Elles sont difficiles

When I got the Navigo pass and started to take the metro to work my colleagues told me I have become a true Parisian. Seldom did I know what it means being a true Parisian  until I spent my precious mornings and tired evenings on Ligne 1 and Ligne 5 escaping women who turn into bulldozers and their handbags that fly around like shrapnel.

If one were to dismantle and translate La Chapelle from French to English it would read "the chap and her". One evening on Line 2 towards La Chapelle, a woman boarded the last compartment at Place de Clichy and the train wasn’t that crowded. In the subsequent stops more people boarded and she and her Louis Vuitton bag gravitated towards me like an asteroid from outer space. I moved around from being touched by the vulgar brand hanging from her shoulder, but I couldn't escape. My yelping “Pardon…pardon” went deaf. Not sure if it was a real Louis Vuitton or a knock-off sold at Sacre Coeur, but I decided to leave my chewing gum on her bag that touched me without my permission. She must have discovered later that evening the punishment for crushing me with her handbag.

My morning ritual of hopping from Ligne 5 onto Ligne 1 at Bastille always brought in some surprises. I am not usually lucky every morning to find a seat for the 12 stop ride to Charles de Gaulle Etoile, but some days I do. The daily horoscope on Le Parisian, a leading French daily didn't say anything ominous. Just as I thanked small mercies for the on-time train and a seat by the door, a super sized woman squeezed herself in the seat next to me and strangled my soul. I realized this could be the modern day upgrade to electric chair and decided to find another seat across from her. I felt like a poor taxing paying citizen squeezed by the gluttonous government. Not sure if you should term my self-defense as being rude, but all through the journey she kept staring at me. As I got ready to disembark the women flipped her handbag that carried a message “Shopping for Love”. Not sure if her stare and the message on the handbag was intended for me, but as a parting gift I winked at her when I disembarked.

By surviving dog shitmines (like landmines) on the sidewalk, rudeness on the metro, super-sized handbags and women one becomes a true Parisian. So next time when someone showers this compliment on you, beware of what is behind it.

These days when I board the metro I stay around men so that I don't have to deal with the handbags and women crushes (pun intended)!

Come back soon for more Paris chronicles.