Fighting to Become a Regular

My first week of school has already come and gone and with its passing I have been left with fun anecdotes and memories, excitement for my classes to really begin, and the feeling that I’m not in Kansas anymore.

            Everyday here is something new: classes, teachers, different foods to try, different train lines, people etc. I sometimes feel like I’m living in a screenplay. The school week came to a close with a project due on Friday. It has been difficult getting back into school mode after such a great summer, but alas, reality waits for no one. To celebrate the close of our first week, we went back to the bar (Long Hop) that we went to last Friday. With its infusion of dancing and pub atmosphere, we decided this would be the bar we become regular (alcoholics) at. After drunkenly getting lost on the way and wandering around with no direction for roughly an hour, we finally arrived at the bar to find it even livelier than last Friday. Going out in Paris has been an experience because you never know what sort of characters you’ll run into. It seems for me, every person I talk to comes from a different country. Combine this with not being able to understand accents well, and you’re in for one hell of a night. After free rounds of shots, experimenting with new beers and hours of being out, we looked for a cab to take us home… little did we know this would be the highlight of the night.

            After wandering around in the brisk early morning air for about a half hour fruitlessly searching for a cab, we came across an interesting little guy who looked like a flunky in some sad Parisian gang. With his teardrop/cross tattoo combo in the outer corner of his eye, one could assume he has killed someone (or at least wanted it to appear that way). Nonetheless, I was not planning on standing down to some bastard who thinks it’s okay to be a disgusting creep to slightly intoxicated girls. After being grabbed by the greasy jerk, I fixed him with a withering stare and ripped him a new one with a few choice words. Never have I come closer to using my mace or physically bashing a person into the ground. Fortunately, the boys we were with were able to get him to back off and leave us the hell alone. Shortly after, we found a cab and made it home safely.

            Needless to say, the next day we slept in pretty late and spent the day hanging out and going grocery and clothes shopping. Getting to know our area of Paris (St. Germain) has been lovely. The area is so beautiful and regal looking, I feel like I have stepped into a painting. We have several markets around our dormitory that sell freshly baked baguettes and croissants (Parisian staples), fresh fruit, cheeses, and a wide array of wines. In addition, we are never more than a few doors away from a bakery where we can get cold sandwiches, paninis, desserts, and pastries. The shopping here is never ending, and the city is abundant with stores for every kind of shopper. There are a few good consignment and vintage shops nearby, shoe stores, fast-fashion empires like H&M and Zara, and independently owned boutiques and small chain stores everywhere. Although retail space is everywhere, nowhere in the area seems too built-up or tacky. Everything seems to fit, creating an aesthetically perfect neighborhood.

            That night we were planning on going out to an Australian bar called Café Oz. After much confusion and disarray that comes with going out in a group of roughly 15, we ended up at two bars in the area. The first had a more rugged look with exposed brick, dark lighting, stone staircases and a dungeon style basement for dancing and bartenders dressed as naughty boy scouts. A few beers in, a friend and I headed downstairs to the dance room where we let loose. Eventually we ended up dancing on the raised platform, clearly fitting the profile of “those American tourists”. With this, we seemed to attract some attention- some creepy and some good. I’m sure you have been to a bar before and can imagine what creepy attention can look like, so I’ll refrain from being redundant to what you already know. The good, however came from a guy in the corner of the bar, pretending not to notice me. In fact, every time I looked over at him, he looked away thinking I hadn’t noticed. Being myself, I never shy away from a situation that has the potential to be an awkward train wreck, so I jumped down and headed over to meet this guy who thought he was being discrete. After introducing myself, I learned he was in the French military (and then I noticed the muscles), and had nothing but nice things to say about America’s men in uniform (this means extra points, right?). After running into him again later, I felt even better about meeting him after he told me to let him now if anyone in the bar bothers me because he would take care of it. There’s nothing like a man in uniform to save the day. I’ve always known Disney was telling the truth.

 A few hours into the night we headed over to the second bar across the street. It could not have been more different from the first. The whole bar was white with bright colored lights. The bartenders lit fire on the bar and mixed colored drinks. On a more disgusting note that sealed the deal for my disliking this establishment, the bathrooms were flooded with a centimeter of water and the stalls had no toilet paper or locks. They seriously needed to get their priorities in line. After a short stay, a beer and too many uncomfortable encounters, four of us headed to our final spot. We closed this place down, dancing until the early hours of the morning and enjoying the friends we met along the way. By the time we got home it was 6 A.M. and we were ready for bed and the blessing of being able to sleep through half of our Sunday.