Last Friday I cockblocked my five many readers and left you with only four of the five actions of which I was not proud to commit. Well today, without dicking around too much or digging for a witty quote, I present you with the story of me in Paris for New Years. Please note, this story was written quite some time ago, and I’m not going to bother updating (aside from a few messages from the future), so just think of yourself in 2005 while reading this post.
So last New Years I made a trip down to Paris, and I was totally stoked. It was my first trip anywhere since I’ve been to Germany, and dude, its PARIS!
We all got up early as balls and loaded up into Patrick’s car (an Opel Vectra), and I was already pissed because I got stuck in the back seat. I’m 6′1, everyone else was like 5′9 or below, I’m supposed to get front seat by default. Aparently it doesnt work that way in Germany. Anyway, I was still stoked, and so was my buddy Rob, as you can see.
(Pic: Kristina and her husband Rob) Message from the future: Rob, your D12 hat and bleached hair make you look like a huge faggot. I am extremely glad that I never hung out with you again after this trip because you are an enormous toolbag.
We got into France and we had to refuel, which meant that it was time for Rob and I to get some more beer, cause our small collection was cashed.
Rob and I walked into the gas station and, due to the fact that we consumed a ton of beer already, I had to let off some fluids. I went searching for the bathroom and passed by this
“WTF?!?!?,” I thought. Its a baby toilet… with no door on it… just facing the hall… The thing wasnt any larger than a shoebox. I turned to Rob and said, “Dude, its hard enough for kids to quit shitting their pants, but damn, now you have to put them on the spot?”
I finished my business and noticed that there were NO stalls for the dudes. Aparently, that baby toilet is what all dudes have to use in this gas station.
Right next to the baby toilet was a door marked:
WTF X 2!?!?!?!? You get a door when you take a shower but not one when you gotta lay a loaf?
We all met up outside and hung out for a bit, and I enjoyed not being stuffed in the back seat. We had a couple beers (I was told open containers in vehicles is totally legal, but its nicer when you’re not crammed in the back of a small euro car when you’re drinking your bottle of Urpills).
(Pic: From left to right, Rob, Kristina, and Patrick)
Message from the future: Patrick is exactly as sneaky as he looks, but I am much sneakier… When I moved out of my apartment, everything I didnt want to haul down to the dumpster in the snow, I just threw into the community basement. Have fun digging that shit out Patty!
(Pic: Me enjoying the fresh air and a beer) Message from the future: Jim, that beer tastes like shit. You will never get used to it, it will continuously taste like ass, as well as every other German beer you will drink. Fuck Deutsch beer, just buy a bunch of shitty Bud Light and call it a day.
We got to Paris and I was all eyes, but no camera, I ran out of batteries. Should have got some at the gas station but I was too busy staring at the douches and baby crappers. We finally got some batteries at our hotel, which was about 30km from Paris, named the Hotel Stars
(Pics: Rob and I)
Our hotel had nothing but pay channels, which I was thankful for because I dont really like TV anyway. I took a short nap and was woken up when we were going to leave to go out for the night.
We finally got to Paris, after a long bus ride, and I got my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. I was floored by its beauty. Unfortunately, my camera was also floored and forgot to focus.
I wanted to get close to it, so I coaxed everyone to run. We got up underneath it and it was HUGE. I’ve seen pics of it before, and I looked at how tall it was compared to the CN Tower, and I didnt think it would look this large in person, but lord almighty was it big.
(Pic: Underneath view of the tower)
(Pic: A tour guide explained to me that Paris is trying to get the olympics in 2012, so they have this big plaque on the side of the tower) Message from the future: SUCK IT FUCKERS, ENGLAND GOT THE BID, FRANCE BLOWS! WOOOOOOOO!
ALL was great, up to that point. It was then, that Kristina, Patrick, and the wench that Patrick brought with him, all started argueing. I, being the english speaking person I am, couldnt really help moderate their arguement, as it was all in German, and I started to get worried. Rob then told me that we were on our own, and our group was splitting up. I was now fully worried:
-Patrick had the car that brought us there
-Patrick was the only one who knew where the hotel was
-Patrick and his wench were splitting off from Rob, Kristina, and I, leaving us in a country we’ve never been to.
