me on the counter I noticed two plates with small pieces of cut-up pastries. One looked like a cream-filled éclair. The other pastry I didn’t recognize. Assuming them to be free samples, I took a bite of each. The éclair was especially good; I reached for another small piece.
That’s when I noticed people were looking at me. I’m not paranoid by nature, and I really was trying to overcome my biased opinions of Paris. But these people were staring at me. They were talking about me, too. I just didn’tknow what they were saying. I wondered if this was a locals-only sort of place, and they realized I was an outsider.
I considered finding a table instead of standing here, so obviously American and lost. But I didn’t see any empty spaces. Reaching for another sample of the éclair, I checked the corners of my mouth to make sure I didn’t have big globs of chocolate stuck to my face.
A man in a suit stepped up and spoke to me in French. He placed a plate with a knife and half of a croissant next to the other samples on the counter.
I smiled.
He pointed at the sign above the counter, which was, of course, in French. Then he pointed at the plate he had just placed next to the other samples. He seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something.
I assumed he was adding to the selection of samples so I said, “Merci,” picked up the knife, and demurely cut off a corner of the croissant.
The man went ballistic. He waved his hands in my face and pointed to the door.
I scurried outside, my heart pounding as I waited for Amy and Jill to find me.
“There you are.” Amy stepped out of the restaurant a few achingly long moments later. “What are you doing out here?”
“I think it’s a locals-only place. The manager made me leave.”
“Why would he do that?” Jill asked. “I’ve eaten here before.”
“I don’t know. I was standing there waiting, and this man in a suit came up and pointed to a sign on the counter and then yelled at me.”
“What did the sign say?” Jill asked.
“I have no idea.”
“I’ll go find out,” Amy slipped back inside and returned shaking her head. “I don’t understand what the problem was.”
“What did the sign say?” I asked.
Amy gave a shrug and repeated the posted message word for word. “Please place your dirty plates here.”
I scurried away
from the café window as fast as I could, with Jill and Amy hot on my heels. They pelted me with questions for half a block. I stopped in front of a pet store window and blurted out what had happened, how I had stood there in front of all those sophisticated Parisians “sampling” everyone’s leftovers from their dirty dishes.
Amy pressed her lips together. Her eyes were huge, but she didn’t uncork her reaction until she was sure I’d be okay with it. She looked at Jill and back at me. Jill was turning red in the face and didn’t appear to be breathing.
Realizing that the two of them might pass out in front of me due to their extremely good manners, I let loose with the laughter bomb, shattering the decorum I’d already lost. We laughed until we cried, clinging to each other and leaning against the storefront window so we wouldn’t fall overin hysterics. A man from inside the pet store came out and shooed us down the street, away from his customers.
We laughed all the way to the entrance of Angelina’s. This time all three of us had to use the restroom after laughing so much. Amy insisted I go with her and Jill so they could keep an eye on me.
We calmed ourselves and took our seats by the front window where we ordered chocolate drinks and joined in a toast. The goblet-sized specialty drinks arrived at our table wearing thick dollops of whipped cream on top like a French boudoir wig from the court of Louis XIV.
With white moustaches all around, we laughed some more in this larger, airier café. A well-dressed grandmere and a young boy in a school uniform with an embroidered patch on his blazer pocket sat
That’s when I noticed people were looking at me. I’m not paranoid by nature, and I really was trying to overcome my biased opinions of Paris. But these people were staring at me. They were talking about me, too. I just didn’tknow what they were saying. I wondered if this was a locals-only sort of place, and they realized I was an outsider.
I considered finding a table instead of standing here, so obviously American and lost. But I didn’t see any empty spaces. Reaching for another sample of the éclair, I checked the corners of my mouth to make sure I didn’t have big globs of chocolate stuck to my face.
A man in a suit stepped up and spoke to me in French. He placed a plate with a knife and half of a croissant next to the other samples on the counter.
I smiled.
He pointed at the sign above the counter, which was, of course, in French. Then he pointed at the plate he had just placed next to the other samples. He seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something.
I assumed he was adding to the selection of samples so I said, “Merci,” picked up the knife, and demurely cut off a corner of the croissant.
The man went ballistic. He waved his hands in my face and pointed to the door.
I scurried outside, my heart pounding as I waited for Amy and Jill to find me.
“There you are.” Amy stepped out of the restaurant a few achingly long moments later. “What are you doing out here?”
“I think it’s a locals-only place. The manager made me leave.”
“Why would he do that?” Jill asked. “I’ve eaten here before.”
“I don’t know. I was standing there waiting, and this man in a suit came up and pointed to a sign on the counter and then yelled at me.”
“What did the sign say?” Jill asked.
“I have no idea.”
“I’ll go find out,” Amy slipped back inside and returned shaking her head. “I don’t understand what the problem was.”
“What did the sign say?” I asked.
Amy gave a shrug and repeated the posted message word for word. “Please place your dirty plates here.”
I scurried away
from the café window as fast as I could, with Jill and Amy hot on my heels. They pelted me with questions for half a block. I stopped in front of a pet store window and blurted out what had happened, how I had stood there in front of all those sophisticated Parisians “sampling” everyone’s leftovers from their dirty dishes.
Amy pressed her lips together. Her eyes were huge, but she didn’t uncork her reaction until she was sure I’d be okay with it. She looked at Jill and back at me. Jill was turning red in the face and didn’t appear to be breathing.
Realizing that the two of them might pass out in front of me due to their extremely good manners, I let loose with the laughter bomb, shattering the decorum I’d already lost. We laughed until we cried, clinging to each other and leaning against the storefront window so we wouldn’t fall overin hysterics. A man from inside the pet store came out and shooed us down the street, away from his customers.
We laughed all the way to the entrance of Angelina’s. This time all three of us had to use the restroom after laughing so much. Amy insisted I go with her and Jill so they could keep an eye on me.
We calmed ourselves and took our seats by the front window where we ordered chocolate drinks and joined in a toast. The goblet-sized specialty drinks arrived at our table wearing thick dollops of whipped cream on top like a French boudoir wig from the court of Louis XIV.
With white moustaches all around, we laughed some more in this larger, airier café. A well-dressed grandmere and a young boy in a school uniform with an embroidered patch on his blazer pocket sat
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