Day 91: Where Have All the Good Times Gone?

Tomorrow is Angelo's wedding and I admit, I'm a bit misty-eyed. It's my little cousin. I remember when he was born. I remember when he didn't know how to say breakfast. I remember when he graduated pre-school. But more recently, I remember when he came to Paris. 
It was about a month after I had moved there, back in my 'Motte-Picquet' days and he came on a business trip and brought along Josephine, his future wife. Not knowing the city very well, I took them to La Palette for gin fizzes in Saint Germain-des-Pres. We sat at a corner table where the men at the bar looking at our table could see only two girls. Two American girls. Josephine who can be a dead ringer for Anne Hathaway, was getting all sorts of attention from the men standing at the bar, specifically a tall man with a goatee wearing a scarf who was licking his lips at her. "Are the guys really like that here?" she asked, clearly horrified. "I don't know about all the guys, but I know that guy is certainly like that." I said. She kept laughing in his face because he was that ridiculous. Angelo, being a good guy didn't care and got a kick out of his then girlfriend being hit on in Paris. "Stop laughing in his face!" he advised her. "You have to see him, lean over the table! He's really licking his lips!" she said with excitement. Angelo leaned over to get a good view and burst out in laughter when he saw this guy leaning against the bar like Rico Sauve making kissy faces at Josephine. The 'Smooth Operator' immediately aborted his mission once he saw Angelo and went outside to go smoke.
After, three gin fizzes, we went to dive, Bar 10 for pitchers of Sangria and classic Serge Gainsbourg on the juke box which prompted the entire bar to go into a "Les Poinçonneur des Lilas" sing along. "Is this like their 'Sweet Caroline'?" Josephine asked as everyone was arm and arm swaying left to right while belting out the lyrics. The three of us sat there in silence, meekly sipping our sangria, clearly not part of the fun. There was no way that we could have blended in here but we appreciated "the cultural experience" as Angelo announced with glee. 2am rolled around and we had missed the last metro. Trying to find a cab in Paris on a Friday night is the ultimate test of patience and endurance. And it will either happen or it won't. More often than not, it won't and having people sleep on your couch until the metro opens again at 5am is not entirely out of the norm. Walking down Rue de Renne towards Montparnasse, we found other packs of people in our situation who were desperately trying to find a cab. It started raining and it was just awful. I felt bad because as a 'local', I wished I was able to better guide the situation but unfortunately, I was of no help. After two years, the only solution to this inevitable weekend night problem I have found it to date someone with wheels. 
After standing around staring at each other in the rain, I saw the lights of a taxi that was on duty and libre. I was determined to get this taxi. I jumped into the street with my hands up and practically heaved myself in front of the moving vehicle. He stopped. Victory. We all climbed in soaking wet and were beyond grateful that we were the chosen ones to get picked up. Getting a taxi in Paris is truly the survival of the fittest. Once nestled in, Angelo mentioned that he was hungry and wanted to know if there were any place to get a crêpe at this hour, like in New York, where all of the pizza places are jam packed with hungry, drunk partyers. It was my first few months in Paris so I didn't know any place and it didn't help that we were getting deeper into the residential 14th arrondisement. "Angelo speaks French." Josephine randomly announced with a laugh. "Yeah?" I asked, intrigued but also knowing that he was going to pull my chain. "Go ahead, show Ella how you speak French." she encouraged Angelo while nudging him. With a thick faux-French accent he said "Le crêpe...ehhh. Le store...ehhh. Le hotdog...ehhh". Basically, he was speaking in English and grunting for 2 to 3 seconds at the end. Out of all of my cousins, Angelo is the quietest and he generally keeps to himself. When we were kids I thought he was mute, so hearing him laugh, joke and offer his take of the French accent was not only amusing but I appreciated him comedic self expression. The cab driver didn't seem to share my sentiments and was peering at me through the mirror during Angelo's 'French lesson'. I ignored him, we were having fun.
Being provoked by Josephine and I, Angelo was forced to say crêpe (ehhh) and anything else that we pointed to. "What's that?" Josephine would ask him while pointing at her bag. "Le purse...ehhh" he'd say while rubbing his hands together. The cab driver pulled over in front a cafe in front of Montparnasse. At first we were confused, but realized that he must have heard our early conversation that we were hungry and stopped for us. Since it was getting later and the cafe looked like it was closing, we opted to skipping our late night snack and to just go home. "Oh no, it's ok. We'll just go to La Motte Picquet and after, drop them off at the hotel, please." I said politely and quickly added "But thank you." I translated for Josephine and Angelo that I had declined getting something to eat and that we'd all just go home. "Yeah, its ok. We'll eat tomorrow." Angelo said while nodding to Josephine. Before I could reiterate what we had said, I heard "Descendez! Descendez!" from the cab driver. Descendez? I thought to myself. Only speaking French for 2 months at this point, I had to break down what he was trying to say. Ok, Descendez, the infinitive would be descendre which is in the third verb group which means. "Sortez! Sortez!" he screamed louder with his finger pointing to the door. Oh, ok. "I know what that means!" Angelo said as Josephine was fumbling to get the door opened. I tried to plead with him that we were only kidding, we were sorry and that we were making fun of Angelo, which was the truth. He pulled out his cell phone and threatened to call the police. Call the police? Could we get arrested for speaking fake French? We weren't about to find out and the three of us stumbled out of the cab and were back on the street. The cabbie yelled back at us because we forgot our umbrella and as he was handing the umbrella by accident Angelo shut the door on his hand. The chances of getting back into his cab were not completely dead. "Putain de touristes!" he shouted with a pumped fist and sped off into the night. We were back to square one. "What happened?" Angelo asked. "I don't know, I think he thought we were making fun of him." I said while hopelessly looking for another cab. "Angelo! What if you were in a cab in New York and someone kept saying pizza, pizza, pizza in a fake New York accent?!" Josephine while holding her stomach from laughing so hard. The three of us were far from our destination, in the middle of November, soaking wet, drunk and laughing our asses off.
That was almost 2 years ago and it was one an unforgettable memory with them. I hope I will be able to have those moments with them again. Doubtful, because they will be in another category now and the single girl is looked upon with that annoying tilted head look of concern that I'll 'find someone'. The veil drama doesn't help either. Regardless of what has happened or what misunderstanding has taken place, I wish them a beautiful wedding tomorrow.
Le Bar 10
10 rue de Odéon
75006, Paris
La Palette
43, rue de Seine
75006, Paris