Ceci n'est pas une endive - everyday life

Job Hunting: How Culturally Unconventional Can You Be?

notafish — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 12:51:00 +0200

La façon de répondre à une annonce pour un travail, si elle comporte dans plusieurs pays des composantes équivalentes (la lettre de motivation, le CV), comporte aussi des éléments spécifiques à la culture et au pays. Pourtant, je me dis que si je devais répondre à une annonce en Allemagne, je serai bien en peine de faire une candidature "dans les règles". Je crois, du coup, que je tenterai de répondre en étant calire sur le fait que mon parcours international m'empêche d'être conventionnelle dans ma candidature...

I've always wondered if I could find a job in Germany. Not so much because of my competence or lack thereof, but rather about whether I could, or couldn't, conform to the German way of answering a job ad.

Answering a job ad, in the countries where I've looked at it (mainly US, Germany and France) has a rather similar structure. Cover letter and CV are the core components. Basically, these are a letter stating why you're the best person for the job and a list of the positions you've occupied in the past X years.

However, there are rather important cultural differences to the way you do it. Not to mention that the recrudescence of social networks and other online tools needs to be thrown into the bargain, as it has somewhat changed the way of doing things.

The last time I applied for a job in a somewhat conventional way was probably about 6 years ago, in France. Which probably is a completely outdated way of doing it. I had the name of someone to send my application to, sent a cover letter, my CV and went on to an interview. Pretty simple and straightforward.

Here in Germany, I've watched with interest as my man was looking for a job, and how he was going about it. The "conventional" way of doing it in Germany is, apart from the CV and cover letter, to join to your application what the Germans call "Zeugnisse". The way I understood them, "Zeugnisse" are recommendations, of sorts. but not exactly. They are letters from the people you worked for, which reformulate the position you've occupied and tell how good you were in it. The further back you can go, the better. Which, for someone with a varied career, might amount to a lot of paper.

In the US, as I understand it, recommendations can be from virtually anyone. Your bosses of course, your colleagues, but also your friends (the more titles they can boast of the better) and why not, your family. Something that I believe is completely inconcievable in Germany. You probably would never ask a friend to write a Zeugnis for you.

In France, recommendations are (were?) definitely not the norm. While the "anglo-saxon" application has certainly taken on in the past few years, the diplomas you can align and the great names you can drop within your CV offer a much better chance of being noticed than having your Harvard-friend write a recommendation for you.

So the question is, how would I apply to a job here in Germany? I could of course go and read a whole load of online resources ^[1]about how to Zeugnisse should be written, or how to write your cover letter, and even how to organize your CV. But I'm thinking it would be conforming to something I am not, having worked in different countries, different fields and many different companies, for so many different customers. I'm thinking that in this ever changing and challenging global work market, being yourself, even if that means being culturally unconventional, is probably a better way to go about it. I probably couldn't produce many Zeugnisse (who knows what my boss from 10 years ago in France has become in 10 years?), but I can detail what I did and when, and even better, I can actually reflect on what I have done and what it has brought me for my job today. I would even say that being French, while I am sure that I am the right person for the job, I am not sure that the documents I provide are those that are expected, but that I am open to providing more information if needed. In short, I would try and be myself, rather than try and fit in a predefined frame.

I guess I have faith in recruiters, if they're looking for someone to do a job, they're not looking for anyone that can do that job and can lay it out on paper, but rather for someone who can reflect and think on what their experience is bringing to the table.

And frankly, in a world where a (the best) job can be had ^[2] with such applications, I do think there is potential for unconventional.

What's your experience with international applications?

Notes

[1] Those resources were chosen with a quick google search, I can't say anything about whether they're good or bad

[2] More info on The Best Job in The World in this BBC article

Choosing a Name: The Last Name

notafish — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 10:40:00 +0100

Choisir un nom de famille pour son enfant. Il fut un temps où la chose était plutôt simple, mais la loi et les mouvements migratoires font de ce qui pourrait être une aventure simple un parcours du combattant. Entre le double nom et les doubles tirets, donner un nom de famille à notre fille aura été une vraie gageure.

Now, the first part of this was a long time ago. It was about the First Name. Here comes the story of the Last Name, prompted by the fact that I got my daughter's German passport a few weeks ago.

You'd think that having chosen the first name, we'd be done. But no. Even the last name is a culturally tainted venture, which bears in itself much more trouble than one would think, and not only cultural trouble.

