The Decline of the "Metier"

September 10, 2014

          Yesterday was my birthday and I celebrated it happily, surrounded by three friends, having lunch at the restaurant at the Cistercian abbey of Fontfroide, encircled by cypresses, its beautiful herb gardens nearby.  In the early evening, I went to Carcassonne, as last week my bookseller had told me that the copy of Valerie Trierweiler's book I had reserved would be available the day before, Monday.  I was looking forward to reading it on the beach in San Remo, where I will be late next week.

           I would be less than honest, however, if I did not admit that I had, prudently, actually called the bookstore before setting out for Carcassonne and knew the book would not be there.   Not prudence, but pique, made me visit the bookstore to formally cancel my order:  Had I relied on my bookseller's assertion and not called, I would have driven to Carcassonne for nothing.  The anecdote gives you a sense of what "customer service" in France is these days:

          And "these days" is very much the relevant reference point.  My first visit to France fifty years ago, in 1964 was to a very different country.  The country was less diverse --meaning the presence of immigrants was less noticeable --and less noticed by French policymakers, who assumed France had mastered the art of making Frenchmen out of foreigners.  The number of people working for the government --at national, regional, departmental, city and communal levels-- had not reached the high number current now, amounting to 57% of the government's budget.  The state did not subsidize as much, although subsidies for French farmers go back a long way.  And the country's national debt was far, far from the almost 100% of France's gross national product it is now.  And unemployment was not over 10%.

          While it is always dangerous to make comparisons between then and now, I think at least one observation about how France has changed is valid: the sense of metier is vanishing.  Metier means a person's field of work, occupation, trade or profession, but in France the word is particularly used to describe occupations that involve skill, rather than intellectual attainment.  However, implicit in the term is the sense that, however humble the metier, there is a standard way of doing the work --and a sense of pride in doing it well.  Freelancing, odd jobs, irregular employment, are at odds with the concept of a metier, although thanks to France's poor economy, more Frenchman are working this way than ever, rather than as part of a metier, like that of a waiter or waitress.

          France's employment laws make it virtually impossible to let go an employee who is unsatisfactory, with the result that there are two tiers of employment, with completely different implications, a contrat d'emploi déterminé and a contrat d'emploi indeterminé, fixed term and indefinite term work, respectively.  Familiarly, they are known as le CDD et le CDI.  Everyone wants to be hired on CDI terms, but --first time workers, in particular-- are engaged only as CDDs.  This is not to take into account the number of newly-minted graduates of France's universities who work as unpaid interns because not even CDDs are open to them.

          Many young people who did not go on to university get part-time work --"un petit job".  De Gaulle must be turning in his grave at the infusion of English words into the French language, but these jobs are CDDs.  As a result, many of these young workers work off the books at other jobs to make ends meet.  The point of view of many of these young people is that of their parents: it is preferable, even if it is illegal, to avoid taxes on their income.  That is to say that France is not a country where a large number of people think it is patriotic to pay taxes.  As the middle class is paying more taxes than ever, the government incapable of enacting the necessary reforms to France's work rules and tax structures, and the economy continuing to sink, the attitude is pervasive.   --And this, even though the French --as a whole-- enjoy many benefits paid for by taxes that Americans, for instance, never receive from their government.

          All is not bleak, however:  according to the International Monetary Fund (headed by Christine Lagarde, a Frenchwoman), seven of the twenty five "brightest young economists" are French.  Which demonstrates (as does the preponderance of French among "quants" creating financial derivatives), that the products of France's elite schools can compete with their counterparts anywhere in the world on equal footing.  Unfortunately, only one of the economists is employed by a French institution.  In other words, adding to the country's dilemmas, there is also a "French brain drain".
   
          In my little corner of the world, I have had my turn with young French employees.  My cleaning lady, a twenty-three year old part-time waitress, worked for me for a month before failing to show up two weeks in a row.  Her partner, a carpenter, made some shelves for me and was supposed to do a major job in his spare time, but at the time she quit working for me, he quit working, negotiating unemployment payments with his employer, despite having left on his own.

          All of this could certainly happen in New York: feckless young people leave jobs all the time.  More surprising was the conduct of this young woman's younger brother, who minded Beauregard for me a few times this summer before the return to school in September.  After offering this boy --he is fourteen and a half-- 10 Euros (about $13.50) to mind Beau while I cycled in the morning, he came back to me on two occasions asking for four times the amount I offered.  (Incidentally, in this part of France, someone who boards a dog gets 10 Euros for 24 hours, according to my veterinarian.)   Each time I rejected his effort to renegotiate the terms of work.  The fourth time he came I gave him a twenty Euro bill, as I had no ten Euro bills.

        As he was committed to take his last tour with Beauregard the following Tuesday, I told him to take the twenty Euros and that would cover the last walk.

         Tuesday came and the boy never showed up.  When I spoke with his sister about what happened she elided the fact that ten Euros had been accepted but not earned saying, "Well, the money didn't interest him, he had to get up earlier than usual, so because it wasn't more money he didn't show."  

         It was after that that the young lady failed to show and her partner did likewise.  Talking about what happened with the woman who employs her as a seasonal waitress (on a CDD), we lamented the disappearance of a France where a sense of metier still existed.

         "She called me twice this summer, each time at the last minute, to tell me that she would not be coming to work.  The following day she showed up, without so much as saying that she had inconvenienced me. So next year I'll think twice about hiring her for the season.  

          "Her partner, too, has the same work habits.  My daughter was at a party with them; during it --at two in the morning-- he called his employer to say he would not be going to work the next day.  

          "What will happen to them?  They will live on his unemployment until it runs out in a year and then he will try to find something.  In the long run, they will not improve their situation, and they will be resentful, looking for others  to blame for their limited prospects.  Like many in France now."

          I saw the boy --who lives down the street from me-- early one morning, when I was out walking Beauregard.  He was on his way to school.  He walked right past me, saying nothing.

          After not hearing from my young cleaning lady for two weeks, I took the initiative to call her and let her know that I had decided to do the housework myself and would she return the keys.  Fortunately for me, she is still under contract to the restaurant where she waitresses, so her employer, a friend, agreed to ask her to return the house key I had given her.  I finally got the house key back today.

          "She told me she stopped by yesterday and rang the bell, but you were not there.  She said she wanted to stop by and wish you a good vacation.  I don't think you need to worry that she made a copy of the key."

          As a precaution, I have notified the mairie that I will be away for two weeks.  The mairie notifies the police municipale, which sends a copy of the "statement of absence" identifying the house, the owner and who, if anyone has keys, to the gendarmerie national.  In France these days, you cannot be too careful, another consequence of the decline of the metier.