It is the equivalent of Park Avenue, in
Take 1:
Last weekend when Amberle was here, we played a game called “Chase Obama”. It was frustrating, if not fun, because I had to go to the bathroom for an hour of that game. Public toilets in
Right here, at the intersection, was a whole bunch of people. We knew Obama was close because there was a huge American flag. And a whole bunch of people were saying “Obama”. I might have my moments, but I can put 2 and 2 together.
So I gave Amberle my keys so I can use the facilites above and she can stalk him out on the street. Eventually, I manage to get back down to the street, where we wait an additional 15 minutes in this spot.
All of a sudden we hear the roar of the crowd and a motorcade advances, then stops. Then, like lightening, we hear the swoosh of cars going 80 miles an hour in the opposite direction. As in, exactly where our back were turned. We were actually staring at the decoy cars – not the actual Presidential motorcade. FML.
But anyway, this was big ‘cause it meant that we were, as I liked to say, in shooting distance of Obama (joke! Joke! Joke!), but also, because I live on a really well-traffic’d street. At midnight it wasn’t a big deal, but it’s kinda like closing down
Take 2:
Friday morning I put on high heels to go to work, something that I never, ever do. I left the apartment a bit later than normal, in order to pick up my debit card at the bank, which opens at 9. (Yes, dear reader, I have my own French bank account – an experience I will detail in a future post.) I leave the apartment and realize that my street, which ALWAYS has cars on it during rush hour, is mysteriously quiet. I cross the street, to get on the side with the bank, and all of a sudden, I hear someone screaming at me in French, “Get Back!” This someone happened to be a military man with a gun the size of 10 baguettes strapped across his chest. OK, I can listen to directions.
All of a sudden a whole bunch of policemen surround me.
“What are you doing here?”
“How did you get on this street?”
I managed to stammer out “I live here” and then promptly get REALLY nervous because I don’t actually have proper residency cards and have no proof that I actually live where I do, minus my set of keys.
They nod, and I go to the bank (without asking why my street was cordoned off). I get my debit card (woo-hoooo!) and head back to the apartment to change my shoes. (I promptly realized that high heels were just not going to fly, being that I had to walk to the bus stop at the end of the street, instead of the one that’s right next to the bank.) All the while, I’m thinking that maybe Obama is still in
So I head back to my building…to be stopped again by the police officer telling me that I can’t get into my building…Great. This is when I started to whine: “Mais, J’haaaabiiittteeee iciiiiiiiiii.”
If there is one way to accentuate my American accent, it is to whine, as I found out. Note to self: stop whining.
However, I did manage to find out that there is a film being shot on this street for the next week.
Cool.
Moral of the story: Filling out housing questionaries really, really specifically is a good idea.
Posts
Success! I was laughing out loud!!! Fabulousness! I really enjoyed the picture of us with our backs to Obama! Who could have guessed! So I take it, you haven't had a dull week at least! Paris really is trying to leave a negative impression on you - you are not allowed to move and we will get your hopes up, just to crush them.
ReplyDeleteWell done with the post, like always! And please note how fast I read this one :)