Abbey and I were on a stroll. A Screech of tires. We turned our heads. Car Crash.
[Disclaimer: Nobody was hurt in this crash – as a matter of fact, one car was virtually undamaged]
Moving on, I have spent nearly two entire months of walking alongside traffic that makes 285 in Atlanta look like a how-to video for proper driving. These people are insane. It’s like they are driving with their eyes closed and steering with their feet. Not only are the lines on the road seen as recommendations not to drive over rather than regulations but so are curbs, other cars, trees, and animals and furthermore, pedestrians here exist without an implied ontological status of “a being you should avoid hitting with your car.” But somehow I have yet to see an accident. Cue someone paying attention to a red light.
A small, red car driven by a large, French man stopped at a red light and the relatively large white car behind him screeched it’s tires coming to a halt…in the red car’s diminutive trunk. Everyone on the sidewalk was silent…making myself seem much louder as I exclaimed “Merde!”
[Disclaimer: while, at that point I was unaware that nobody was hurt, I stand by the fact that while “Merde” in the exclamatory may not have been a caring, pastoral response it was, by no means, inappropriate]
Abbey and I joined the group of pedestrian onlookers as the man in the red car emerged and assessed the…absolute lack of damage to his vehicle. I don’t care what anyone says, I saw that man grin when he looked at the hood of the other car folded in half without a headlight left unexploded. The other driver emerged unscathed and began yelling and questioning why in God’s plush earth this mad man in front of him had dared to…obey a posted light. Now, my French is still a little spotty, but it’s getting better, so here is what I gathered from eavesdropping into their dialogue:
Driver of Red Car: Hey, you got glass everywhere…make sure it doesn’t scratch my unscratched car – look at how nice and unscratched my back bumper is!
Driver of White Car: You can’t be my fellow countryman.
Driver of Red Car: I am French, why would you think I am not?
Driver of White Car: You know exactly why not.
Driver of Red Car: You seem upset.
Driver of White Car: Traitor.
Driver of Red Car slightly tilts his head with a befuddled look
Driver of White Car: All French people know that you never, ever, ever stop at a red light you buffoon, you drive up on the sidewalk, throw things, honk your horn, scream out the window – these pedestrians might be AMERICAN! We can’t have them thinking we know how to drive and just choose not to, they have to fear us or else they’ll start crossing at crosswalks when the light tells them they can, they’ll assume that they have the right of way, it might even lead to them thinking they should rent cars and obey the rules and drive at a safe pace and distance from the car in front of them, forcing us to do the same. Then, they’ll tell all their American friends how nice it is to take a leisurely drive in Paris and then they’ll buy cars, but then they’ll bring over their giant trucks and minivans and use all of our gas, then import more, then they’ll stay, and then…YOU FOOL, our terrible driving is the only thing keeping us from becoming the 51st star on their flag!
Driver of Red Car: I apologize, I assume full responsibility for this, here is a large sum of cash. Good day, sir.
Like I said, my French is improving, but definitely not fluent so there may be some minor translation issues in the above rendering of their conversation.
I am so making dad this read this one...it should nix any further ideas of renting a car in France. I trust you will not allow this to happen (and yes, I did just throw you under the father-in-law bus but I need both mom and dad to come home after their vacation...I can't handle the grandmothers without them).
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