Young Americans in Paris Part I

It was the 1980(s) and as young Americans about to graduate from secondary school we decided to celebrate in the city of lights. I had skipped a grade and was graduating early and my girlfriend was a year older. I had lived in an area of town that was quite international. One of my best friends was French and so when I went to their house we spoke only French ate practically raw stake, and sipped wine. My friend was never allowed to drink. I was going to the city of lights to absorb the museums and the art and the architecture. I thought that was the motivation of my friend as well.

I should have known something was amiss when my friend was drunk on the plane ride over. She had managed to pick up a football player who she made out with on the trans-Atlantic flight. Public displays of affection are frowned upon in the USA but apparently it is okay to join the mile high club with a football player on trans-Atlantic flights. While they were in the bathroom the plane hit turbulence and they fell out of the plane bathroom while consummating their membership into the mile high club. Thank goodness it was late and those who saw didn’t care or laughed. I almost died and pretended I didn’t know my friend.

I had also managed to mingle with a few Parisians. My French was not good but it was passable and quite frankly I was looking for bail at that point. I really should have known there was a problem when I had finally fell a sleep on the last leg of the flight and as the stewardess announced we were landing, I saw my friend drunk running up and down the aisles of the plane looking for her seat. And I thought, “Wow this is why Parisians hate Americans.”. The stewardess approached me and told me I had to get m friend to her seat as we were about to land. I had no idea where my friend’s seat was. We weren’t seated together on the flight. I finally approached my friend and said, “Look sit anywhere you are going to get us kick off the air carrier.” Drunk she replied, “We’ll fly Portugal.” I snapped as I was quite tired and I said, “Sit.”. I returned to my seat and my friend continued to run up and down the 747 looking for and empty seat. And just before the plane lands she runs and jumps in my lap.

Crushed I said, “Did you really need to drink so much?” to which she retorted, “I only sipped wine and vodka tonics on the flight over.” As we landed I said, “Eight hours of sipping would make anyone drunk. And how did you know how to order vodka tonics?” To which my friend burped and slurred, “I can order Vodka Tonics in 8 languages.” And I thought. “Great!”.

When we landed in Paris it was mid-morning. I was warned by the contacts I had made on the plane to stay awake for the next 8 hours or I would have exceptionally bad jet lag. I took my inebriated friend to pick up my luggage. Of course, my luggage was not on the plane. I only had the clothes on my back, my passport and my traveler’s checks. I assumed my lost luggage was a Parisian tax for having a drunk girl friend on the plane. So we decided to walk the streets of Paris to work off our Jet Lag. Thank you Charles De Gaulle.

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