Most of our societies are rather patriarcal. You get the name of your father. Even the ones that sometimes think themselves much more open and allow women to keep their names really are patriarchal. Take Portugal, which collates both the father's and the mother's name in a unique new name. This ends up in children having different names from that of their parents. Which isn't understood by French authorities, at least a few years back, who had no idea how to take care of my French cousin marrying a Portuguese man and which name was really his (different from both of his parents).

In Germany, you're only allowed to give the name of the father or the name of the mother. Not both. Fortunately, Germany recognizes foreign laws when it comes to names. In France, the law changed with a text passed in 2002 (that came into force in 2005) which basically opens a whole new realm of possibilities for last name transmission. Following French law, you can now give to your children either your name, that of your partner, or both together (in both the order you--him or him--you). The catch is the double hyphen that comes into play. Yes, you read that well, a double hyphen.

Now, it seems that French law requires this double hyphen ^[1] if both parents' names are chosen. It will allow the kid to drop one or the other name when they marry or have kids (for more information, see here, in French).

When we declared our daughter, we asked for the double hyphen. No need to say that the German authorities were a little puzzled about this rather freaky way of writing a name (an accent on my last name was already quite a challenge). But the German Ministry of the Interior had issued a text about that French specificity, which allowed us to get that straightened out. Our daughter's birth certificate displays the double-hyphen. And so does her German passport, which is quite a victory, since when I went to fill out the papers for her to have a passport, the woman at the desk did make it very clear that although she would try and see what she could do concerning my accent (on which I was very set), there was no way she could enter a double-hyphen in the system. We have indeed signed a disclaimer when we registered our kid that said we were aware of the fact that this funky double-hyphen might not be reproduced on official papers so I was prepared. And amazed when I saw that the passport bore both hyphens.

I am kind of looking forward how this name pattern plays out in the future. I am happy to have been able to give my name to my daughter, I am not sure she'll find that so cool when it comes to filling out administrative papers... Time will tell.

Notes

[1] I have come across a quick note which seems to say that this is not the case anymore... go figure. [edit] see here this relatively short ticker which confirms this, and this article pointed out by keriluamox in the comments

Trick Question: Where Do You Come From?

notafish — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 12:54:00 +0200

I arrived yesterday afternoon in sunny Lisbon, Portugal for the Shift Conference where I am giving a talk. Lisbon, for what I have seen so far (the modern part), is a very beautiful city and I'm already loving it. As I arrived, I joined up with a few Shiftians and we started introducing ourselves. After the name bit, we very naturally came to What do you do? and Where do you come from?. I always find the Where do you come from? to be a rather tricky question, because in today's small world, people hardly know where they are from. Or rather, it all depends on how you ask the question.

When asked where I come from, I usually ask Where from as in, where was I yesterday? or Where am I from as in where do I live? or Where am I from as in what is the nationality my passport displays?. I guess you could even add to that Where am I from as in where my cultural roots are?.

Sure enough, there were a few of us with many different answers to those different questions. There was a born-Hungarian living in Italy working mainly in the US, a born Dutch living in Copenhagen, otherwise known as a European Dutchman and a Dane living in Copenhagen at the moment, having lived in Ireland, Florida and the UK. I was born in France, where my cultural roots are. Southern France to be precise. I come from Germany as in I was in Germany yesterday. That about sums it up.

And where do you come from?

Of Values and Grades

notafish — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 10:02:00 +0200

A few days ago, as I was surfing along the message board The Local, I ended up on this survey (which I can't take, cos I'm too old, *pout*). So I browsed the different questionnaires, to see.

One thing struck me about the value scales (1 to 5) and how the 1 was to represent the worst and the 5 the best. I was wondering whether this was not problematic for some people. The Germans, for example, have a value scale of 1 to 6 in school, 1 being the best, and 6 being the worst. The French note system goes on a scale of 10 or 20, 0 being the worst and 10 or 20 being the best. I've realized that when I take a poll, I tend to be confused when the answers proposed use number scales that don't fit with my way of grading (ie. the best being the highest number, the worst the smallest). This said, it is usually easier to get away from my inherited scale values as there are rarely scales over 10 or 20 levels. So I asked my partner whether a value scale of 1 to 5 would confuse him if it was backwards (he's German). He said that as long as there weren't 6 levels, he would actually expect to use 1 as the worst value, I would have thought the contrary.

