Thursday, April 1, 2010

A Horrendous Metro Experience.

Disclaimer: this post does not follow chronological order. Sorry if that messes with your head.

On my way back from Barcelona two nights ago, I finally make it to the metro that will take me blissfully to my own bed. Upon boarding, and one stop into my train ride however, I find myself turning up the volume on my iPod speakers to full blast in an effort to drown out the disorderly and belligerent older drunken man on the train, sitting one row up and diagonally from me. Two stops later, but unfortunately for me still two stops away from my house, this man begins to yell louder - at me. I do not exaggerate here.

No one in France speaks much louder than an 'inside voice'; even when on the metro rumbling through a tunnel and screeching to a deafening halt. Thus, pitifully, every head in the metro car turns to stare at this man and I. He berates me in French for the next hellish minutes about what a princess I am, and how I should be doing more for him and his people. Then he proceeds to get in my face asking for money. And when another man comes aboard to sell sudoku books and magazines for his living [someone I usually contribute to helping out], the drunken man yells at me to buy books from this man.

You can imagine how red my face was at this point. Amanda Snyder can testify that for some reason, I now blush frequently. This blush is a result of humiliation as well as rage. Why out of the 30-some odd people in our train car decide that I am a princess? Especially when the girl four rows down is sporting designer everything?

I am forced to conclude that this is a God-sent experience. The whole time this man is yelling at me, I pray fervently - what should I do? What should I say? Where should I look - do I give this man eye contact and hopefully some assurance of dignity? Do I do nothing at all so as not to incite further blame? Do I know enough French to be a witness in this situation? Do I seek out the strapping young man to come to my rescue? [Oh wait, chivalry is dead in Paris...]

I went with the do-nothing-because-I-am-scared option. It ended uneventfully; someone else gave him some coins, and he exited the train before my stop.

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