05 May 2008

Midnight walks on the street

On Saturday I went to see Be Kind, Rewind with Jessica and Collin, and afterwards we met up with Mark and went to a restaurant for pizza and cidre. We finished dinner late and hung out at Place Hoche for a while (I was sad cause a lot of times it's full of middle school kids doing techtonique and I really want to record that but alack, alas, la place was empty). A little bit before 12H25 we headed down to the bus stop, so we could catch the last bus home.

Collin went home on the metro, and Mark's bus came a few minutes later, so it was just me and Jess for the few minutes before 12h37. At 12h39 I looked at my phone. We're used to the bus being late, so we just shrugged and waited some more. At 12h43 we looked at one another and walked over to the sign post, to see if somehow we had mistaken a time or day.


I started laughing. Jessica read the sign and started laughing too.
So this is how I know that it takes an hour on foot to get from centre ville to my apparte.

The fun part was picking flowers of the side of the road. They are now in my bathroom, in my water glass which I never use. Very pretty.

The hilarious part happened when I could literally almost see my building hiding in the near-darkness (the streets are really well lit, don't worry, and it was fun even, though exhausting). We walked across the parking lot of the mini commercial center La Forge, and were heading down an incline to the sidewalk when someone started calling to us. 'Oh great,' I thought.

We had seen two French dudes, probably *slightly* tipsy, pretending to beat one another up in front of the café. They hadn't noticed us walk silently by, and we had ignored them. But now one of them was jogging after us, asking why we hadn't greeted them.

"It's only polite, come on, really, what, are you mean or rude or something? It's easy enough to say, just say bonsoir, that's it, it's easy..."

I was an idiot and said bonsoir. Then we kept walking.

"Oh, you're not French?" Oh no.... "You're not French? What are you? English?"

'No...american. What do you want?'

"Ooh, touchy americans. Just let me talk to you..." and then he yelled his friend over: "Hey! Pierre! Americans! They say they live here!" His friend started coming over.

'We're going home, go away,' Jess said

"Home? You're not at home! You're not French!" I let out a short laugh, and he grinned "See? I'm funny! You laughed!"

'Oh I laughed,' I said, 'But only to be nice. Leave us alone.' We walked away, and he stayed where he was. And then he started yelling at us again. (all caps means it was in english)

"Yeah?!? Well, F"&ç YOU!! You're a pair of dirty whores! Whores! Whores and sluts! F@(è whores! And also BE-OTCHES!! YOU ARE BE-OTCHES!!!"

Jessica and I tried not to laugh too hard as we escaped around the corner and made sure that he wasn't following us any further. There's just something that a French accent does to cursing...haha oh man.

Ok. Enough of the blagueing...I mean joking. I realise that the situation could have potentially been very dangereux, and I also realise that maybe next time I'll just let Jessica tell people to go away and I'll stay silent so I don't provoke anything. I still felt perfectly safe the entire time. But now it's a story to tell.

Which reminds me... I think the next time I'm gonna see if I can record some of my vacances stories with my webcam, put them on my jump drive, and upload them to the internet as video blogs. Of course this will take time and effort and a quiet house...hmmm...so we'll see what happens.

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