Day 9: August 23, 2013

Yesterday started out similarly to the one before, with the cleaning crew coming bright and early, but this time I was ready! I was already showered and out of bed when the two African American women came knocking. I quickly opened the door and greeted them with a smile, "Bon matin!" Again they breezed past me and began dusting my shelves, my windows, and my desk. In my head I practiced, What are your names? How are you?

When they finally paused to change out their cleaning supplies, I went for it,  "Quels sont vos noms? Comment allez-vous?" They smiled, and I learned that the older woman is Annie while the younger one is Vivienne. We had a slow-but-sure conversation in French before the vacuum cleaner went on the they were back to work. I have to admit I felt accomplished, both for getting their attention and being able to keep it. I am looking really forward to continuing this relationship! And then they were gone, wishing me a lovely weekend and leaving me with two new rolls of toilet paper. I don't think even the Hilton has better room-service :)

It was not much later when I heard the second knock. This time I was totally unaware of who could be at my door, but it was turned out to be the same brave soul who had confronted me the day before! With his Mexican accent, he asked me if I wanted to come to the supermarket. Although I should have been working on my translated birth certificate, I shut my laptop, grabbed my purse, and followed closely behind him to the courtyard. Much to my surprise there were fourteen, yes fourteen other students waiting for us. I had to smile, thankful that it crossed his mind to ask me to tag along.

Before long I found myself in a Dutch version of Target, and this time even the prices matched! It was both exciting to find a store with necessities as such low cost, and a letdown as I had already purchased most of those things for twice as much. As I walked about the store, listening to the constant buzz of French, Spanish, Italian, German, and whichever language the Malaysian girls communicate with, I began to feel nauseous. My legs had been tired from all the walking, but it wasn't until that moment that the weariness hit me. Paired with a headache and tiny, crowded shopping aisles; I was feeling overwhelmed. I made my way outside the store to find one, lonely student waiting. We stood together and I briefly explained that I needed to find a bathroom soon. Gradually the other students exited the store, fully equipped with their new silverware, laundry detergent, potato chips, and pillow cases. When all sixteen of us were present, the journey continued.

A few meters into it, my confidant announced, "Hey there is a bathroom there and Sherry really needs to go." Awesome, so now I get to be "that girl." I made my way inside the building marked "Toilettes" and was nearly to the stalls when I heard, "Madame, madame" and realized it was for me. Confused, I walked back towards the desk where the voice was coming from; and there it was. "1,50€." Only in Paris would you have to pay to use a public restroom, but without much choice I handed her my coins and wandered back to the stalls. I didn't use this time to get sick, rather, I used this time to come up with my exit strategy from the anxiously awaiting students. Our plan for the afternoon was to have a picnic on the lawn of the Eiffel Tower, and who in their right mind would pass up that opportunity?! I didn't want to seem like a flake, but there was no way I could consume a bite of cheese or a sip of wine. When I had finally gathered myself, I went back to face my peers and explain (like a wimp) that I wasn't feeling very well. What a sad day it was watching them all turn away as I stood there trying not to vomit.

"PHARMACIE" - I had seen that flashing green sign a million times throughout the city but the one time I needed it, I couldn't find a single one. I managed to hurry through Centre Pompidou and back to Chatelet - Les Halles where I finally saw my beacon of hope. I rushed inside to be greeted with a ridiculously long line to one of three assisting pharmacists. As I stood there I Google-translated the few words I thought I might need to describe my symptoms; then it was my turn. It was a guy. Just my luck.

"Avez-vous quelque chose pour les femmes pour le menstruation."
Do you have something for women during menstruation.
He stared at me blankly.
"Menstruation" with a French accent.
Deer in the headlights.
"Men-struh-ah-scion."
And he still wasn't getting it.
I pulled out my phone again, Google-searched my symptoms in French, and handed him a full-blown Wikipedia explanation of the female reproductive cycle. FINALLY, he got the picture. The meds were on the counter in front of me, for a low price of 7 euros and something cents, but when I pulled out my credit card he shook his head no. Is this some kind of sick joke. "No cards," he said.

My life was in a downward spiral, and it was only getting worse until I found an ATM; I couldn't even consider trying another pharmacy after that charade! I pushed my way back through the line and out the door. I remembered seeing a set of ATMs during my frantic search for the pharmacy, and started back in that direction. Now, there are a few reputable banks here in Paris that I prefer to withdraw money from, but the logo on these machines was one I had never seen before. What made it even worse was their dimly lit location, and lack of "finger shield" on the keypad. I was being forced to choose between my radiating muscle spasms and potential identity theft. Of course, all women reading this would know that I took 100 euros cash as quick as I could and literally ran back to the escalators.

