A rude Frenchman? Well I never...

As if living in this city wasn’t stressful enough, man this week was a dilly of a pickle. To begin with, classes are not really going so well, and I’m not sure if it’s the language barrier or the subject matter involved, but I feel like I’m failing all of them. We are told that the students in the university system are taught that they are extremely stupid, so its working, maybe? I still haven’t figured out the grading system at all. Some of the professors I really like though, there’s this one Sophie Fesjian, who comes in late to class every day, puts down her notes, goes outside to smoke a cigarette, and comes back in to class to teach. She’s a total badass, and I love her for it. But yeah, I feel like I’m failing. And it’s so weird, because every day, so matter how much I prepare for each class, I still feel like I have no idea what’s going on sometimes. So this week:

Monday: I am standing in line at Monoprix with my groceries, and this man comes up to me and asks me if he can cut in line, because there was only one person à la caisse, register, so I’m not in a hurry, so why not? He says to me a moment later, “Parlez-vous anglais?”
“Oui, monsieur”
“Oh, je peux savoir par votre visage, il me dit que vous parlez anglais” (Oh, I can tell by your face that you speak English.”)

What the hell? My face? I struck up a conversation with an old lady behind me who said that he didn’t mean anything because everyone studies English. Still, my face? Yeah, I can tell by your face that you’re an asshole buddy. How about I take you outside, and slap you with my asparagus? No, I didn’t say that because:
1. Violence is wrong, children.
2. I don’t want to start an international incident.
3. I’m overreacting.
4. That asparagus I got was delicious (I got it with some tornados, small steaks, and had them with some croutons, and it was one of those times where you are like, “Oh my god, I can’t I made this, this is so good”.) and using it my primary weapon would have been a waste of good food.

And so I left it at that.

Tuesday: It was my desire in the first place to do something musical here. The orchestra was impossible to get into, so I joined a choir (many of you are rolling your eyes, don’t think I can’t see you because I’m on another continent). I showed up, I got my music, was able to do most of it because it was what I had learned in sight singing class. But on one particular incident, I got lost. It doesn’t help that I am one of four tenors. Le professeur called on me, to sing something, and I explained that I was lost. He said, “Quelle nationalité êtes-vous”?
“Américain”.
The look on his face: priceless. Disgust, contempt, arrogance; all of which rolled into a Frenchman. Oh yes, it gets better. Later he was demonstrating how to sing, with your belly and chest out and some muscles contracted. I wasn’t really paying attention; I was looking at the music. He says, “Its very easy for Americans to do because they are so fat, isn’t that right monsieur Américain”? Looking right at me, I didn’t know what to say.
“Oui, monsieur”
“You see, he doesn’t really know what’s going on”.
Everybody laughs. I laugh. I laugh while gritting my teeth, my face a boiling red, and saying, “motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker…”
And yes, I am going back next week. I’ll take all the abuse he gives me, as long as he lets me sing. Whatever, its an excuse to meet French people. Also, I feel like if I make him acknowledge me as a human being, and not just an American, I will have accomplished something here.
C’est la vie…c’est ma vie jusqu’à là ici à Paris…