Stee-rike!

So apparently, when the French aren't happy about something (like being forced to work more than 35 hours a week...horrifying, right?), they strike. They don't go to work, and they protest in the streets. And since they're not going to work, the rest of us may as well hang low too. Metros don't run, big trains don't run, mail doesn't run, etc. They march, they dress up, they hold up signs, they sometimes (but not always) do ugly things and get arrested. After considering the implications of the strike, I decided that Thursday would be a good day to stay home & study my French. I did leave to get some food. This girl is NOT going to miss a meal because of some disgruntled French strikers.

Anyway, that was Thursday, and for me, the strike was totally uneventful. Wednesday, however, was a little more interesting. I met Quinn for lunch in Montparnasse which has a great market on Wednesdays and Saturdays (see pics of olives and cheeses below). We dined on delicious crepes and shared a small carafe of wine. In the middle of the day. On a Wednesday. We felt decadent. And a little buzzed.

Oh, but wait...on the way there I had a metro encounter.

So there I was...sitting on the metro, minding my own business. We were approaching a stop, and a man who was leaving the train glanced at me then stopped in his tracks. Instead of exiting the train, he came & sat by me. He was dressed in a business suit and carrying a briefcase, and other than the fact that he was smiling at me, nothing seemed unusual. He started speaking to me in French, and I didn't understand a word he said. I told him that I only speak a little French, and he switched to English which he spoke very well. Unfortunately, I understood everything he said from that point on. He said I was beautiful. (ok, I can take that.) He asked if I had a boyfriend. I said yes (because he wasn't cute; ok, if he had been, I would have said no). He said he liked my mouth. (hmmm...a little personal.) He asked if my boyfriend was French. I said yes. He asked if he could kiss me. I said no. He asked when I was coming back to Paris. I said I live here. He said, "are you trying to break my heart?" I laughed. He asked if we should keep in touch. I said no. He asked again if he could kiss me. Again, I said no. FINALLY we reached the next stop, and he asked if this was my stop. I said no, and he said it was his and asked once more if he could kiss me "just once." Again, I said no. He said, "ok, bye bye!" And left. Thank God. So while it's a little flattering, it's also a little creepy. Granted, if he were cute, it would have been a lot more flattering and a lot less creepy. And I never felt threatened. There were a couple of guys sitting across from us, and they kept watching me. I think they were watching for my reaction, and I sincerely believe that they would have come to my defense if they had felt I needed defending. They're rude walking down the street and getting on and off the metro, but generally speaking, French men are gentlemen and will come to your aid if they need to. Anyway...whew. My friend Anne-Marie once had a guy on the metro tell her she was beautiful and kiss her on the cheek, but that was it. A little less creepy than my experience.

And I went to my first meet-up Wednesday night. It was fine. Met a few nice French people who were working on their English. Their English is much better than my French. One woman, Marie, is a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in Paris. She was very nice, and when I asked if she was working the next day she said, "Oh no. There's a strike. I told my students not to come to class." See. When the transportation workers strike, everyone else might as well too.