In the same line of thought, I've always found it very funny that one of the most common marketing argument here in Germany is the result that a product got at the Stiftung Wahrentest. On products, you find a little label^[1] that tells you how well the product fared in the tests. These tests rate products following the German grading system. I must say that at the beginning, in my French mind, a product which got a note of 2 didn't really prompt a positive reaction, on the contrary. I also realize that the subtleties of the number after the coma are lost on me. The French system usually only allows for half points, so a 2,4 translates automatically into a 2,5 for me, or a 1,6 into a 2, etc.

What's interesting here is how values which are in objectively the same (a 2 is a two, whatever the language and the country) are affected by subjective and unconscious values shaped by education, language and culture.

As an aside note, a search through the different possible layouts of this label is also very interesting, as it shows that depending on the note the product obtained, the actual number will be displayed or not. When a note of 1 to 2 is obtained, the number is usually displayed, when the note is closer to 2,4, it's usually "forgotten". Nice marketing trick.

Note

[1] label image from Wikipedia with a funky licence

Culture Comfort Zone

notafish — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 18:29:00 +0200

I've just read this post at interculturaltalk.org and it reminded me of something that has bothered me for the longest time.

For as long as I can remember, I've always felt some kind of guilt pang to see someone in the street and that the first thing I notice is their skin color, the shape of their eyes, or anything that would hint at their cultural background. I guess that calls for a discomfort zone rather than a comfort zone. The thing is, every time I've felt guilty, I've wanted to slap myself for feeling guilty, because I think that the feeling guilty is the worst part of it.

Noticing a difference is not the problem. The problem is all the heavy stuff that's tied to that difference and not being able to look at that difference without all the heavy stuff sinking in. I wish I was raised in a world where I never had to hear about Apartheid, Slavery, Immigration, Religious Oppression, Unemployment, Holocaust et al..

I remember the 6-year old daughter of my English teacher being brought up in an environment with 200 people from 80 different countries, telling her mother that this guy dropped by to talk and trying to describe him. She described his clothes, his height, his voice, and never thought one second to say he was black. I guess the comfort zone depends on where and how you're brought up.

My Very First Culture Shock

notafish — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 12:17:00 +0200

I remember one of my first culture shocks very vividly. I probably had others before, but this one was the start of a long series, and most importantly the first I actually recalled over time.

I arrived in the US for a 2-year stay at the age of 15.So here I am, on evening in Albuquerque, New Mexico, landing in a strange country, invited to stay for the night with a "native" family.

I'll pass with the first shock of seeing 4 cars in the driveway and go directly to the greeting part. The family was a family of 4 people, parents and 2 teenagers. One of them a girl around my age. At the time, I used to kiss-on-the-cheek anyone my age, as is the custom in France. The "bise" as we call it, is a very normal greeting custom. Upon arrival, I shake the parents' hands, gathering my best English (probably close to 0) to say hello, and I go to kiss the girl on the cheek. She looks at me horrified and pushes me back before I get to her cheek. It was probably the first time anyone showed their disgust so strongly towards me. Or at least what I interepreted as disgust then, I didn't know better.

I don't think I thought about it much, until the day after, when we said good-bye. I had made the mistake once, I was not going to do it twice, so I kind of stood there, expectant, waiting for something to happen. And that's where the whole family, parents and teenagers included, started to hug me. And that's where I pushed them away, not exactly understanding that they would not allow a kiss on the cheek the day before, and suddenly would take me in their arms as if we'd known each other for ever the day after.

Since then, I learned the power of a hug and have been using it profusely, even in France, where it played a few tricks on me, I must admit. Starting a few months later, when I came back for Christmas that same year andI went to hug my sister. Whe pushed me back with disgust and kissed me on the cheek...

Greetings are, I find, one of the most difficult cultural interactions. In theory, I guess they should be a very simple thing, one human greeting another. In practice, the variations are so wide that they can hinder future interaction by not following the proper standards and procedures. Something to be aware of, always, so as to work on the first impression.

Choosing a Name: The First Name

notafish — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 11:54:00 +0200

I never got around to telling the story of our daughter's name. It is, indeed, one heck of a story, which starts even before she was born. You have to remember that she has a German father and a French mother. This led, before her birth, to endless dicussions about what names are suitable in both languages. We had a few criteria we tried to respect when choosing her first name.

