The meteorologists had promised that yesterday would be warm, a lovely taste of spring for our trip to the KC Cancer Center.  Instead, it was hazy, then overcast--gray and chilly all day.  But the drive to KC was easy, and we met our good friend Scott at Room 39, a fairly upscale restaurant near the Med Center.  KU Med is bounded on the north by 39th Street, which has become a restaurant row as soon as you cross State Line Rd. (the east boundary of the center) into Missouri.  It's great to have so many choices close at hand.  We were lucky to be seated immediately, and my G-I tract cooperated (I'd taken three Imodiums and an anti-nausea pill) for a lovely lunch of calamari, followed by seared scallops (two of them, a definite sign that this isn't your average Kansan's restauant) on a bed of lentils.  The Cancer Center itself is about a mile away; we got there early after lunch and got right in for the blood work.  A short wait later, we had the consultation with Jennifer, the physician assistant, and then Dr. Van, the oncologist.  The results showed almost everything within normal range, so that was good news.  In the tests six weeks earlier, however, the resident had overlooked the fact that the Vitamin D level was quite low, so now I'll start taking a once-a-week massive dosage of Vitamin D until we can establish a maintenance level.  Since the cancer long ago metastasized into the bones, it's important to do whatever is necessary to keep them strong.  The next tests will be in six weeks, and it will be the full battery, including CT scans as usual, but also full skeletal x-rays, something that used to be done every three months, but that haven't been done for nine months.  We were done by 3.  As I knew would happen, I fell asleep on the ride home, then crashed as soon as I saw our bed.

Dr. Van and his wife are leaving next week for Paris, and I had sent him a list of my favorite Paris restaurants--authentically French, free from tourists, reasonably priced.  As I was updating my notes on each of the restaurants, I started thinking of an article that my French friend and colleague, Marie-Luce, had sent me about a journalist who had gone to Paris ten years ago, convinced that the French would be snotty and cold, and who after ten years of living there had concluded that the French were indeed snotty and cold (though he found enough other compensations to stay).  Marie-Luce wondered whether perhaps he was correct.  I wrote back saying that I didn't agree with his observations and that I'd met almost nothing but warm and friendly people in France, but then I began to ponder whether my francophilia was skewing my perceptions.  One of the things I realized as I commented on my restaurants was how often I described the owners: Chez Nenesse is run by a charming couple, The owner of A la biche aux bois is constantly pouring extra armangac while his elegant wife manages twenty tables, Laurent at Florimond is the consummate professional, but still has time to joke with his clients, while once the last seating is served, the chef and I have had remarkable conversations about what it's like to run a restaurant in Paris, etc.  I deleted all those remarks as irrelevant, but it struck me how personal and friendly the experiences have often been.  At Topeka's best restaurant, The Rowhouse, the owner is amiable and greets the customers, but I've never had a conversation with him.  I must have eaten at Chez Yasu in Topeka dozens of times, but no one has ever showed the slightest inclination to be friendly.

I have another habit in restaurants that sometimes drives my French friends crazy--or rather always drives some of my French friends crazy: Paris restaurants tend to be very small, and the tables are quite close to each other.  It's almost impossible not to overhear what your neighbors are talking about (and for them to overhear you).  I'm forever (and  this is very non-French) striking up conversations with my neighbors, and no one has ever not joined in.  Indeed, I made two of my very favorite French friends, Michel and Michèle, in just this way.  A Washburn professor who was visiting me was droning on and on for the umpteenth time about his dissertation thirty years before.  I wasn't interested in the first time, let alone the eighth, and M & M, though not sure exactly what was going on, were bemused by my discomfort.  So we started talking, they came back to my apartment for digestifs, and a great friendship was begun.  (In a more humorous episode, I was with some French friends in a restaurant, and an American couple at the next table were having trouble ordering.  I offered to help, which they found a great relief.  Once they had finished, the woman said to me, "You speak very good English."  I was so startled, I said, "Huh?"  She replied, "You......speak.....very.....good....English."  "I should," I said.  "I'm an English professor.")

I shouldn't exaggerate: I can think of a few times in my 35 years of going to Paris when people have been rude.  But then every year Paris welcomes ten times more tourists than there are Parisians.  Few of them speak French, and everyone, no matter what their own first language or their proficiency in English, assumes that French shopkeepers and restaurateurs speak English.  It would be as if Topeka suddenly had a million and a quarter tourists each year, almost none of whom spoke English.  I'm not sure that Topekans would be consistently warm and welcoming.  And it's not hard to think of times when employees here have been positively rude to me.  Ace Hardware is close to my house and easier to use than the three big box home improvement stores, but I avoid it whenever I can.  I've never encountered a friendly employee there.  If one is in a particularly good mood, he's just unhelpful.  The default mode, however, seems to be downright rudeness.  Best Buy is another store where I just assume I'm going to encounter rude employees.  As a struggling retailer, maybe Best Buy ought to consider some employee training.  Obviously, most store personnel are friendly and helpful, but it's unrealistic to think that no one is going to be having a bad day and be impatient or curt.

So like the journalist Marie-Luce cited, I've been reconsidering my opinion about the French.  And like him, too, I've found that I haven't changed my mind.  It's just that my conclusions and his are complete opposites.