Unlocking Paris—Lessons in Making a Graceful Exit
Did you know that most entry doors for French office and apartment buildings are locked from the inside? No? Neither did I before moving to Paris. Frankly, the day that I arrived in France, I was mostly concerned about getting into the building, not out.
I met the 20-something daughter of my landlord in front of an unadorned ivory building with a large glass-fronted lobby. The wood-paneled walls of the lobby suggested the building was constructed in the 1970s. This was confirmed when we were greeted by faded walls that were once either orange or pink as the elevator opened on my floor. In front of my new digs, she handed me two keys. The first was an RFID key fob that she used to access the main entrance and the elevator. The second opened my apartment door.
Knowing from experience that people had trouble with the lock, she demonstrated how to grab and lift the door handle to coax the bolt into alignment with the strike plate hole. She made me do several trial runs. Satisfied with my skills, she gave me a brief tour of the apartment before leaving me to unpack.
But unpacking had to wait until after a food run. I was ravenous. Given the heavy flow of foot traffic for Saturday afternoon errands, someone had by then propped open the lobby door. Unbeknownst to me, this lack of practice at the main entrance would be a problem the next morning.
I am naturally an early riser, so it came as no surprise that I woke around 6 a.m. that Sunday. Some quick googling revealed that the nearest boulangerie wouldn’t open until 7, the grocery store at 8, and Starbucks wouldn’t open until 9! Excusez-moi!
Around 7:45, I couldn’t wait any longer and made my way to the lobby. But, when I pushed the door to exit, it wouldn’t budge. I tried pulling instead, still nothing. I started looking for a place to use my RFID fob, but the only key reader was outside. I even looked for a different exit and found none. Left with no other options, I took a seat on a narrow ledge of the front window and waited.
Finally, a dog-walking hero arrived. I watched as they confidently approached the door and reached out their right hand toward the wall. For fear of being creepy, I let them exit before I approached the door again. I noticed a small, unmarked matte silver panel on the wall. There was a button the size of the tip of my pointer finger outlined by a blue LED light. After I pushed it, I heard a faint high-pitched electrical buzz. Now when I pulled on the door, it opened. Lesson learned, I thought.
That Monday for my first day of work, I was on the lookout. When the team headed to lunch, I stayed at the back of the group. Sure enough, the leader reached toward a small, white square on the wall. Got it! Now in a covered passage, I noticed an A4 laminated piece of paper across from the door we’d just exited. It had a long row of bright red arrows pointing to—what else—another button! This one opened the large iron gates of the main entrance.
That evening, after work, I headed to Picard, a grocery store that exclusively sells frozen foods. As I don’t cook, their microwave meals were going to be clutch. I strolled in through an automatic sliding glass door, and I anticipated it would slide right back open when I was ready to leave. But no. I nearly collided with the door when it didn’t open upon approach. I started dancing with the sensor hoping it would see me. It took a few insistent madames from the cashier to get my attention. She said something unintelligible in French and pointed at the wall. There was a slightly off-white button blending into the blindly white wall. I pushed it and ran.
A few days later, I had a paperwork meeting with the HR department, which was located in a separate building with the finance department a couple of blocks away. It was a whole series of taping badges on sensors and ringing a doorbell just to get off the street and into the office suite. The exit proved to be no better. Upon seeing two metal push bars extending across the exit doors, I was delighted to recognize an unlocking mechanism. But even though I really put my back into it, nothing happened when I pushed. I took a step back and reassessed.
There were two identical and unlabeled white buttons to the left of the door. With a 50/50 shot, I pressed one. And that’s when I plunged the office suite into darkness, save for the eerie glow of the computer screens. Since this office suite had an open floor plan, I could feel everyone’s eyes on my back. I briefly considered making a break for it in the dark, but I decided to be brave and turned the lights back on. With an apologetic wave and a press of the second button, I made my escape.
A month later, I moved to a new apartment in a Haussmann-style building. There, to my delight, the door button was conveniently labeled. But stepping up to push it put me in the swing radius of the large exterior doors, so I learned to back away quickly if someone opened it from the outside.
All was well for about four months as I went about button-pushing at my apartment, my office, and every administrative office that I visited for visa-related appointments. Then, my therapist’s office building tripped me up. As I had developed a habit of button scouting, I started my search as soon as I got off the elevator. No button was immediately visible. I paused, momentarily befuddled, and looked up to see myself reflected in the large mirrors covering the wall just outside these glass doors. I got to watch myself search the door, the frame, and then the surrounding walls. In the immediate vicinity, I saw only the buttons to call the elevator. There was no switch for the lights, which were motion-activated and kept me illuminated in the mirror. I saw one lonely button too far from the doors to be logical, but I decided to push it anyway. It turned out to be a doorbell, and I had summoned the guardienne. Not expecting to make conversation I struggled to find my words. I said a polite “Bonsoir, madame” before gesturing wildly at the doors and asking, “euh….comment?” I shook my head not comprehending her explanation. Crossing the small lobby, the guardienne pressed a keyhole slightly protruding from the handle and disengaged the lock. On to the next door, I went.
A few years later, I stood in the covered passage outside the office talking when a new colleague exited the building. I watched as they approached the iron gates and unsuccessfully pulled on the handle. I must admit that I took great joy in watching them struggle while they started the button hunt. Unfortunately for them, I was standing right in front of the sign and I knew it. After what was only a matter of seconds, they looked at me asking for help. Oh, how the tables had turned. Finally, I was the door-opening hero!
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Unlocking doors in unfamiliar spaces can be a troublesome task, especially when faced with a variety of buttons and switches. So I’ll leave you with some of my hard-earned button savoir faire.
Whether you are navigating historic buildings or modern administrative establishments, here are my top five tips for escape:
Tip 1: When presented with two unlabeled buttons, you can assume that the button illuminated with a dim LED is for the lights. It’s a light for the lights! The light buttons are found everywhere, not just at the entrance. For Hausmann buildings, there are often multiple buttons to illuminate your path through the hallways.
Tip 2: The more modern the building, the closer the button will be to the door. In general, you will find the button within the door frame for any building constructed after 1960. The buttons were added significantly later for Hausman buildings so you’ll need to search the adjacent walls.
Tip 3: There are usually two sets of buttons. When exiting a Haussmann building, you typically exit the building and step into a covered, stone-floored corridor that once served as a carriage entrance, and then you exit the corridor through a large exterior door. Each exit requires a button push. For modern buildings, there is usually a security vestibule where you find an interphone system. There is a button for each door enclosing this space.
Tip 4: Look for a sign. While I’ve encountered many inconspicuous buttons, you will typically find a label or a sign with at least one of the words porte, grille, bouton or appuyez, which means push. If there is no sign, I’ve seen electrical tape in the shape of arrows on many walls
Tip 5: When all else fails, just ask. A simple “Où est le bouton pour sortir ?” to the nearest person should help you. Frankly, le bouton, which is just “the button” with a French accent, combined with a look of confusion will do the trick. But if you try to put a French accent on “the light,” you’ll be asking for the bed (le lit).
Happy Button Hunting!