DAY 527 - LE COUP DE PIED

I snapped today and I wish I could say I am sorry...but I'm not.


I live near Saint-Germain-Des-Prés. Also known to me as hell. If it's not the swarm of tourists walking at a snail's pace down a narrow two foot wide sidewalk, then it's the huge amount of flat-out douchebags who live in this area. We've been here almost a year and it is really starting to get to me. Over-dressed, over-perfumed, over-coiffed, over the top ego, over snotty, over self important douchebags. Tons. On every sidewalk and each corner. I have tried every conceivable route to and from my apartment and the metro station but there's just no avoiding them, especially in June when everyone and their mother is outside enjoying the sunshine.

There's a crosswalk near the Saint-Germain-Des-Prés metro station, right by the bus stop. I cross it every day and almost always, the cars do not make any effort to slow down or stop. I usually just wait for them to pass but today, I did not wait. I don't know why. I guess I didn't really care. I had just come from Savate class where I insisted the teacher let me practice my punches on him for an extra 30 minutes. I had my usual rolling cart in tow with me and I felt good. Annoyed. Crabby. Motivated. The norm.

I saw a car coming but I stepped into the crosswalk anyway. F that. YOU slow down. The car proceeded to miss me by a hair's breadth and as it went past, inches from running me down, I did something I always WANT to but never ACTUALLY do. I kicked the car as hard as I could and yelled "PUTAIN SALOOOOPE!", let go of my cart and flipped the driver an over the head, two arms raised in glory position double bird. I may as well have had a slow-mo 360 degree camera pan around me while the orchestra plays the theme to Rocky.
It felt THAAAAT good.

But then the car stopped and backed up.
Um.....oops.
Now, I would normally NEVER in a million years kick a car in NY and proceed to call it a fucking bitch, much less scream it at the top of my lungs in the middle of a crosswalk. But those are the only two curse words I know and.....I dunno, I'm a foreigner in France losing her mind so somehow it seemed appropriate.

I half thought about running away but there were onlookers and I didn't want to seem like the jackass trying to flee the scene with a rolling cart in tow, tripping over cobblestone roads. I mean, what would the tourists think? Really. As I got to the sidewalk, he was already backed right up to where I stood, hanging out his window and yelling his head off at me. Just as I thought....an over coiffed dude in a fancy car with stupid sunglasses and a face just BEGGING for a swirly.

My fear subsided. I don't even need to run because this jackoff is clearly never going to actually get out of his fancy car, plus he's going to be blocking traffic in about two seconds. Yell away, doucheface. Be my guest. I tried for a second to understand what he was saying but I couldn't make anything out. And as I had already exhausted the extent of my French insults, what's the point anyway?

Then it happened. The flash of light where the witty comeback just appears so clearly in the moment, instead of after the fact. Smiling, I put my hands defiantly on my hips and yelled back in English, "LOOK DUDE, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAAAAAAAAYING TO ME!!! 'CAUSE I'M RUBBER AND YOU'RE GLUE AND WHATEVER YOU SAY BOUNCES OFF OF ME AND STICKS TO YOU!!!!JERK!!!" And with that, I marched off down the side-street where I congratulated myself on the creativity and randomness of my 3rd grade level comeback, hoping an American tourist may have heard and caught my prepubescent reference.

I won't be making a habit of kicking cars but I do think I will make a new habit of working in 3rd grade insults.....actually, I just really want to call someone "poopy pants". That's all.