With a touch more aggression than passivity

revendiquer (v.t.) :
to claim (or proclaim), to assert, to demand, to stake out


So says the dictionary translation. However, I get the sense that it also describes in France a certain kind of low-key but perceptible revenge, somewhat like what is called by English speakers (or as the French call us, "les anglo-saxons") as passive aggression, but with a touch more aggression than passivity. This attitude is why I gather Parisian waiters occasionally act arrogantly (alright, more than occasionally) to demanding foreign (read: North American) customers, and why French workers always seem to be going on strike, as a way to keep their allegedly pompous bosses (in this still strongly hierarchical society) in check.


Another case in point: This evening at a street intersection near my place, a car was parked on the diagonal at the very corner itself by the curb, straddling most of the zebra-striped pedestrian crossing. You sometimes see this in Paris if there are no other curb-side parking spots to be had. The driver was nowhere to be seen, but he or she had nonetheless parked up against the bumper of the car in front, which left a bit of space between the illegally diagonal car and the parked vehicle behind that a person could squeeze through. 


Nonetheless, I watched a gentleman pedestrian approach the intersection to cross at the zebra crossing, and instead of easily passing around the back of the offensively-parked car, he climbed up onto the hood (with a bit of difficulty, his legs probably not quite as flexible as they used to be) and walked across that---claiming, asserting, demanding, even staking out his right to cross at the zebra crossing. He descended to the pavement and continued his stroll once he had revendiqué one audibly hood-deflecting step ("wop! wop! wop!") at a time. 


I took a look at the car hood after he'd left. No permanent dents, just a few smudged footsteps in the layer of dust on the steel surface, should the car owner even notice. That this is the only damage is, of course, a good thing---but I admit I also think it's just the teeniest bit unfortunate.