The first criterion was pronunciation. We wanted to make sure that the name would not vary to much from one language to the other. This rules out all the names having very specific pronuciations, such as names starting with "J" for example, which the Germans make soft (as in yum) or "H", which the French tend to forget to pronounce altogether (Hans is "Ans" in French, and "Hans" in German).

Pronunciation is one thing, but spelling is another, which is actually related. We couldn't take a name that people couldn't read in one or the other language. This ruled out my favorite "Benoît" (Ben-o-wha in French, Ben-o-it for the Germans) and names with French nasals or specific French spellings (Agnès is read A-ni-es in French, Ag-ness in German, I find on nice, the other one not so).

Another criterion was ambiguity. Some names are very easily recognizable as female or male, others are just extremely ambiguious in one language, when they are not in the other. Again, Delphine is very French, but never leads to confusion about the gender. Arne, on the other end, written or spoken, for people who are neither Swedish, nor Northern Germans, is often mistaken for a woman's name. So we needed a name that would be very clear.

And finally of course, a name we both liked. Which is, as we found out, probably the hardest thing of all. Not som much because we have different tastes, but because cultural differences kick in very fast. The German sounding names I liked were either terrible, out of fashion, too fashionable or plainly unheard of, the French sounding name Arne liked were either terrible, out of fashion, too fashionable or plainly unheard of. Funny to see how much culture the name carries.

Well, we settled for the first name Emma, classic, simple, read and pronounced in most languages in exactly the same manner, hardly ambiguous, and which we both liked. It took us around nine months... And then came the last name. But this will do for another post.

The Credit Card Hell

notafish — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 13:34:00 +0100

I have already tackled one of the aspects that sometimes makes me think that Germany is a backwards country. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's an OK backwards country, but there are a few things that just drive me nuts. One of those is the fact that having a credit card in Germany is like owning a useless piece of plastic.

Some will tell me that credit cards *are* in any case, a useless piece of plastic. But seriously, how can a country like Germany still not have taken the necessary steps to be tourist compliant? I just don't get it.

I know France is rather advanced in the plastic-money business, as are the US. But I have been travelling all over Europe, and Germany strikes me really as the most backwards country when it comes to using credit cards. Actually, even when it comes to using paying cards, period.

Let's try a desciption here.

On my French account, I have a debit card which *also* acts as a credit card (VISA), In French, it's called a Carte Bleue (blue card). With one bank account, I can have just one card, which acts both as a debit and credit card. I pay a monthly fee to hold that card, depending on the level of automnomy, credit and other things I want with that card. I can use it in France of course, but also everywhere in the world where Visa is accepted. I use it to withdraw cash in France as well as anywhere else. The fees on payments made with that card around the world are about 2%, I can withdraw cash everywhere for a small change fee, and I can withdraw cash in France or in the euro zone for no fee (up to 5 withdrawals a month not at my bank). The payments made with that card are withdrawn either right on the spot or at the end of the month, depending on the specificities of my contract.

On my German account, I have a Maestro card (called EC Karte) which works *only* as a debit card. I also have a credit card (in this case a Mastercard), which is a separate piece of plastic. I can use my EC-Karte to withdraw cash, however, if I use a different ATM than that of my bank (Naspa) or - fortunately- of all Sparkassen I immediately pay a fee of 5 euros to withdraw cash. Fee which I pay automatically as soon as I withdraw money anywhere else than Germany. It's worse with my credit card, the fee is 5 to 8 euros to use an ATM for cash *anywhere*, even in Germany. The payments made with my EC-Karte are withdrawn on the spot, the payments made with my credit card are withdrawn at the end of the month, with a change fee for international payments. I pay a monthly fee to hold that card.

This already shows you the differences. One card, little fee on the one hand, two cards, outrageous fees on the other hand. But that wouldn't be so bad if you could actually *use* those two cards. Well, in Germany, you can't. Or you hardly can.

It first struck me while standing in line at a Mediamarkt. There was a guy in front of me who bought a computer, something around 1000 euros altogether. And he was paying it with cash. As I was looking at the bills line up on the counter, I couldn't believe that anyone would

carry so much cash on them
even bother to collect and count the cash for such a sum.

