Ne touchez jamais les poires.

Another excellent day in Paris has passed.  I had class at 9 this morning, so it was a bit brutal but it went pretty quickly.  We had to take a tour of the library after that, which was tons of fun…?  Once all of that was done with, I decided to run some errands on Rive Droite.  I went to the Galeries Lafayette, which is basically like a Lord & Taylor on crack, and with amazing sales.  Especially this month I hear, which is a gigantic sale month throughout the city.  Every single store front boasts “SOLDES,” which means sales, and almost everything is 40-50% off.  I managed to get a pretty good hair straightener and blow dryer for a good price, and also picked up a nice package of coffee from the Gourmet section (which, by the way, is one of the most beautiful grocery sections I have ever been in…man oh man).  I made it back to the apartment a little while ago, and I’ve been relaxing and waiting to get ready for dinner at a restaurant called “A La Petite Chaise” (translation: ‘the little chair’).  Our program coordinator here in Paris organized it, and all of the BC students in Paris will be going, which totals to about 30 (I think).  It’ll be nice to see everyone!

On a slightly less optimistic/happy note, I finally had my first run-in with three evil Parisians today.  The first was in Galeries Lafayette.  I was looking at hair straighteners, and the one I wanted happened to be missing a label.  I asked the lady next to me, in French, if she knew where a price checker was located, to which she responded with a scowl and stormed away from me down the aisle.  The second was at the pharmacy, who called me impolite because I lacked the vocabulary to “politely” tell him I didn’t need help because I was only looking.

I managed to shrug off the first two, but the last one was simply the straw that broke the camel (aka my) back.  I was almost home and decided to stop by the local produce market to pick up a pear and a banana.  I was looking at the pears, and checking to see which ones were ripe, and the cranky old man who owned the place ran outside and started yelling at me for touching his pears.  From what I could make out in between spittle and angry hand gestures, he told me I was “bruising his pears” and “arranging them differently” and so on and so forth.  I apologized profusely, but he kept right on ranting.  In between shouts, I asked for “un banane,” at which point he started scolding me on my improper grammer (it’s technically “une banane”).  I had had it, and finally told him he would no longer have my business, which is most unfortunate for him since he is located 30 seconds away from my apartment and he would’ve been my go-to man all semester.  Oh well, upon my brother’s recommendation, I’m going to touch his pears and smile evilly every time I walk by with produce from another guy’s stall.

My brother and I also decided that people like the ones I wrote about above should remove their heads from of their asses and instead be mean to the “ugly American” who is rude and makes no effort to learn the language and culture.  I mean at least I’m trying.

Anyways, off I go to use my new European straightener.  Lesson learned today: never touch a man’s pears.

A bientôt!