I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth closed and saying things I shouldn’t, so here it is, one of the most outrageous and entertaining days of my life without sparing any details or dignity. I am going to channel my inner Jenny Mollen and I hope you enjoy.
After a drunken night caused by a day full of frustrating bureaucracies and awkward situations I finally decided to call it quits and make it back to my apartment. I was walking home with a guy who when I first met, thought was gay. I don’t mean that in any sort of offensive way. The night we met we had so much fun together and I thought him and I were going to be really good friends in Lyon. As it turns out, I have a terrible reading on men. He was not gay in the slightest. I can’t really explain to you how taken back I was when he went in for a kiss at the end of the night. And I’m not going to lie, kissing someone who you thought was gay for the past 5 hours is a little weird. *A lot weird. I was dying inside just wanting to curl up in bed, watch some batman and never have to deal with anything awkward again in my whole entire life. I ended up just telling him the truth (well okay, I didn’t say hey I thought you were gay and this is kind of weird for me) but I did say that I wasn’t too interested in being anything more than great friends. High five for me.
Finally in bed, and surprisingly wide awake. How convenient? Lucky for me Canada is 6 hours behind so most of my friends were still at home getting drunk before the bar (THANK GOD).
Snapchat and I become best friends!
After realizing what time it was and that I needed to leave for Paris in a few short hours I made the intelligent decision to get some sleep. Goodnight world.
Did I care that I only got 4 hours of sleep, looked like I just fell off a 10 story building and had to go on a road trip with strangers, nope nope nope because I was headed to Beyonce and Jay Z. In PARIS. Not a single thing in the world could bring my mood down. Not even my dreadful hangover!
I quickly shoved my wet and somewhat soapy clothes into a backpack (Laundry for the next 4 months is going to be very interesting), grabbed my purse and headed to the metro station to meet my friend Regatu and the stranger who would be taking us to Paris.
So I’m calling this French man trying to find him and he tells us to walk in front of this bank and he will be waiting for us on the corner. We get in front of the bank and there is a man dressed in full Priestly robes standing beside a car. I’m the worst for swearing, but luckily I don’t know many in French so I can’t offend too many people when I speak French. What I do say a lot however is oh mon dieu. And it only took me two minutes to say it in front of our driver to Versailles, a Catholic Priest. Thank God he didn’t notice. Father Hugo was super friendly and hilarious. His text message sound on his cell phone was church bells, and yes he would text and drive. He drove a solid 160 km/h passing all the other slow bitches on the way to Versailles and would even read the bible during our pee breaks.
Somehow, despite Father Hugo’s excessive speeding it still took us a whooping 6 hours to get to Versailles making us seriously question how the fuck we were going to manage getting to Paris, eating dinner, getting ready, getting drunk, dropping off our bags and getting to Beyonce which was supposed to start at 8 PM.
This is how we made it possible: We went to the closest place for french fries and kebabs by the metro station, Regatu grabbed the food and I ran across the street and grabbed the mix for our bottle of Vodka. We got on a train and it was supposed to take us 22 minutes to get to the next station. We ate dinner on the train, did our makeup in the reflection of the window, chugged half of our cokes and filled the rest with vodka and still managed to have 5 minutes to spare.
At this point, we were literally willing to do absolutely anything to get to Beyonce on time. Even pay 50 fucking euros for a taxi. With the Parisian traffic we realized that even if we managed to go straight to the concert and not drop our bags off we might still miss some songs. SO, I politely take a long drink of my vodka soda and ask our driver if he would be opposed to our loss of dignity in the back seat. He didn’t really believe we were serious considering we were in downtown Paris and there were people everywhere. But hey, it’s Beyonce. So we channelled our inner Princess Diaries and got changed into our North Americanly acceptable outfits in the back of a taxi.
A shot at every km. Niggas, we are in Paaaaarisssssssssss.
I was wearing black boots, black tights, high waisted jean shorts, a black nike sports bra, and a plaid shirt tied around my waist. Who knew that this outfit would NOT be acceptable in France. Not I. I was completely shocked by the looks that the french girls in their Prada dresses were giving me. There was this other girl in literally the same outfit as me and she actually confronted me so that she had another human being who understood how she felt too. She was also not from France.
Beyonce. Jay Z. Nicki Minaj Surprise guest. Best. Concert. Ever.
Okay so this is when the night got interesting. (Because it wasn’t interesting up until this point?) My phone was dead and the friend I was with (Regatu), did not have one. We knew we were about a 20 minute walk to where we were staying from the concert and we knew the address of the house we were staying at. That was about it. Feeling confident, despite being pushed aggressively by a police officer, we follow the crowd out of the concert and start walking in what we think is the right direction. As it gets later and later the crowd starts to disappear and we realize that we are in a Parisian Ghetto. We decide to turn around and head back closer to the concert area because maybe we will be able to get a taxi there.
After wandering around for another hour, politely ignoring all the cat calls, we were able to find a taxi. Obviously, the taxi wouldn’t take us. I mean why would he though it’s only his job? I guess in Paris, if you don’t know exactly where you are going and aren’t able to give the taxi drivers directions to your place, they will not take you. Most haven’t been introduced to the GPS unfortunately. Like everything else in France, they go with the whole paper only system and therefore only use maps. So now we are cold, lost, frustrated, tired and just want to be in fucking bed. A lot of men had been driving by yelling provocative comments at us and it wasn’t until now that we realized they thought we were prostitutes. And not in a ‘I know she’s actually not a prostitute but maybe if I yell at her enough she will sleep with me’ kind of way. They legitimately thought that we were prostitutes.
Up until this point everything was a bit comical. I mean we have had 4 hours of sleep, got a ride to Paris with a Catholic Priest, changed in a taxi, saw Beyonce and Jay Z and were now lost in a super sketchy and questionable area of Paris, how much more ridiculous does it get? Unfortunately the later it got the creepier and more aggressive the men were. A few times they approached us and were asking us to come to a hotel with them. I’d like to think of myself as a fairly patient and kind individual but these men were starting to -pardon my french- piss me the fuck off. We were in and out of tears still trying to find the house we were supposed to be staying at, or just someone who would help us.
We found a hotel and thankfully a guy working there looked our address up on google maps and printed out a map for us. We only had to make it 2 km without anything happening to us. We decided to walk on the street to stay in better light. A car starts to follow us and these two men are yelling at us calling us whores and sluts and telling us that they are going to fuck us. As we are walking quicker and doing our best to ignore these two, they decide to spit on us. Now, we snapped. Did we care that these two could literally run us over with their stupid car or easily force us into it? Apparently not. I have never yelled at anyone like I did at these two and I hope to never have to again in my life. Thankfully they just yelled back and then drove off. 1 km to go. We are now in the backroads. There are very few people. A homeless man starts to follow us.. cool are we going to get mugged now too? Another creepy French man starts following us and yelling at us. We pick up the pace, turn the corner and there it is. Thank. God.