Any Place Is Paradise Until There Are No Taxis

Finally a break! We got out of classes today at 4:15 and don’t have another until 1:00 tomorrow. Of course, that means class until 7:45, but it’s wine class so evening is as good a time as any I guess. I am over the exhaustion of last Thursday, but I decided to really delve into the pit of fatigue despair before sleeping it all away like a bad dream.

On Friday night, I met a group of classmates for dinner in Paris and then joined a few of them at a discothèque called Showcase, which is under the Pont Alexandre III. I should have known better, but I’m really trying my best to socialize, so a-clubbing we shall go! Despite the impressive location on the Seine, the club crowd was rather unimpressive in the way of fun. The drinks were even more unimpressive in the way of actual liquor, which would have helped me ignore the crowd’s general age of 23.

Anyway, I had a fun time talking to the people from school and the club itself was pretty cool. I really did feel like I was under the bridge, and you can see the Seine from huge openings in the side of the building. I think the club, however, thinks it’s way more awesome than it really is.

When I walked up to the bouncer (after waiting in line – and you know how much I hate that!), I said “Bonsoir!” I got a “bonsoir” back and then a “well, what the hell do you want?” look. Fortunately, my classmate Gabby stepped in and said that we were 6 people. I’m sorry, since when do we not ask questions when we’d like information? Are French night clubbers all telepathic?

We were then told to stand in a line. We were then scrutinized. A lady was called. She looked us up and down. “Are they okay in the face?” She said “oui,” but she wasn’t very convincing. Gabby said it was because our friend Nond’s friend, Pun, had “that pirate thing on his head,” but I thought Pun looked better than 75% of the guys in the club. Whatever. We were a good looking group.

Midnight’s approach prompted the “how are we going to get home?” discussion. This discussion is boring and never ends on a good note, unless you are with Ainsley and she comes up with brilliant plans like staying in nearby hotels. The last train back to Cergy leaves Paris at 12:45 a.m. The next train leaves at 5:35 a.m. Ergo, there is a 5-hour window of this trainless lassitude that requires you stay in Paris and would be wonderfully romantic on an exceptional first date, but is just problematic when you are out just for the sake of being out. But, I speak from experience. I was not so wise on Friday.

Train? No train? Train? Bus? No, not bus. Train? No, wait, taxi! Yes! The idea hatched from a New Yorker in the group, and I obviously thought it was the best option. In New York on any given night, apart from New Year’s Eve and very rainy, snowy or freezing nights, one simply has to step outside and lift an arm to hail a taxi. Lift arm. Taxi appears. Of course, it’s not always that easy. Sometimes the process requires waving, whistling, yelling, exhibiting some leg, yelling at other taxi hailers, fighting off perceived taxi stealers and everything short of (yet sometimes including) throwing yourself in front of the taxi.

My point is this: in New York there are taxis that you can hail at any time at any place. These taxis, once hailed, will take you home.

Although I have several extraordinary taxi-hailing memories that include images of my friend Liz leaping across icy streets in heels, me banging a metal bowl against a lamp post on the FDR and the like, I don’t think it ever took me more than 40 minutes to get a cab. Even in Greenwich Village on Saturday at 2:00 in the morning in the rain.

So, yes, we will take a taxi. Around 2:00 a.m., a group of us decided that we wanted to go home. Time to get the taxi! I was aware that Paris does not allow the free-for-all taxi hailing of which New York is so fond, but I also knew that taxi stands were prevalent on the Champs-Elysees. We walked to a taxi stand and waited. And we waited. And waited. In 35 minutes, I think we saw one taxi stop. There were millions of taxis. Taxis, taxis, everywhere, but not a one to stop! It appeared that every night owl and dog in Paris had hailed a taxi from some other magical “Stop Here!” taxi stand.

We walked to another stand. Then we hobbled to another. One of the, how shall I say, “less together” members of the group kept walking to and fro across the street. I swear, I thought I was going to be scraping her off of the Champs-Elysees before dawn. Around 3:45, we decided to call it quits, stop for pizza, and wait for the 5:35 train.

Not cool. This is not my scene. I’m not a “let’s watch the sunrise type of person.” No one looks good after midnight, much less after 5:00 a.m. And I, for one, am not so pleasant for lack of sleep leads to crankiness. Because of this fact, I made the smart decision to talk less and less as the early morning marched on.

Pizza came and went and our little troop wandered back out into the streets. Finally, by some miracle, the New Yorker (or the other New Yorker, since I can now count myself as at least New Yorkie), found a taxi hot spot and hailed one down. By this time, 4:55, I had declared Paris “every man for himself” land so I Frogger-ed it across the street and jumped in . . . to blaring Elvis. Seriously, I entered a tiny mobile Las Vegas. At 5:00 in the morning. It took “Suspicious Eyes,” “You’re the Devil in Disguise,” “A Little Less Conversation,” a few other hits I don’t remember and a Shakira song to get us home. I’m still singing “Whenever, Wherever” in my head.

Having flown into bed at about 5:35, I was fairly worthless until Sunday. Since France closes on Sunday, I had to amuse myself with about 6 hours of Financial Accounting homework. After one class, I realized that Ainsley gave me the best business school advice yet when she told me to stay on top of the reading and do the homework. I think I might be a little numbers nerd at heart because I actually like the class. Oh, how I could have managed lemonade stands, LifeSavers, Inc., and Dixie Darlings with such financial wizardry, if only I had taken this class earlier! Come the mid-term next week, however, I might not be so happy about it.

I also started gemmology classes, which I was really excited about on Monday morning. Not so much anymore. We’ve had two classes and I’m still not entirely sure what a) the purpose of the class is and b) what information I am supposed to retain. I don’t take kindly to people who discount emeralds as “crap” and praise moonstone, so perhaps the first teacher just turned me off a bit. I think you are allowed to like any type of stone no matter what. Our teacher today was better, but she talked mostly about the diamond industry – flashback to 47th Street. For some reason, a lot of people in the class had very specific questions about insuring gemstones. Yawn. The teacher is also an expert on antique jewelry so I think Thursday’s lesson will be more interesting. Regardless, I’m thinking about asking her to talk to me about the jewelry trade industry in Paris because I don’t know much about it.

Other than attending class, I have agreed to help plan our January field trip to NYC. Dorrian’s here we come! Just kidding, but I really hope I didn’t need to clarify that I was joking. My French/Luxembourgish friend is teaching me more French in exchange for Southern dialect tidbits. So far, I have given her “y’all,” “conniption fit,” and “cattywhompus.” Actually, I am slowly converting the entire class into y’all-users. Whenever I say “y’all,” no one understands what I am saying. Rather than omit such a phenomenal word from my vocabulary, I decided to enlighten my international class. Feel free to send me other Southern words when they come to you. I don’t want to run out before I become fluent in French.

Thinking about New York, yesterday was the first day I really and truly missed it since June. Maybe it was a reminder of today, but I wanted nothing more than to be in the city running around and doing all of the things I used to do. So if you are in New York today, tell it that you love it (even if you don’t feel like it) because one day you might be gone and you’ll regret not appreciating all of the everyday wonderfulness it offers – like taxis.