But there it was, in front of me. And that is where I realized that Mediamarkt does not take credit cards. I mean, they take EC-Karte, but they don't take credit cards. Which basically means, if you're in Germany just when the last iPod comes out and you can't wait and want it right away, either you got a German account, or you gotta have the cash. Don't even dream of arriving with your Visa or Mastercard or American Express, all gold and international. You'll get a polite "we don't take credit cards". Punkt, Ende, aus. And guess what. IKEA does the same. "No credit cards". I find that, as a French who travels all the time, completely incongruous. Actually, I find that insane. I mean, I could understand that the little shop around the corner does not take credit cards, but for Heaven's sake, Mediamarkt and IKEA? I mean, it's not like you're going to IKEA to buy for much less than a 100 euros. And you usually come out of Mediamarkt with at least the same amount woth of wares.

Now, I've been in Germany two years, so although it still drives me nuts, I am getting used to it. But two days ago, I found reason to get mad again. I went to Mc Donalds. A huge, big enormous Mc Donalds, open 24/7, so full that you never find a place to park. And I didn't have any cash. And when I don't have cash in this country, I don't feel good (because I know that cards are seldom accepted), but I thought, come on, Mc Donalds, American imperialism, blablabla, surely they take credit cards. Still. I asked. Well guess what, they don't. But worse, it's not only that they don't take credit cards. They don't take cards at all. Only cash. Cash only. You'd think that given the number of tourists who end up in a Mc Donalds, Mc Donalds would make an exception.

But no. The German economy is shaped for Germans. No-one else. Tourists go home, because we won't adapt to your ways. I find this credit card no man's land totally unfriendly. You can't go to Mc Donalds, you can't go to a restaurant, drink a coffee, you can't go to a supermarket, you can't pay for all these things with a supposedly "international means of payment". If you're not German and have the right EC-Karte, or don't carry bills and coins in your pocket, you're doomed. For someone like me, brought up to carry around as little cash as possible, it's hell. Surely there is a reason behind this. But I don't get it. One day I might investigate.

On the other hand, you can pay with a credit card for a Twix in pretty much any gas station across the country. Go figure.

Ah and I almost forgot. McDonalds is having their annual game thing with Monopoly. Guess who's one of the main partners for the prizes? VISA! What a joke.

The Toilet in the Bathroom

notafish — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 10:50:00 +0100

We've just moved appartments. Apart from the fact that we now have double the surface, there is one very important thing to me, French woman, in this new appartment, and that is the toilet.

In Germany, toilets (except in restaurants) are in the bathroom. Ouch, with the common use of bathroon as a word for toilet in American English, I realize this is rather confusing. So let us agree on a definition here:

Toilet in this post is going to be the seat you sit on to do your thing,

while bathroom is going to be the room that contains, among others, a shower or a bathtub and a sink where you brush your teeth at night.

This agreed upon, let's go back to our toilets. So. In Germany, every single bathroom I have seen has a toilet. The reverse is not true, in the sense that there are houses (and restaurants), where there is also (keyword here being "also") a toilet in... well, a toilet room, by itself.

So we moved, and in this new appartment of ours, there is a "guest toilet" (Gästeklo), that is a toilet in a room by itself. And for me, French, this is great. I must say that I simply hate toilets in the bathroom. To me, the toilet is the seat of foul odors, whereas the bathroom is the place for soap and eau de toilette, i.e. it smells good. So having someone shit (pardon my French) in my bathroom is something I utterly dislike. My parents' home have two toilets, and two bathrooms, all of which are separated (so four rooms total, 16 walls). I don't like someone shitting in my bathroom, no more than I like someone looking at my destroyed toothbrush, or browsing through my towels, or even disliking my eau de toilette. In short, shitting and cleaning oneself are to me two different activities, as different as cooking and sleeping, which usually don't happen in the same room (except in small Parisian studios, but that's another story).

So while we were reviewing the different rooms of our new appartment, I told my German man that we could for example get rid of the toilet in the bathroom to gain space and us that to put a wardrobe, or a shelf, in any case something useful.

His look froze me on the spot.

- You mean get rid of the toilet in the bathroom?
- Yes, that's exactly what I mean.
- Can't do.
- What do you mean, can't do?
- It just can't happen. A bathroom without a toilet is not a bathroom, at least, not here in Germany.

And how can you answer this? You can't. Implacable cultural reality. There's no bathroom in Germany without a toilet. So I'll have to live with it.