I explained to her that I needed to open a bank account in order for my scholarship to be deposited. It just so happened that she needed to do the same, so we made plans to meet at her room and go to BNP together. At 12:15 we gathered all our necessary documents and headed out the door. Banque Nationale de Paris is located here on our campus, and they have special offers for student-residents, so we figured it was the most convenient option. However, when we arrived at the entrance, we discovered a huge INconvenience; the bank closes for the lunch hour from 12:30 to 1:30.
As all the tellers were taking their lunch, we decided it was an opportune time to do the same. Just across the hall is the cafeteria, again with special offers for us to take advantage of, so we stepped in line and began studying the menu. I decided on a "Box Lunch" carbonara pasta, and Mari took a sandwich. Our trays had barely rested on the table before our conversation began, I could already tell this was going to be an excellent day!
Within minutes we had a... much older visitor. Although he first spoke in French, I could tell he wasn't a Paris native. Just as his accent was a dead give away, so was mine. His first guess, proposed in English, was spot on. He excitedly told me of his American nationality, economics degree from the University of Chicago, and career with American Airlines. It was one of those many many times in life, where you find yourself torn between being cold or cordial. On the one hand, I felt sorry for the old man and his lack of an audience, while on the other I absolutely preferred learning about Mari. We did out best to maintain interest, but as his sob stories about how he is ostracized by his colleagues grew longer and longer, we had to bail. Poor guy..
When we returned our trays and checked the time, we still had a solid thirty minutes before the bank reopened. I asked Mari if she had wandered over to Parc Montsouris yet, and her lack of familiarity was a clear no. I was instantly overjoyed with the thought of showing her my recently-discovered slice of Heaven! We gingerly walked in that direction before our second admirer approached us. Not again!!
This guy was quite a bit younger, but still old enough to be our dad, and for the second time we were totally not interested. As we were exiting the gates of campus he made eye contact, but instead of continuing along on his afternoon jog, he practically skipped up beside us and came to a complete stop. We didn't have much choice but to acknowledge his existence but we continued to walk. Yet again we got to hear a full life story, this time from Benoit, born and raised in Paris. He proceeded to try to get our numbers and invite us for drinks. Thank goodness we don't have French cell phones and were saved from and further awkwardness. I rudely interrupted as he began with alternative methods of communication, before we quickly turned and resumed our walking. If only the males we attracted were not creepy old men!
After a full loop through the park, accompanied by some rather entertaining girl-talk, we were back at the bank in front of open doors. Unfortunately, when we presented all the necessary documents for opening an account, they still didn't meet all the requirements. We needed yet another proof of residence to be obtained from our administrator's office. As it was our only option, we shuffled our way out of the bank and across campus to our halls. Rita, our "secretariate," greeted us with a distracted half-smile, sweaty hairline, and frustrated aura. More great news!! The electricity was out. This meant that she was unable to access our documents or print the "Attestation du Résidence." Seriously! I hope my milk doesn't spoil.
At this point, Mari and I were done for the day. We both agreed our to-do list was finished - not because the tasks were complete but because we were too frustrated to continue. Complaining our way back to the building we reside in, we bumped into two of the British girls from the night before. Odd as it is, they were on their way to go open bank accounts! We quickly explained the elusive document and the electrical situation before they, too, were filled with frustration. I can't quite remember who said it out loud, but a drink seemed to be the most appropriate solution.
The four of us, plus another girl, sat on the terrace of an Italian restaurant, complimenting the beautiful weather and the outstanding food. Our waiter, along with the people around us, were obviously intrigued by the combination of skin tones and accents. But they appeared to be even more confused by Mari's request for ketchup with her spaghetti. As soon as we had finished eating, we took the metro to a shopping district where thrift shops and boutiques dazzled our eyes. The sad part is, our wallets were not half as impressed.
I think they meant, "Wood-Fired Pizzas" and we're still debating on the shoulder.
Maybe it's the "Chef's Selection"?
A few hours and coffees later, we were absolutely exhausted and out of our daily allowances. It was time to return to Cité-U! I got back just in time to remember I had scheduled a dinner with Emilie, an existing friend, at 7pm. The metro pulled up at nearly 6:50 before I re-routed and took off again. Place d'Italie and one of my favorite people were patiently waiting as I ascended the stairs up to ground level. I gave her the trading French greeting - two kisses - before my overbearing American self wrapped her in a hug. It had only been a couple of months since I saw Emilie, but it was such a different experience to be standing with her in PARIS! I could barely keep myself from jumping and squealing :)
We stopped by an electronics store to buy my French track phone, before walking to a nice, outside table for two. Our conversation picked up right where it had left off and before long an hour had passed. It was so great to be with a beautiful, old friend, in a beautiful, old city. When our yawns kicked in we decided it was best to call it a night and save the remaining stories for the next time. Another hug and kiss goodbye and I was descending the same staircase mentioned earlier.
I feel absolutely amazing, when I look back on this day. God blessed me with the opportunity to grow closer to some incredible new girls, and grow fonder of one whom I already adored. I try to imagine what would have taken place if only the bank account had been opened. In the end, I am reminded of what a funny thing life is, and how intricately intertwined each of our experiences are. The cliché brings a smile to my face, as I would much rather go to bed having plans for tomorrow than a bank account for next month. It is simple, but true..
Everything happens for a reason...
Tout arrive pour une raison.
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