What an "Epic Fail" of a Day

Today was supposed to be a good day. It's Thursday, which means I have one class at 10:45. I'm done at 12:15, and since I don' t have classes on Fridays, today is basically my Friday. Hence, when I woke up this morning, I was in a great mood, ready for another weekend full of exploring the city. Well, that excitement quickly turned to frustration and embarrassment, and to be honest, a bit of anger.

My friends who have studied away in the past have told me that there is a cyclic nature to studying in another country. First, you get anxious before you leave; check. Next, you arrive and are on a high because you're actually IN the country/place you've been trying to get to and for which you've been filling out scads and scads of paperwork for what seems like years; check. After that, you come down off of cloud nine as your faith in your ability to navigate a new culture and to speak the language (if it is different) begins to wane; check. No, more like circled in bright red pen with stars and fireworks shooting off of the page. I knew I was full on in this stage of my journey abroad when I was on my hands and knees on the rain-soaked, filth-covered, Parisian sidewalk with tomato sauce splattered all across my hands and my jeans, watching as person after person walked by and didn't ask if I needed help cleaning up the mess I had just made. I'm just glad no one stole my yogurt laying three feet in front of me--heaven knows it's almost impossible to find normal yogurt in this country lol!

Let's go back a few hours. It's 10:45 am. I'm in class. It's a translations class and today is the first day we will actually be discussing translation and not just French grammar (good thing too--I needed a break from trying to cram back into my brain everything I had ever learned about French grammar in the past seven years during the past week and a half). I'm usually really good with French grammar and have no problems following along. That was not the case today. I felt so lost and so behind and couldn't form a coherent sentence in French when my professor looked at me. That was a weird feeling for me, and I didn't like it. I don't mind being challenged, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that I was failing at something I know I'm good at. Why?, I kept asking myself. I still don't know the answer to that question, but I'm hoping that I start to become more at ease with the class because I know I can learn a lot from it. I just hope it doesn't kick me too hard.

After class, I wasn't in the best mood, but I was looking forward to grabbing something nice to eat at the local bakery and then doing some grocery shopping (pasta for dinner is getting a bit old, and I'm totally already out of Nutella hahaha). First, I needed to print a few things for class on Monday. I didn't want to have to go back to the IES Center tomorrow (since I don't have class) to print my readings (it is the only place I can print things here). Well, my quick "printing pit-stop" turned into a "Sarah, j'arrive pas a croire comment t'as fait se casser l'imprimente...encore" (basically, for those of you who don't speak French, it became a shouting match where I was on the receiving end of lots of angry French people shouting at me for "breaking" the printer...again). Funsies! It could have happened to anyone. This printer is very touchy. It just decides to freeze and stop working at any moment. It just so happens that two of these most recent moments have been when I was using it. Well, that's what I call bad luck. Oh well, I'm trying not to take it personally.

It's about 1pm by now and I just want to go get my groceries, go home, and maybe go for a run in the park next to my house. I get to the supermarche and find everything I need but a few items, so I decide to go down the street to the other grocery store which has more stuff (but which is more expensive) to get those last few items. Bad idea. By the time I got out of there, I had been accused of stealing by a very irate French man (the security cop got involved--ugg). I tried in very broken French (my French doesn't flow very well when I'm nervous, scared, or accused of stealing apparently...) to tell both the angry French man and the security guard that I had NO IDEA what they were talking about. I just wanted to buy my pretzels and dried pineapple pieces and get the heck out of there. Finally, they understood and believed me and let me go after apologizing and helping me get all of my groceries resettled into plastic bags. I booked it out of there trying not to cry. (Mom, why is it that I always have the gut reaction to cry in  moments where I'm uncomfortable but in which that is the last thing I want to do cause it will only make it worse? lol!)

I was only a couple 10 minute walks and a short metro ride from being home. I just wanted to get there and curl up on my bed with a good book and be done with this day. That was not going to happen. After getting off the metro (during which someone almost stole me wallet), one of the plastic bags decided to give way and my groceries spilled all over the sidewalk. This is the moment I knew I had hit rock bottom. The jar of tomato sauce I bought fell to the ground and shattered, making a sound like a gun shot had just gone off (so, basically everyone in a three block vicinity probably heard it--great...). Haha, my first thought (after screaming a few expletives in my head) was "well, there goes 3 Euro". I didn't even feel embarrassed; I didn't even feel sad; I just felt angry. I tried to do damage control, but the best I could do was throw what was left of the jar and about half of the sauce contained within those glass fragments into the nearest public trashcan. That left about half the sauce on me and the sidewalk. Whoopsies. Sadly, I didn't even care that there was a big pile of red goo on the side walk. Dogs here poop all over the sidewalk and no one ever cleans it up--what is a little (ok, a lot!) of tomato sauce then? I felt bad leaving it, but I had no way of cleaning it up. That's not even what made me mad. It was the fact that EVERY single person who walked by me (there must have been at least a dozen in that few minute window) didn't even stop to ask if I needed help. If this had happened in the States, even in a place like NYC, I'm sure at least one person would have stopped to try to help.

I'm getting a bit fed up with the "mean" facade the Parisians put on most of the time when they are walking outside or on the metro. Would it be such a crime to smile at those you see or make small talk, or for heaven sakes ask the girl walking in front of you whose groceries just spilled all over the ground if she needs a hand? No, I really don't think so. But, I can't think like that. This isn't my world. I know that and I understand that, but it doesn't mean it doesn't frustrate me. I'm allowed to not like it, but I can't let it make me angry. All of these little inconsequential things don't seem to be a big deal when I look back at what I have written. In fact, they look like I'm just venting or complaining. However, these events, today, has taught me that I'm still me. I'm still American, and that's okay. It just means there might be some hard times and some bad days. But bad days are going to be the exception and not the rule. I'm sure things could have been much worse, and they might even get more challenging (here's to hoping they really don't), but I'll survive. I'll be just fine. I'm in Paris after all! Plus, each down is an opportunity to learn how to get back up, right? After all, what goes down has to go back up???? That's it....right??? ;D