playing hookie

Today I was two minutes late for my french class which means I can't get into the building. As it is with most buildings here there is a code that you need in order to enter from the street and after that there is a buzzer system to be allowed into the actual building. I, of course, forgot the code (as I've never had to use it yet because when I'm on time there has always been someone else to enter it for me). Writing it down would have been smart. So I waited outside the building to see if anyone would come but I wasn't that lucky and missed my class entirely. Instead, I spent the afternoon walking around. I don't know what the reprecussion will be for missing a class, I can't imagine it will be harsh as I'm paying out the wahzoo for these classes. The worst part will be having to explain in French what happened. I was thinking about lying and telling my teacher that I had to stay home with the a sick child but as lying is challenging enough for me in English I can't how that would work in French.
My walk was nice though. I had heard about a good sports shop to look for rollerblades. I would really like to have a pair I think. But as the cheapest ones are 40€ I will have to save a little everyweek as I'm on a strict 25€ a week budget. In Paris rollerblades are a widely used form of transportation as well as scooters (that is the razor-type, push scooters). It's not uncommon to see a grown woman in business casual soaring down the sidewalk on one of these. As I have had to use one a couple of times when the girls are in a hurry I don't think I can get used to the idea that noone is judging me. I went to the park with Juliet on scooters once and had an absolute blast just riding around in circles but I was comfortable because I had a child with me, alone I would feel pretty silly. So rollerblades it is.
While walking around, at first, one might think there are a lot of small pedigree dogs lost in Paris but then you realize they are indeed accompanied by a human even though they might be thirty some feet apart. I saw a of of this on my walk today as well as with a lot of "caca" on the street. I'm guessing leashes and pooper-scoopers aren't manditory here.
Nevertheless, if you're not too busy watching out for the doggie gifts on the sidewalk, walking around Paris is great for window shopping. Every storefront has a window display and most of the time they include prices of whatever it is they are displaying. Which, to me, is basically a way of saying "don't even think about coming in here". But its nice to pretend I could buy the 300€ dress in the window. Realestate agencies have window displays too and those are the funnest to stop in front of and pick out the perfect 950,000€ apartment (you know, just something modest).
These window displays make sense for a lot of stores but sometimes they seem a bit unnescessary. My favorite is the window display for the plumber around the corner.

Kronenbourg Light Fight

It's important to know how you'd react to getting hit in the face. Until it actually happens, it's impossible to accurately predict your response. Would you hit back? Yell? Run away? What if they were bigger than you were? Smaller? What if you were in a completely unfamiliar environment and didn't even speak the same language as the person who hit you? Until yesterday, I could only have imagined what would happen if I was walking down the street and a complete stranger decided to punch me in the face. Fortunately, I no longer have to imagine.

I was walking on a relatively busy sidewalk in the 12th arrondissement yesterday afternoon laughing with Erika about how we had just clacked our heads together when I brushed shoulders with a man walking the opposite direction. I heard something hit the ground immediately after and realized that in bumping into me, the man had dropped a "Tall Boy" can of Kronenbourg Light. I watched the can fiz itself into an amber puddle and I quickly picked it up and, not knowing what else to do, tried to hand it to the man from whose grip it was loosened. He was a derelict looking fellow, with only two multicolored teeth showing from either corner of his bottom gum. He carried on his back two bookbags, which I doubt were filled with books, and a duffel bag. In his mouth was the lit butt of a brown cigarette which, as he stared with growing anger, removed from his chapped lips and flicked at my shoe. I told him I was sorry, though it wasn't any action of mine alone that caused him to drop his beer, which I was beginning to realize might be the most important item to him out of all those he carried. He began to snarl angry French sentences at me, from which I gathered he expected me to give him two Euros for the booze he could no longer drink. I told him I wasn't going to give him money, though I couldn't explain that it was just as much his fault as it was mine. Even if I had two Euros in my pocket, I doubt I would have given it to him. Just then, I felt the butt of his palm collide with the side of my head, just next to my right eye. I couldn't believe it. My immediate reaction was to simply say "Don't hit me!". Before I could spit that out, he turned around and removed all his things from his back and set them down. He came back in my direction, ready swing. Erika stepped in between us, understanding the necessity of keeping us from fighting, and my heart raced. It was surreal. I hadn't done anything to this man. He dropped his beer after running into me, and all of the sudden I was his mortal enemy. Within seconds, several passersby had stepped in between the man and I while he continued to reach for me. Erika said "let's go, let's just go", and I walked backwards as I watched the ridiculous man yell at the citizens who were keeping us apart until he wasn't in sight anymore.

At first, I was so aghast at how irrational it was for someone to become so irate over something so trivial. What an asshole this man was, hitting someone in the face who was being as polite as possible about what had happened. After a few minutes, I began to pity him. What a sad life it must be to care so much about 16 ounces of beer that you'd start a fight with someone over it spilling on the street. It took awhile for my heart to stop racing. I'd never been hit like that before, not out of anger and certainly not by a stranger. I'm thankful for the people who helped keep us from fighting, nothing good would have come from that. Now I just look like the innocent tourist who got hit by the crazy person and kept his peaceful disposition.

I've always claimed to be a pacifist, and now I have real life experience to prove it. Not that I hope it recurrs, but I am glad it happened. It's a very unique feeling, and it lasted a while.

The rest of the day was spent looking for street markets that we never found. We did, however, run into a Handicap International festival in protest of cluster bombs. We signed the petition, ate some cake and went on our way. Although we never found any markets, we did run into some interesting performers outside the Georges Pompidou Modern Art Museum. A portraiture artist shouted at me as we passed by: "I like his funny hair! Free!" First I get hit in the face, now I'm getting made fun of. Haha. All in a day's traveling, I suppose.

comme ci, comme ça

Bonjour! Je m'appelle Erika.
Alex is also a contributor to this blog.
We both just moved to France.

Before anything I want to make it clear that I appreciate both the United States and France and, for different reasons, they both have a place in my heart.

My recent move to Paris has made me miss a few things about Ohio: business hours, shaking hands, free water, intersections, clean air, buildings smaller than 5 stories, and the lack of openly crazy people. This last one I might be wrong about. It is possible that these so-called "crazy" people are quite well adjusted indiviuals who either murmur or shout to themselves about their productive day: an upcoming meeting, an unsucessful trip to the bank that was closed when it should've been open, going over the items they bought from the grocery store etc... I have to admit my french is not adequate enough to decifer the exact topics. I can just remark on their slightly strange choice of tone and volume. I'm sure there are similar such people in America, but as the largest city I've ever lived in was Dayton, Ohio, I haven't been exposed to very many of them.

I have been in Paris for almost a month now and, as it had been the only time in my life I have seriously considerred "blogging", I would say I'm glad I came. I'm "une jeune fille au pair" which means "au pair" in English, or a sort of nanny. I live in a room rented by my host family on the seventh floor (which is eight american floors- no elevator). The room is very small and I wouldn't say I do much living there, more sleeping than anything. The family's apartment is in the same building and here is where I watch the kids and spend a lot of my time. The "kids" consist of two girls, Emilie and Juliette, ages 6 and 8. They can be quite wondeful and they can be other things too. Their parents, Guillaume and Catherine are very kind and, overall, I feel quite lucky to be a part of this family.

I'll leave you with a french word, don't ask me how to pronounce it:

accueil : noun M 1 welcome 2 reception desk
*If you go to a French website this word is helpful as it's also what they call the homepage.