Sunday, November 14, 2010

I Wonder What They Think of Obama?

Alternately titled:  Rough Times in France

I am seriously considering a trip to England this summer.  It's been a while since I have traveled outside of the country and I think I might just die if I don't use the old passport again.  Also, there are plenty of rumors that Prince William will be getting married this summer and I think it would be really cool to be in England during a royal wedding.  The cougar inside of me cries at the idea of him getting married, but I'm willing to put those feelings aside so I can see lots of bunting in England.

 The last time I went to England, a friend and I took a trip over to France.  This was my second trip to France.  It is not my favorite place in the world, but I still went.  Then...the following trauma ensued.

I was sitting in an outdoor cafe, eating lunch with my British friend and her French friend, minding my own business, when I noticed a small French man in a beret.  He was an old man and was shuffling along.  The three of us were visiting and enjoying the sunny day.  I said something, and the old man suddenly froze, shooting me a deadly look.  I had no idea what he was doing, so I continued on with the conversation.  No doubt it was something really important like wondering about the weird rotating toilet seat in the bathroom at another cafe we'd been at.
 Suddenly, the old man began shouting at me in French.  I had no idea what he was saying.  He was very animated, screaming and waving his arms.  I tried to pretend there was no crazy man shrieking at me, and kept eating my salad, trying to avoid eye contact with him.  Then, the old man began SPITTING ON MY SHOES.  I repeat, SPITTING ON MY SHOES.  I continued to eat, acting like it was completely normal for a short man in a beret to spit on me while I eat.

He shuffled away, and conveniently, the police drove by.  When I no longer needed them!  The French woman at the table said that she was confused by what he was saying, and didn't know what he thought we were.  We kind of chuckled and continued to visit and eat.
 Pretty soon, my French best friend was back!  He began immediately spitting on me and started screaming at me again.  He wasn't doing it to my British friend, or the French woman, just little innocent me.  The French woman was trying to reason with him and he shuffled off again.  After he left, the French woman said that he was calling the three of us lesbian whores and telling me that Americans were going to get the French all killed.  He told me to tell President Bush that he didn't support the war and to stop it.

You know, all Americans know the president.  Sure, French Dude, we're like this:
 I'll pass on your message!

So, with spit on my shoes and an apparent invisible target on my back, I left the cafe.  It was a Sunday and we had to take the Metro to get back to the hotel.  We purchased tickets to the Metro, but mine wouldn't work.  I tried and tried.  There was no one at the ticket counter because it was a Sunday.  I had paid for the ticket, but it wasn't recognizing it.  The only solution was to cozy up to the French woman and go through the turnstile as one person, all the while staring at the surveillance camera watching my every move, mouthing "I'm sorry!  I did pay for it!" and praying I didn't go to French prison.

So, as I contemplate another trip to Europe, I wonder - what is the political mood over there?  Do they like President Obama?  Should I bring rain boots for shoes?

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