Day 187: Hazy Shade of Winter.

 Illustration by Fifi Flowers
I'm back in France and it's official; winter is here. It's gloomy, bone-chilling and damp. The vin chaud vendors and Christmas cheer is what's keeping me from feeling slightly wistful since I came from golden autumn scenic bliss to gray gloom. I'm trying to fight the jetlag which is always tough when going from The States to Europe. Being six hours behind is so much worse than being six hours ahead. I feel like all I want to do is sleep.
The flight over was seamless and was pleased that there was an available business class seat where I could try to sleep the whole way in the hopes of jumping right into Paris time. I arrived at seat 3J and someone was sitting in it. I hate when this happens. It seems nitpicky to have the other person move, especially when both seats are on the aisle but unfortunately I have been in this predicament before and have regretted it. It was a flight from LAX to JFK and a girl about my age was sitting in my seat, I told her to just stay in it and I'd take her seat; the one behind her. No big deal, right?
This girl was an absolute horror to the flight attendants referring to them as stewards, asking how the meat was prepared and if there were organic options, sent her food back not once but twice, insisted on tasting each wine and pressed the flight attendant call-button several times during the flight for inane questions, one being if any of them had seen the movie Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous because she didn't want to start it if it wasn't good. Behavior like this in general makes me cringe, even more so on planes because I would hate it if someone treated my mother like this and even more so when the abusee thinks it's me because we failed to tell the flight crew that we had changed seats. Per their paperwork, this high maintenance princess was me, Ella Coquine, daughter of a company employee who was traveling on a Family Passenger ticket and acting like a complete jerk. 
My mother received a note in her work mailbox the following week from the flight crew telling her to review Family Passenger travel rules to her entitled daughter. It was mortifying. 
Eight years later, I am in the same situation and now know better to just tell the flight attendant that we switched to avoid identity confusion as well as plucking a sweet elderly woman out of her seat. This time the outcome was different and I wished I hadn't told the flight attendant that we had switched because I wished I was her! She was what I hope to be when I'm of that age. We started talking from across the aisle and I learned that she was in town for an annual ice-skating event in Bercy, that Gossip Girls [sic] films on her street in New York and thought the actresses dressed like "total whores" and that she received a degree in web programming when she went back to school at the age of 68. She was sassy, smart, sharp and thought that I was 16 years old. God bless her. I'd like to think it's because of my youthful good looks that she assumed this but have a sneaking suspicion it's because of the zit forming on the tip of my nose that led her to believe I was a teenager.
The woman next to me was also a pleasure to talk to. We enjoyed watching Bridesmaids together, drinking champagne and talking about relationships, love and starting over. So much for getting that full nights sleep. One of the lines in the film stood out as ironic to me; "There's much more sense of community in coach." referring to of the characters not being able to afford first class like her friends. This made me chuckle because if anything it's the opposite. It's always in the premium class that I chat up with my neighbor after several glasses of wine. I've had conversations about divorces, horrible boyfriends, cheating wives, new relationships, quitting jobs, French and American politics, wine, fashion and food with complete strangers in business class. In coach, especially on an overnight flight, I always manage to sit next to the person who is irritated because they couldn't get an upgrade, complains to me about the flight attendants, doesn't share the arm rest or faces me while sleeping.
After immigration check, baggage claim and a delightful and intimate RER train ride from CDG to the city during rush hour with a suitcase the size of me, I was finally back at my apartment. As it turns out, my landlady who had been in and out of my flat for repairs had completely rearranged everything. She stripped my bedding, leaving me to make it after arriving on an overnight flight at 6:30 am, stored my toiletries in the back caverns of my cabinet having me search for ten minutes longer than I would like to for my face wash, my mugs were moved and little things one would need immediately after a long flight were out of place. She left a note saying that I would be held responsible for damages done by Miss Katie and that we would have a meeting later in the week. It wasn't the warmest return back and plan on dealing with it after a long rest.
Tonight I'm going to torture Sébastien with a gourmet dinner of Kraft Mac n' Cheese with cut up weenies inside (for protein, obviously.). If I never mention his name on this blog again, you'll know why. It will be because he left me after I offended his refined palette with my poor taste in American cuisine.