No, not the Da Vinci code, or the Enigma code, but the ordinary code that you need every day to get into your building in France.
In the old days, when we had a full-time concierge in our building, the code was only set after hours: in her case, about 8 p.m. and on Sundays. But now that the old woman died, and we have a normal pleasant young woman with other things going on in her life, the code is set most of the time. That means that to get into our building you have to type the code into this pad.
Of course, people remember the code for their own buildings, although occasionally, coming back to Paris from the States after the summer, I don't remember right away. The code usually changes about once a year, although N's friend Paul lives in a building that has had the same code since he was a baby.
The problem is other people. If you forget to give your friends the code for a dinner party, they have to wait outside the door till someone comes along who knows it. This was a big problem in the old days, before cell phones.
On a building I visited recently, with an architects' office on the ground floor, there is an angry sign in the window nearest to the door: "This is not an information office for the code of the building!"
In our building, there are copropriétaires who freak out if you give delivery men the code. The guy from the supermarket, the corner store, or the florist is always a potential burglar to them-- much less the pizza guy, who comes up the elevator at night--quelle horreur! You are supposed to arrange all deliveries for the mornings, when the code is not set and the concierge is there in her loge at the entrance to vet all arrivals. But even when the code isn't set, you still have to push a little button (the one in the center at the bottom) to get into the door. This puzzles many foreigners, and I often find them standing outside a building trying in vain to guess the code by trial-and-error or push the door open by force.
In London, where I was over the weekend, this sort of building will have names or initials on the buzzers, with possibly a camera so people can see your face, and you just ring up. But the French are private. The sort of people who live in this kind of building, with or without a full-time concierge (much of the western part of Paris, plus some of the Marais and Saint-Germain) do not want their names on the outside of the building. Ergo, the code! Then you get inside the dark entryway with its flagstones, made for the passage of carriages to the courtyard, find the button for the light, and look around for the buzzer with the initials. On the way out of the building, you have to push another button before the door will open for you.
Yesterday was a nice spring day, but today the white sky has come back and it's turtleneck weather again.
I'm so glad you wrote about the digicodes. They are so different from my experience in the States, and I've often wondered why you don't read more about this phenomenon.
Posted by: Madame Tut | 09 May 2006 at 22:03
May I add that these maddening digicodes are generally utterly useless, since the mailmen from La Poste generally have to use a pass-key (I can see the lock on your pad), copies of which are widely spread amongst burglars and all kinds of unwelcome people.
Posted by: Azure-Te | 13 May 2006 at 18:19
OMG I HATE THE CODE!!!! Everytime I go visit my mother in Paris, it's nearly impossible to get into her building! And for what?! People still close their doors inside, do they not?!! Arrrghhh!! Great post!!! :)
Posted by: Tomate Farcie | 14 May 2006 at 00:55