous. I arrived at the address the next day along with my red, itching nose.
In Paris, medical and legal cabinets as well as other offices are often located alongside apartments in buildings that may or may not have aged well. The waiting room looked more like a slightly run down living room. Several dog-eared magazines and brochures were strewn about on a low coffee table, perhaps to reassure the patients that it really was someone's office. This is part of the adventure, I told myself, admiring the quaint old fireplace and nice view. It was a hot summer day in July, and the window was open, allowing the sounds of a busy Paris boulevard to filter upwards to the 3rd or 4th floor. In the heat, however, I had a hard time shaking the image of what I thought a doctor's office should look like: a modern building with office type furniture and perhaps a few paintings on the walls. And air conditioning.
There was no receptionist to ask me my medical history or give me forms to fill out. The doctor, minus the white lab coat, stepped into the waiting room and called my name. I followed him into the examination room, where, under his desk lay a large, panting German Shepherd, who may have or may not have been the neighborhood culprit who habitually left those famous sidewalk surprises. Well, I thought, this doctor's office looks like an apartment. Maybe the French like to feel at home. Air conditioning in France is not standard equipment. The consequences of this often include increased perspiration, or in the case of those beloved canines, increased panting. Does the expression "Dog Breath" translate to French?
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