I was invited to my school's raclette party on Tuesday evening in the teacher's room. I was a little nervous about going, as I haven't been able to feel completely comfortable around my colleagues. But I was also very curious to see what it would be like and how differently they'd act at a Christmas dinner.
Because I have French class in Lyon on Tuesday nights, I had to miss the beginning of it, but arrived at nine, just missing apéritifs. This proved to be an important part of the night and when Sylvie, the directrice sat me next to two normally serious colleagues that don't generally say a whole lot to me, I noticed that most of the table was quickly on their way to drunk.
As I was getting settled in, the charcuterie plates were passed my way and those sitting next to me began to put slices of meat, rolls of meat, and potatoes on my plate. They shoved the cheese plate into the raclette grill and told me to wait a few minutes. The cheese heats up, bubbles, and then is poured over meat, potatoes, vegetables, or whatever is on the plate.
The American cracks began when the man next to me asked if I liked eating the skin of the potato. When I said I did, he exploded into cheer shouting, "an American who likes potato skins! A normal American!" another tipsy fellow responded with, "yeah, the only one!" I just smiled politely while I watched the bottle of red slowly empty.
The night was interesting, because I don't know how to read my colleagues. They seem to be friendly and warm at one point, then at other times, they seem to whisper and ignore me. Maybe this is just my over-paranoia, but I was completely thrown off when someone turned off the lights and everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" in English. Sylvie brought out a gorgeous tarte aux fruits with presents. My birthday had been a few weeks ago, but Sylvie had been sick and wasn't at school. I had no idea how to react. I was stunned. I'm not really fond of that much attention, especially at a huge table of French elementary teachers. Even more challenging was reacting in French. Do I act all giddy? Do I act reserved, but grateful? I tripped over several "merci's" and "c'est trop gentil's" and hope that sufficed.
The number 28 lit with a candle stood on the cake and the man next to me said that normally it's not polite to acknowledge a woman's age. I guess all the rules go out the window with a foreigner. Thank God. The presents turned out to be two stainless steel mugs with coasters and even more interestingly, what I think is a set of Chinese table settings with chopsticks (baguettes in French) sauce bowls, and bamboo placemats. We all had trouble figuring out what it was at first and had to ask Sylvie. I have absolutely no idea when I'll use chopsticks in my kitchen in France. Nonetheless, I'm grateful for the thought.
My birthday cake topping
As the night wore on and I managed to cut the tarte aux fruits horribly, the more wine disappeared and the louder my colleagues got. At one point, the man next to me returned to his chair with a ribbon on his head and just sat there smiling. The next minute he was laughing so hard that tears were running down his red cheeks.
I learned that many of them can speak English, but the man next to me doesn't want to teach it to his students. This is the first time I've heard some of them speak it. With alcohol came the English sputtering out of everyone's mouth.
After coffee and chocolates, we all got up to clean up and go home. Suddenly this party-atmosphere, table with champagne, pastis, wines, and raclette grills was transformed back into the teacher's room, where everyone is usually serious and busy. And so went the hysterics.
I got a glimpse of a different side to my colleagues, a real side. They can loosen up and be "salty" as I believe the French would say.
8. If you're lucky, find a local that will show you the secret boulangerie that opens at 4 am everyday of the week. (Was it rue Prefecture something?) Open the door to what looks like an apartment entrance and knock on a pale blue door with no sign. No indication of baked goods. A very small, very old woman will open a small window, and you can see men with pants dusted with flour, huge ovens, and stacks upon stacks of baguettes. Order a croissant, pain au chocolat, quiche. Munch and savor the feeling that you ate something you shouldn't have. 
10. Camp out at the train station cafe until the earliest train can take you back to bed. When that train undoubtedly gets canceled (supprimé) or delayed, go back out into the city and shop to soothe your tired soul. By this point you've reached your 5th or 6th wind and can stand to peruse the shopping streets of Lyon but immediately get envious at every passerby and their shining bright eyes, knowing that they've probably slept the night. You catch a glimpse of the bags under your eyes, mussed up hair, and grouchy scowl. Head back to the train station and wait it out with a Snickers bar. This should give you enough sustenance until you make it home. 
