Excuse-moi, but are you smokin' crack?

June 12, 2007

Sometime recently (time blurs here), I was near school, and upon consulting the Metro map, realized I had to ride the same line for a good 15 stops or so. Which meant, therefore, that I wanted to get on and find a seat so I could enjoy my book. (It's hard to concentrate on reading while standing up, concentrating on not falling over as the Metro rocks this way and that.)

I hop on and see an empty seat. Great. The seats on the Metro are set up in four's, each pair facing each other, with an aisle between two sets of fours. (If any of that makes sense). So I sit on the aisle, with a teenager next to me and another facing me. Across the aisle on my right is an OLD little old French lady. Next to her, facing each other, is a teenager couple. Can you picture it all? Great.

I pull out the book I was reading then, (I've since moved on), Fatima's Good Fortune. I read about one sentence and I see the kid across from me lowering himself to try and read the title of my book. His friend, the guy on my left, notices what Kid#1 is doing, and so he bends over as well to catch the title. I then hold the book up to their eye level so that they can both read the title.

Kid#1 says (in French), "I have no idea what that says."
I say, "Fatima--like the name."
Kid#2 says, "Stupid, you know the name Fatima."
I continue, "Fortune--it's the same word as in French. And 'good' means 'bonne.' Therefore, the title means, 'Fatima's Good Fortune.'"

Kid#1, curious now, says in very broken English, "Where...are...you...from?"
I respond (in French), "I'm an american."
Duel "ooh la la"s from both boys.
Kid#1, "Which is better--here or there?"
Kid#2, "Stupid--of course america is better than here."
I interject, "I don't know. They're different. There are things I like about there, but there are things I like about here."

At this point, Kid#2 leans over and hollars to the couple that he's sitting next to a genuine american (as if we're that hard to come by in Paris...)

Kid#3 (the boy of the couple) looks at me and mumbles something. And flashes the peace sign at me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said."
"Deux dolars, deux dolars."

By this point, I know he's saying something about two dollars, (and thus the two fingers he keeps shaking at me), but I don't really understand why. He then pulls out his wallet and shows me that he HAS two dollars. I really wanted to laugh, but I guessed that he was really proud of those two dollars. (That would basically buy him a baguette and not much else in Paris...)

Kid#2 says to Kid#3, "Give me some," and reaches his hand across me, across the aisle, across the OLD little old French lady to receive what I thought was the "deux dolars." Instead Kid#3 hands him something very small. Something concealed.

Something I realize very quickly is crack. As in DRUGS. As in illegal drugs. As in this little white girl has never been that close to that stuff before in her life.

I stick my nose in my book, suddenly very interested in what makes Fatima's fortune so good. Kid#1 hands Kid#2 a cigarette, which he busts open and takes the tobacco out of, saving the filter. I'm sitting there trying to watch out of the sly of my eye while pretending to read my book. Over the top of my book, I then notice that Kid#1 has a nightstick hidden in the sleeve of his jacket. Kid#2 on my left has lit a lighter and is melting the drugs into the tobacco.

I must've had a look of something--I'm not sure what--on my face because Kid#2 says to me, "Don't worry, I'm not going to smoke it in here." I wanted to say--I'm not concerned about where you're going to smoke it! All the while, the OLD little old French lady was looking as horrified by all this as I was.

I jumped off the Metro car really quickly and changed to a slightly less scary car. As soon as I did, I realized I'm missed the one opportunity of my life (thus far, and hopefully ever) to say in actuality and not sarcasm, "Are you smoking crack!?"

Bummer.