(an article I recovered from the post-apocalyptic, technical mess!)
Sophomore year, 15-16 years old, in Paris with my class.
We had all been just settled a day in our quaint, 2-star hotel (or motel?) and set out to a small town within the city… cobbled streets, open fish and vegetable markets, and exchanges of “‘Bonjour!’ ‘Good Day!’ ‘How is your family!’” All very small provincial town-like sans Belle and singing bakers. Our sexy British tour guide led us into an Americanized restaurant tucked behind said farmer’s market and let us decide between les haumburgers au fromage or les hot-dogs, all served avec des frites.
With Coke, of course.
Somewhere along the line of ordering (hot dogs for me, if you were curious), one girl decided she needed to visit the ladies’ room. You know how girls get – females go to the bathroom in pairs or a hyena pack. Never alone. The male race accredits it to our need to gossip and share Lip Smackers; that sounds just about right. Anyway, since one girl got up, her friend did too, and you know how the rest goes. I managed to force out a barely comprehensible “Où est les toilettes, monsieur?” – I had been deemed the official translator and spokesperson of the group – and pointed giggly American high school girls towards the toilettes. I trailed behind the pack since the loo was over capacity, and was left outside to stand awkwardly between crowded tables. I managed to smile.
“Excusez-moi mademoiselle.”
I whipped around. A table of three businessmen in tailored suits grinned at me. “Vous êtes très, très belle.”
My 15/16-year-old self was taken aback and slightly creeped.“Uh, merci monsieur.”
“You arrrre Amerrrrican, non?” The rolling r’s sounded borderline leering.
“Oui. Yes.” At least I wasn’t wearing tennis shoes.
“A very pretty one. You are beauuuteeful.” The three men laughed, swigging a sip of their scotch. They were showing off – clearly – their bilingual-ity. The same man continued. “You are Chinese, oui?”
“Yes…oui.“
He smirked and told me he had knack for telling apart Asian ethnicities, but he was blown away by my beauty. He told me I was beautiful. Yet again. This time, in Mandarin Chinese.
This time he was really showing off.
. . .