I was welcomed back with a nice surprise, the line had grown longer; and yet my medicine was still visible sitting on the counter in front of the same guy. If I was a better communicator in French, I would have considered marching right up to the front and handing him my 8 euros cash, but unfortunately I was stuck "faire la queue." When it was finally my turn, a female pharmacist two stations down was waving me over. I hadn't planned for this, and was totally at a loss for words. I tried pointing at the guy, my drugs perched there on the counter, but there was not the slightest sign of comprehension. I try to imagine this entire scenario from their standpoint: some crazy teenage girl comes and stands in line, and refuses to speak to anyone but the male pharmacist, yet even he doesn't understand her. I think I will begin writing silent romantic-comedy skits based on my daily Parisian adventures.

Finally, with my pills in hand, I was on my way again. However, I'm not one of those few people that are capable of dry swallowing, and it was imperative that I find a water bottle pronto. Halfway between where I had started and the RER entrance I came across and Monoprix and decided it was my best bet. Of course I couldn't forget my mom's advice, "Don't take medicine on an empty stomach" so I also grabbed an over-priced meal-replacement smoothie and chugged it in the check-out line. A few minutes later I found myself on a jerky, swaying train-car somewhere below the Paris streets. Ah, it felt good to finally be heading home. If only I didn't have these stinky, sweaty, unfamiliar bodies pressed up against me.

When I got home I refilled my evian bottle and proceeded to drink an entire sixteen ounces of water before lying down and sleeping clear through until morning.

* * * * *

I would be lying if I didn't mention that I woke up a few times throughout the night to toss and turn, feeling sorry for myself. For the first time since I boarded the plane in Kansas City, I wanted nothing more than to hug my mom and have her baby me. I know this is bound to happen every so often while I'm on another continent, but why did it have to be so soon :(

This morning I woke up the first time around 11am when the sun was literally baking me under my covers. Drenched in sweat but feeling much better than the night before, I got up and drank my daily glass of Tropicana Essentials. Complete with the nutrients of 12 different fruits and veggies! I could tell it wasn't going to do the trick, and grabbed my shower caddy and my oh-so-beloved bath towel.

After my shower, I was feeling refreshed yet exhausted. There is something about standing under a steady stream of warm water that truly soothes the soul. As I entered my room again and saw how high the sun was rising, I knew it was necessary to pull my curtains to get a good nap; which is exactly what I did.

The second time I woke up, it was 5pm and my stomache was angry. I realized in the past thirty-six hours I had only drank a smoothie and a glass of juice; no wonder I had felt so weak earlier. In my mind I began to plan a feast! But first, it would require a trip back to Monoprix.
They say it is a bad idea to go shopping on an empty stomach, but believe me, the prices here will keep you in check even on the most tempting of items. 7 euros for an eight ounce jar of Skippy? It's not even Jiff, and they still want to charge me an arm and a leg! My basket was filled with mushrooms, onions, two small potatoes, a loaf of bread, and "pork chops." My friend Matthew has coined the phrase "pork snippets," please see below for the explanation.

Look at that! My sauteed mushroom is over half the width of my fried pork chop!

I have to take a brief minute now to highlight a major difference between American lifestyle and European lifestyle. In Wichita, I often complain about how much of a hassle it is to get in my car, drive less than a mile to SuperTarget, and bring all of my groceries back home. If any food item is over $3, I usually scrunch up my face and go for whatever generic brand is offered. I even hate pushing my cart the ten feet from the trunk of my car to those cart stations in the parking lot. But after one week of taking the metro back and forth with a sack full of produce, laundry detergent, and cartons of milk, (all at three times the price) only to arrive on campus where I have another half mile and three flights of stairs to climb, I will gladly return to my Pontiac Grand Prix and attached garage. I will cry the day I return to Sam's club, staring at the gallon tubs of Jiff extra crunchy and thirty-six pack ramen at dirt-cheap prices. You see, for the past twenty years I have completed overlooked the "Convenience Utopia" we live in, if you will. I have heard endless complaints of how "lazy" and "unappreciative" we Americans are. But for the first time in my life, I truly understand where these derogatory jabs are coming from. I am proud to live in America, Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, and home to 24-hour drive thrus; but I will tip my hat to those who reside in overpopulated cities, the people that have never been introduced to full-sized fridges or light switches without timers.

Until tomorrow, Bonne nuit!