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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Friday, April 22, 2005

Taxi Cab Confessions

I want to like Parisians. In fact, I want to love Parisians and be welcomed into their warm buttery, cream-filled, it's 4AM and the bakeries open in just 2 hours, bossoms...however, given the fact that I've done nothing but, as my southern relatives would say, "chap everyone's ass here," I don't think that's going to happen. Seriously, I can be breathing quietly alone in a corner (which I do often, wearing all black, listening to Pearl Jam and hoping to get my period...wait a second, that was me in 1992, nevermind) and someone undoubtedly will be pissed off about it. I have tried to be culturally sensitive, respectful, polite, and above all, open-minded, but hot pot of coffee, I'm like a rage magnet.

About a month ago, I was just walking down my one-way street, all casual-like. For those of you who have never seen my neighborhood, I've scanned in a map from the Paris Visitor's Bureau:

Click twice if honestly interested.

I swear to you on any holy book you like that I was just walking down the street when a cab backed into me going on the wrong way on my street. Luckily the guy saw me and slammed on the brakes, so he just barely tapped me and I wasn't injured. Being, by nature, a moron, I just kind of stood there looking really freaked out that a taxi had come in contact with my body and could have seriously hurt me. I don't know how it happened, but the driver was so enraged that he actually got out of his cab, pounded his fist on the hood, flicked me off, and yelled at me in French (the only words I could pick up were 'slut' and 'stupid'). I had no clue what to do, so I just started crying like a six year old girl in the middle of the street and, let me tell you, nothing, NOTHING says 'awesomely confident' like a grown woman bawling and mumbling the words "I does not know mys mistake."

But its true, I dids not know mys mistake then and I does not know it now. I've lived abroad before and NEVER have I made so many people, not just angry, but red-faced, vein-bulging infuriated on a weekly/daily/hourly basis. More to come on this topic later. I'm off to drown my misery in an almond croissant (drool).


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