Friday afternoon, reflecting on my 9am. RER train ride from Paris to Chelles-Gournay:
Whoever said that a little white lie isnt at times beneficial slash necessary is well, basically, full of crap. This morning, while on my way to my sorry excuse for Friday work, thanking the lord my first two classes were cancelled and thinking maybe, just maybe, that I am the luckiest gal dans la monde. And yes, sometimes it only takes 2 hours of extra sleep to reach this state of hyper-optimism. But alas, about 1.5 seconds after I sit myself into a comfy, warm spot on the nearly deserted train, I was spotted, of course, by a creep. And let me remind you, that I may not speak fluent French, but creep I speak better than English. So, I knew immediately.
It started innocently enough I guess, with the typical, "Bonjour Mademoiselle", which is where I should have immediately corrected him to say, "Madame." Ok, you live, you learn. Of course after the first word left my mouth, the conversation, as usual, is given more fuel since I am clearly not French. After a bit of back and forth, I thought I gave off the clear message that I was so not interested. I mean I pushed my earphones in deeper, stuck my nose further in my book, and gave 1 word answers. What else does a girl have to do to give off the "Don't Talk to Me, its a Fuckin Friday Morning" vibe? But this guy is ruthless, and keeps truckin. I would rate his creepiness around a 15.1 on the rictor, so I started mentally perusing my purse for usable weapons. Chapstick, french health magazine, well the apple might do, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to eat that later...
Ahhh, ok, pay attention. What the F does this guy want? Well, I know what, but that just ain't happening. So he asks if I have a boyfriend, and I don't even let him finish when I white lie, "Oui! C'est tres serieux!"
He keeps interrogating with a smile, "Girlfriend or Boyfriend?"
What I was thinking: " It doesn't flippin matter, because either way I wouldnt touch you with a 10 foot pole that someone else was holding, mister creepy McCreepster, creep, creep, creep."
Real Answer: "Boyfriend."
Next question: "Well, how long have you been dating for?"
What I was thinking: "There is no boyfriend. And thank you sir, because I won't be able to think about men for approximately one decade or until your image has been completely erased from my memory. Now go away. Its early and should be the only creepster occupying this train car."
Real Answer: 15 glorious years.
He then proceeds to tell me that he is patrolling this train for potential girlfriends. Say What?? Yes, he is in search of a new "petite amie" and thought the best place to start was the 9am train to a Paris suburb. Huh. So he finally excuses himself, realizing he is getting nowhere and of course, seeing that I am reaching for my apple of a weapon to launch at his head. He continues on, throughout the different cars, returns back when a few more people had made their way onto my train car, stops and glances at a new lady figure for an overly awkward 30 seconds, and continues on, seemingly unimpressed. Umm, I am suppose to take that as a compliment? Well, I don't.
Ok, so maybe Im giving this guy too bad of a time. I mean, I have to give him props for originality. Using the RER train as an economical stand-in for a speed dating event...hmmm...creative? But, o mon dieu, maybe I was better off not having classes cancelled. But, again, I revisit the thought that I am the luckiest girl in all the world...heck, I didn't even have to use my apple.