I am leaving this morning to jump on the Chunnel from Paris to London – it is a super high speed train that goes under the Puget Sound and takes 2-1/2 hours from point A to B (can we get one of these in the US please?!) My time in Paris was just long enough to enjoy the beauty of the city, but leave just as I had my fill of contemptuous people. While I am RANT-page this week, I also can’t stand the fact that they drag their dogs around like they are accessories and do not treat them like living beings – especially since I miss my pets an awful lot these days. I want to kidnap all of these adorable little creatures and then straggle the Cruella DeVille looking mofo with the leash they are attached to (they walk their luggage better than their dogs).
As a final “F**k You” from the Parisians (as I do not blame all French people for the Parisians incredulous behavior), this little girl thought it would be a swell idea to mar my delicate psyche over breakfast this morning (cuz I haven’t had my fill of crazy yet, I guess). I was enjoying my last luscious chocolate croissant, that I will have for a while, when this little curmudgeon came up and stuck her finger on the croissant! She then proceeded to just keep poking it, while she looked at the shock and horror on my face, and asked if I was still eating it. I smacked her hand away, yes I SMACKED it (since her mother obviously wasn’t going to) and threw the damn thing on the floor. Hell NO! I wasn’t going to eat it after her filthy little hands had been on it – and she wasn’t gonna eat it either (this is yet another example of why I don’t have children, not like you were wondering or anything….).
After I chased her out of the café, I ordered another croissant and guarded it like a rabid dog while I snarfed it down. Then, I left to check the schedule to confirm which platform my train was leaving from. Just an FYI – if you take the Chunnel – the UK has Border Patrol Buffoons set up in the Gare du Nord Station so give yourself some time to be thoroughly harassed by these self-important ignoramuses. My special friend asked me how long I would be in London….two days I said…..and then where was I going, she asked…..home to the States (hall-O-frickin-LU-jah!), I replied……and how long have you been away, she asked…..why do you ask, I asked…..because I have a right to…..really? I mean really? Am I in trouble?…..no she said…..then I don’t see how that is relevant, I said…….because I need to know if you are really going home, she said……well, it isn’t like I would want to stay in London….what do you do for work? She asked…..I laughed……
After further interrogation, she demanded that I produce my travel documents proving that I was leaving the continent. I had printed nothing out because I have an e-ticket for my flight. She did not understand why I didn’t have a printed itinerary…..uh…cuz I have an E-TICKET??? WTF? Does she not understand that you never get a second chance to make a first impression and so far the Brits can kiss my ARSE – if I could I would leave from another city, but it was the cheapest option. Ain’t no body in their right mind want to go to cold, foggy, rainy ass London anyway. She finally relented and let me on the damn train with ONE minute to spare before it pulled away from the station at 10:12am (scheduled departure was 10:13am…..somebody got effed over I am sure of it….)
The girls sitting across from me on the train were squatting on the car, they had Russian accents, yet spoke English and they look like heroin addicts strung out waiting for their next fix. They had all of their crap on the floor because they were too weak to lift their shopping bags to store them overhead like everyone else. Then, they started pulling out a variety of foods to eat lunch – baguette, ham, brie. As they were eating, they kept discovering bruises on their bodies from the good time they had the night before. One girl had a similar style to Amy Winehouse, except that her hair was a faded grape color, and the other had box dye black with 3-day old eyeliner smudged across the bottom of her eyelids. I have no idea how they understood what the other was saying as they shoved food in their faces while talking at the same time – are there no manners taught to children anymore, anywhere?!
I couldn’t take listening to them chew their cud any longer and finally put my headphones in to listen to some lovely Mozart this fine sunny, Sunday morning as the train whisked across the bright green countryside. For being hungover, they sure did talk a lot – I am not sure they shut up the entire voyage. The guy sitting next to me got up for breakfast and some other woman sat down. When he came back, she asked if it was his seat and he said yes, but that he would find somewhere else to sit. I am curious as to why the Brits do not understand seat assignments, or why they are too polite to kick a bitch out when appropriate to do so?
Sigh…..this is going to be a long two days, isn’t it? Maybe it is best for me to just take a long winter’s nap until my flight leaves for the States……