I Speak English... Wall Street English!
I’ve decided to devote an entire blog post to the metro, since it’s such a huge part of Paris. First of all, let me remind you that I pretty much love all forms of transportation. I love being driven somewhere, whether it’s a friend driving me or the shuttle buses at school or an airplane or whatever. It relaxes me, kinda like how some babies calm down when they go for car rides.
So naturally, at first I LOVED the metro here. I ride it at least four times a day, and I’d just sit in one of the little seats and unwind and people-watch. Then I discovered that if you make eye contact with a Frenchman, even by accident, he thinks you want to talk to him. Then he annoys you. Then he follows you.
So ok, no more people-watching. Got it. I’ve taken a page out of the Frenchwomen’s book and started bringing reading material on the metro (pun intended) so that I can avoid eye contact.
Yesterday, there was a metro strike. The metros stay open until 1 a.m., but French people stay out way later than that much of the time, so there is a lot of pressure for the people who run the metros to keep them open till 2 a.m. Well, the train operators do NOT like that idea, so they refused to work yesterday between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. But after 4 p.m. I guess they felt guilty, so the metro was free. Doesn’t matter to me, because I have a month pass and I can ride it whenever I want.
Well, apparently that mattered to some people though, and everyone was packed into the cars like sardines. STANDING. I was riding with two friends, and we all had these horrified looks on our faces when we got out of the metro. Finally one of the girls asked, “Did you just, like, get molested in there?” Both the other girl and I said, “YES!” Let me put it this way: Frenchmen like to touch, and crowded metro cars seem to give them an excuse to do that. Of course, I won’t be riding the metro again when it’s that full. I’d rather walk two hours than subject myself to that kind of torture.
This morning I was taking my usual metro route to school (Ligne 9, direction Mairie de Montreuil; Ligne 10, direction Gare D’Austerlitz; Ligne 6, direction Nation; Ligne 13 Chatillon – Montrouge), and I realized I had left my book at home. I started reading the posters on the car walls to avoid looking at people. There was this one HUGE POSTER that—and maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve laughed really hard—but it cracked me UP.
It was an advertisement for some school that teaches French people English. The line at the top said “Parlez-vous Anglais?” [Do you speak English?] And then underneath that was this picture of this grody-looking, greasy, slicked-back, tight jeans-wearing Frenchman throwing the thumbs up, and there was a word bubble right beside him that read “I Speak English… Wall Street English!”
Hahahahahahaha!
Kate
So naturally, at first I LOVED the metro here. I ride it at least four times a day, and I’d just sit in one of the little seats and unwind and people-watch. Then I discovered that if you make eye contact with a Frenchman, even by accident, he thinks you want to talk to him. Then he annoys you. Then he follows you.
So ok, no more people-watching. Got it. I’ve taken a page out of the Frenchwomen’s book and started bringing reading material on the metro (pun intended) so that I can avoid eye contact.
Yesterday, there was a metro strike. The metros stay open until 1 a.m., but French people stay out way later than that much of the time, so there is a lot of pressure for the people who run the metros to keep them open till 2 a.m. Well, the train operators do NOT like that idea, so they refused to work yesterday between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. But after 4 p.m. I guess they felt guilty, so the metro was free. Doesn’t matter to me, because I have a month pass and I can ride it whenever I want.
Well, apparently that mattered to some people though, and everyone was packed into the cars like sardines. STANDING. I was riding with two friends, and we all had these horrified looks on our faces when we got out of the metro. Finally one of the girls asked, “Did you just, like, get molested in there?” Both the other girl and I said, “YES!” Let me put it this way: Frenchmen like to touch, and crowded metro cars seem to give them an excuse to do that. Of course, I won’t be riding the metro again when it’s that full. I’d rather walk two hours than subject myself to that kind of torture.
This morning I was taking my usual metro route to school (Ligne 9, direction Mairie de Montreuil; Ligne 10, direction Gare D’Austerlitz; Ligne 6, direction Nation; Ligne 13 Chatillon – Montrouge), and I realized I had left my book at home. I started reading the posters on the car walls to avoid looking at people. There was this one HUGE POSTER that—and maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve laughed really hard—but it cracked me UP.
It was an advertisement for some school that teaches French people English. The line at the top said “Parlez-vous Anglais?” [Do you speak English?] And then underneath that was this picture of this grody-looking, greasy, slicked-back, tight jeans-wearing Frenchman throwing the thumbs up, and there was a word bubble right beside him that read “I Speak English… Wall Street English!”
Hahahahahahaha!
Kate
posted by Katie | 8:01 AM
1 Comments:
Sounds like the Fonz
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