Yesterday was awful, just awful. I woke up and in typical fashion, put the kettle on to make my powdered Nescafe, opened a packet of Belle France pain au chocolat which I mindlessly shoved in my mouth while my laptop booted up. Ok, good start.
Upon opening my gmail I received a response to the e-mail I sent the night before to my cousin Vinny explaining that I was unable to make it to his wedding because something unexpected had come up which would only give me a window of 24 hours to go to New York and back, therefore with deep regrets could not make the wedding. And because I fly stand-by, the flights for Saturday are oversold where I'd spend the day at Charles de Gaulle just to return back to my apartment after getting beat up by the gate agents at CDG. We all remember what happened the last time. The original plan was for me to leave last Monday where I'd have enough time to smooth out stand-by hiccups before Saturday's wedding and to stay in New York for 2 weeks but unfortunately, life happened and I was unable to follow the plan. I'm devastated that I have to miss the wedding of my favorite cousin who has always been there for me and to his fiancée Carmella who has been in our family for 10 years and whom I absolutely adore. This is a hard event for me to miss. Assuming that he was of course going to be dissapointed but understanding that my cancellation is completely out of control, I received his unexpected reaction.
He told me that he was shocked and that he needs to digest my actions eluding to the fact that I was being selfish. Selfish.
I'm selfish? I have to say something that I have been holding in. Who in my family (besides my amazing mother) called me after I was robbed? I got more support from the readers of my blog than my own flesh and blood. My brother couldn't be bothered and my grandmother accused me of not thinking things through. Not exactly helpful words as I was standing in my trashed apartment robbed of the things that I worked hard for. Not to mention hurtful. So here it is, once again, I am the bad guy for letting my trivial Paris life get in the way of my family life. And while we're on the topic, what is it about weddings that makes people so irrational? This isn't the first time I've witnessed pre-wedding madness where the couple becomes socially inept aliens unable to comprehend anything outside their realm of 'me'. It's like something switches during the planning where they become total weirdos. I'm under the impression that New York wedding are exclusively insane because whenever I vent to my friends from the mid-west they haven't the foggiest idea of what I'm talking about.
Feeling absolutely deflated by the e-mail, I went to the least compassionate place in the world. The Paris Métro. When I got on at Hôtel de Ville, the train was fairly empty where I could sit down comfortably on the fold down chairs without offending the commuters. Engulfed in my book, I didn't notice that with each stop more and more passengers were getting on where métro ettiquette is to stand up against the folded chairs to allow more standing room; an unspoken rule that I respect and always comply with. This morning, with there being more than enough standing room, my tampon needing a changing and a horrible case of the cramps, I chose to stay seated.
A man who was standing approximately 4 feet in front of me where there was enough room to fit two moderate sized people looked at me sitting with disgust and said "Mademoiselle! Levez-vous! Levez-vous, putain!". He was demanding that I stand up. Startled by his aggression, I immediately rose to my feet. After a minute, I realized that my standing added no more comfort to the train and in fact did nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was still a wide space between me, him and the other passengers in my vicinity. Again, enough to fit two moderate sized people. I looked at him and said meekly "Excusez-moi mais cela ne fait aucune différence." pointing out that it didn't matter if I stood or sat. Fuck this guy.
Well the shit hit the fan when I sat back down and he looked down and saw that I was reading a book in English. 'En plus!' he announced, 'Elle est anglaise, américaine, n'importe quoi! Elle connait rien!' Announcing to the train that I am an anglo who knows nothing where everyone looked at me like I was a piece of merde. Mortified, I read the same sentence over and over in my book not able to concentrate and debating whether I should get off at George V and pass through my new enemies or take the train to the last stop, La Défense and blend in with everyone else getting off. Being that I was already running late, I sheepishly inched through the crowd of people to the sliding doors where I felt the heavy stares of repugnance. "Pute américaine!" he shouted as the doors were closing. Isn't being called a selfish, ignorant, American whore what everyone wants to be called before 9:30 on a Wednesday morning?
Walking into work (where I'm temping just for the week), there were fresh flowers waiting for me on my desk. Don't get too excited, they were delivered for the office and needed to be sorted, cut and arranged. By me. Normally we get tulips, sunflowers and other innocuous arrangements but today, we got roses with thorns that stabbed me as I was trying to make them look their most beautiful. Kendra, my co-worker walked in cheerful and radiant as always and upon seeing her, I just broke down and started crying with the a bunch of baby's breath in my hand that I started beating on the counter. "Today sucks!" I squealed. She reached out to save the innocent baby's breath who were mere bystanders in my fit of panic. "It's only 10am, what could have possibly happened already?!" she asked with shocked concern.
She comforted me saying that we can't please everyone back at home and can't make every event, that people in the métro are crazy and yes, roses do in fact have thorns. It was simple but so clear. I did feel better and tried to carry on with that ration for the rest of the day. If only my period tainted hormones would allow such progressive thinking. My boss, 'Tom Hanks' stormed in and saw the chick fest happening in the kitchen and made a quick escape on his heels. "Don't think I don't know what's going on around here. I've seen the bathroom garbage!" he said retreating back into the safety of his office. Him referring to the entire office having their period and the over flow of menstrual paraphernalia in the garbage.
On my way home, after Séb had to cancel last minute our movie date because of a work meeting, I trucked back to the métro and standing at the turnstile, realized that I had left my wallet at the office which is not terribly close to the station. Ok. I went back to get it and was almost tempted to stop into my favorite brasserie in the area to see Sylvie for a glass of wine but opted to just go home. I needed to remove myself from society.
Because of the RER strike, métro line 1 was packed and I let two trains pass before boarding my worn out myself into a steamy and stuffed train. I was shoved between a man who was coughing and only half covering his mouth where I felt the stale, warmth of his breath on my cheek and a teenager behind me who was practicing his English by reading my book out loud. In my ear. I hate teenagers. Throughout the ride, I felt a sharp poking on my leg to learn once I was free from métro hell that it was someone's pen poking out of their bag and drawing on my brand new Monoprix dove grey tights. There are now pen lines all over the left leg.
I walked into my apartment that thank god wasn't burnt down (why not? It's just that kind of day.) and pulled out my emergency bottle of Bourdeaux, drew a steaming hot bath and sat in the tub for an hour with the bottle set on the floor next to me.
These days happen and being in Paris certainly doesn't make them more glamorous in fact, they're worse where everything seems like its working against you. I guess shit days exist to make the good ones shine. Here's hoping to a better tomorrow.
