Central Paris and the roads are still lawless. Curtis had booked me in the Luton. A big van. I told him I was gonna load into the Dacia. A little nippy car.
It was just two rolled up banners to carry. The map I had been given was incomprehensible. All I needed to be told was “It’s at the North end of the Invalides bridge, there’s a huge gate and millions of security guards”. Instead I had a blurred Google screenshot with loads of digital hand drawn arrows covering an area both north and south of the river with absolutely no indication of where the actual fucking gate might be and no contact information. Not my first rodeo though. I asked Curtis for more specific info and he gave me the district number which is less specific. Then he looked at the map and pointed to a spot south of the river, but I could sense he literally didn’t know. That’s why I swapped to the Dacia. I knew I needed to be able to just stop and scout on foot once I was in the right area. Which is what I did and how I found it. But then of course they wouldn’t let me in. An event of this scale needs serious security. Quite right that I struggled, frankly. I’m not even accredited yet. Security is far more important at such an event than practicality.
“Can you print my pass out,” I had asked Curtis the night before. “No.” Straight no. This is all just in the process of being put together you see. Printers aren’t designed to be on the mezzanine in a fucking great big warehouse. I literally couldn’t have a printed pass, and a digital pass is somehow less trustworthy.
I found the gate though, by scouting on foot and then returning. I even talked my way through the gate which I was proud of as I didn’t know my pass was invalid at the time. When the head of security had determined that my pass had been cancelled somehow I was already inside the barrier and he totally panicked. I could see it in his head – “WHY HAS THIS BEEN CANCELLED OH MY GOD”. I had determined that it was gonna get me further being Englishman no speaky Frenchy, which was likely strange for the guards I had been nattering away with to witness, but I remained benign and nodding in the face of his natterjack french “you have to leave immediately”. Still I got ejected. Then… Bob showed up. We spoke through the fence like reverse prison.
Bob knew what I had. He knew why I had it. He was on none of my lists. But he wanted me to give him the banners. Head of security was comfy with Bob. I got loads of info from him before I finally trusted him with the banners. Photographed his ID. Still “I had to pass them to Bob through the fence” was not the best way of explaining where the banners had gone. Thankfully talking to Bob had been the right thing. I determined to be a little less front end going forward – to really push for information about how people expect me to do the things they expect me to do before just knowing I can solve it live. “There’ll be posters of your face up in that venue now mate,” Greg comments. He’s not wrong. I’ll go back there some time with everything completely shipshape. I shook all their hands and asked all their names and thanked them. Nice people doing a job. Stressful job. Next time it’ll be easier.
More things have to be moved tomorrow morning so I’ll be up at crack of dawn and off to Versailles, but now I’ve got two telephone numbers and a gps pin, and I’ll be hauling the Luton through the sleepy early morning Paris streets trying to drop off before they turn into hell on earth at about 8.20.
AlBarclay 