A Peugeot, Pink Chairs and CheeseIts by Jane Tolbert

Several years ago my daughter bought her first apartment in Juan-les-Pins. I traveled to see it, carrying in my suitcases, boxes of Cheese-Its, a product we still could not find in France. We scrubbed the apartment, chased the pigeons off her balcony, and now she needed furniture. We had seen some hot pink aluminum chairs in the magazine “Côté Sud,” and we headed for Castorama, a French home improvement store that carried them.

It was a warm day in May, a month of many holidays. Sandra had to work an afternoon-evening shift, but this errand would just take a couple hours at most. We set off in her Peugeot hardtop convertible, confident the chairs would fit with the top down. That turned out to be the least of our problems.

When we returned to the parking lot with our two pink chairs, the car would not start, and as a result, the hardtop convertible would not go down. Not to worry, my daughter had Peugeot roadside assistance. She called the tow truck, and we settled in our pink chairs in the Castorama parking lot with our box of Cheese-Its, watching the cars leave for that sacrosanct two-hour lunch break. The tow truck arrived. The driver charged the battery, advising us to leave the car running.

But to get the hardtop down, we had overlooked one small, but critical detail. To ensure the trunk space was free, we had to turn off the car and unlock the trunk. But then the car would not start again.

Pride prevented us from calling the tow truck driver less than 15 minutes after he had left, so we contacted a friend with jumper cables. He started the car, and he agreed to carry the chairs.

Since our shopping trip had taken much longer than expected, Sandra was nearly late for her job. On this holiday afternoon, the streets in this beachside community were jammed with pedestrians and cars. No streetside parking remained, and the pay lots were full. The car dashboard lights began to flash warning signals and moments later, the Peugeot stalled at the four-star Amassadeur Hotel on the Chemin des Sables, blocking the entrance to the underground parking lot.

While waiting for the Peugeot roadside assistance, we ordered a tray of coffee—curbside, despite the waiter’s protests we could come inside. Out came the remaining CheeseIts. We unfolded the waxed paper and polished off the box. The same tow truck operator arrived—too late to experience CheeseIts--and took the car to the Peugeot garage. Sandra went to work, and I returned to her apartment, regretting only I had not brought more Cheese-Its to France.