metro musings: all americans parlent français.

 Brooklyn speaks French?

Ha!

Tell that to the homies on the stoop of my old building.

Anyway, before we get into that, I'm here to report that winter has officially begun here in Paris, and all I have to say is, holy effing brr! Ciao, ciao to those semi-mild (albeit overcast) days, and hello to that biting chill, and the mist/rain that render umbrellas useless making even the shortest walk to the metro seem burdensome. 

Although I'm kick-starting some goals and plans I have prepared for the new year, January has and will always been a month to hibernate and recuperate. Aside from the weather not being terribly inviting, social engagements are also on hiatus in order to recover both physically and financially from the indulgences of the holiday season. A steady diet of champagne, oysters, foie gras and wine from Nicolas wasn't exactly a pauper's feast.

As you can all tell, my only source of interaction with Parisian living outside of my apartment has been on the metro. Yesterday's adventure starred a 30-something year old male teacher who was unmistakeably exhausted by the pack of eight year old students who were currently in his custody.

They all boarded the train at Pyramides, where the children immediately dispersed like marbles spilling out of a bag onto the floor, rolling in different directions. I admired this teacher's projected confidence that his kids were not all contained in one spot of the subway car, as well as his bravery for even taking them on the metro. It was once suggested to me to take my kids on a "little trip" that would have conceivably involved going underground. Without even trying to feign consideration of this absurdity, I refused, and to avoid any conversational paper trail, I abruptly changed the subject. Quel team player, eh? As far as I'm concerned, we have everything we need right where we are: a nearby park, DVD player, markers and glitter. What do we need the metro for? What? To go to another park?

One of the students squeezed past me and took the window seat to my left. The class wise-ass is always pretty easy to spot, but the teacher's knee-jerk reaction to tell little Maxime to behave justified my assumptions. Maxime barely acknowledged this request, and crawled on the floor to pick up a dirty and stepped on Direct Matin - the free metro newspaper offered to early morning commuters. Maxime flipped through the newspaper reading select words and chopped up sentences, displaying to me and everyone around us that he could read. Maxime eventually grew bored of the newspaper and found a new subject to take interest in.

"Madame?" I heard a little voice to my left say. 

I put my book down and turned to find a little pair of blue eyes peering back at me with pale blonde curls that dusted over his eyelids. 

"Oui monsieur," I responded.

Surprised that I had actually responded to him sincerely, for a moment Maxime looked a bit befuddled. Ah ha, he had met his match. I too used to talk to people on the New York City subway expecting them to talk down to me, all while laughing under my breath that the joke was really on them. I was onto his game.

"Oui monsieur?" I starred back at Maxime expectantly, waiting patiently for what he had to say. Nervous, he began flipping through the Direct Matin for content to present to me; his new captive audience.

"What's your sign?" he finally asked as he opened to the horoscopes.

"I'm a Virgo, what about you?" Leaning forward to actually read my horoscope, Maxime then offered that he was a Libra. "I'm a pretty good decision maker." he boasted, and with that he turned away to wistfully look out the window.

Our conversation quickly captured interest as the chatter among the other passengers thinned out, and all eyes were on the musings of my mini friend. The teacher looked over to me concerned that I was being disturbed, and I gave him a reassuring nod that Maxime wasn't doing any harm.

"Did you know that Virgos and Libras make very good friends?" I informed him.

"Bah non!" he contested with a mini French huff and puff, "Virgos are always girls and only girls! C'est pas possible!"

"Well that's not always true."

"Si!" he shouted with clenched fists that he slammed on his lap.

Okay, okay, si! There is and never will be a male Virgo, Maxime. J'ai compris. There was no point in trying to drive my point to an 8 year old. It's like when I tell my students that roosters also say cock-a-doodle doo, they completely flip out screaming that roosters only say cocorico (the French translation to cock-a-doodle-doo), which to me will always sound like an acquired name of strip club owner in Fort Lauderdale. Not that cock-a-doodle-doo is any less sleazy.

Recovering from our heated Virgo debate, Maxime then wanted to know where I was from, surely a question that was ignited by my accent. "I'm from New York which is in the United States." 

Maxime took a second to absorb this information.

"Oh," he said while leaning back all-knowingly, "So that's why you speak French. All Americans speak French." 

Maxime's grand declaration of America's official language got a loud chuckle from the other passengers, including his teacher who was inching closer, possibly suspicious as to why some weird lady was  taking such an interest in one of his students. 

Perhaps Maxime was just speaking to speak, or his assumption came from the fact that most French children watch American films that have been dubbed over in French. Why wouldn't they think that we all speak French? According to these films, Reese Witherspoon drives around Beverly Hills speaking French. Macaulay Culkin gets left behind at his parents house in Chicago while speaking French. And Will Smith, well he saves New York City from aliens...again, in French. It makes me wonder how many other French children think that all Americans speak French?

The inevitable parting between me and Maxime had arrived once we pulled into Gare de L'Est. As I got up to leave, he wished me a bonne journée and waved to me from the window until the train disappeared into the tunnel. 

That afternoon I told my students that they needed to seriously increase their level of cuteness, witty comments and thought-provoking insight because after my trip with Maxime, these little count munchulas have some big shoes to fill.

Per usual, they just back stared at me and said, "quoi?"

What was going on a year ago today?

Getting bashed in the boogie down Bronx, that's what was...