Oh great…
Well, we didnt do much other than drink beer and hang out by the Eiffel Tower, as we got sick of all the French people trying to steal my backpack, wallet, shirt, jacket, and basically anything they could get their hands on. Message from the future: Jim, you are a moron and didn’t learn your lesson the first time. Six months later you will return to Paris, where someone will break into your rental car and steal your backpack full roast beef sandwiches and beer. You are stupid.
We sat in a park, about 150 yards from the Eiffel Tower, and chilled out. Rob chilled out a bit more than most.
About 10 minutes from the clock clicking over to midnight, Kristina announced that she had to go to the bathroom. I walked with her to the restroom area underneath the tower, only to find it was closed. She said she could hold it.
Midnight clicked over and the tower blew up in an array of strobe lights. It was beautiful.
Now we had to find Patrick so we could go back to the Hotel, cause it was cold and I was tired.
We tried to make our way to the main intersection to get a clear signal to call Patrick (German cell phones dont work for crap next to the tower Message from the future: German cell phones dont work for crap anywhere moron… Remember when you got that emergency call while taking a dump and you had to sprint to the kitchen to hear what they were saying? Oh wait, you dont, that wont happen for another year…), but we were stopped by a people traffic jam underneath the tower. We were stuck there for about 10 minutes when all of a sudden the French rolled out the riot brigade. I had no idea what caused them to do this, and I really didnt care, I just didnt want to get beat with a nightstick. The situation was pretty bad, but I was in no way prepared for what was next.
Some of the crowd started running around, and it was at about that time that I heard metal canisters hit the ground. Now its been about 5 years since I played Counterstrike, but let me tell you, you dont forget what those gas bombs sound like.
Let me clear the air a sec. No matter HOW much you try to psych yourself up to get tear gassed, you are never fully prepared for what is to come.
The next moments passed in a haze of gas and fluids pouring from my face. I was on the ground when the riot squad forcefully moved me out of the way. I stood up after a while, and looked around and noticed that I was on my own. My friends were elsewhere and I was surrounded by hunderds of scared tourists that were probably stepping on me a couple minutes before.
I started walking tward the nearest eating establishments to find a bathroom, because I could probably find Rob and Kristina there. Luckily, I found them about half an hr later, but it seems that they had picked up a friend. The french guy they were hanging with spoke very little German and even less English. In fact, the only english he knew was “WE ARE THE WORLDDDD WE ARE THE CHILDRENNNNNNN” (only those two lines, but I’ll be damned if he didnt sing them over and over again like it was the whole song), and the phrase “Dont be afraid”.
Now when a guy from another country comes up to you, after getting tear gassed, and all he can tell you is, “Dont be afraid” over and over again, while tossing in that damned song, you get a bit afraid.
Finally, Kristina was able to convey the fact that her and her husband had to urinate and the french guy looked at them for a while and then said “MAC DONALDS!!! PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS”. This was perhaps the funniest thing I’ve heard in the passed decade.
He took us to the subway (not SUBWAY PSSSSSSSSSSSSS, but the actual subway), and told Kristina that we had to take a train to get to where they sell Big Mac’s.
Normally, the subway in Paris isnt this crowded, but it seemed that the riot squad found their way down there too, with their shields and batons (no gas, that would have made quite a mess).
So there we were, stuck in another person traffic jam and I had no idea how much time had passed since we were sitting in that park. While I was day dreaming, Kristina turned to me and said, “I went…”
“You went,” I questioned. “Went where?”
“Dont look down,” she said.
It was then that my shoes made a deep splashing noise. Ohhhhh jeeeez. This 23 year old woman just pissed her self in a subway. I tried to calm her down but I was laughing too hard.
Remember acid wash jeans? Yea, hers looked like they were half acid washed, and the inner leg was left alone. I didnt know you could piss that much, but DAMN! Her shoes were making a squishy noise.
Sweet.. Stranded in Paris with no food in my stomach, only 2 beers left in my backpack, NO MORE SMOKES, Mr. MAC DONALDS PSSSSSSSSS leading us around, and a grown woman with piss all over herself. Just when I thought it couldnt get worse, Rob pissed himself too.
We finally ditched the french guy, and made our way to the surface, since they didnt really need to use the restroom anymore. We tried to call Patrick about 30 times but he wasnt answering, probably still upset at whatever the hell Kristina said to them.
Sitting on a street corner, we looked miserable. I asked how the hell we were getting back to the hotel, and like Rain Man, Rob comes up with the name of the hotel and the town its in. Kristina said we could hail a cab “Just like Sex and the City”. Hailing a cab in Paris is NOTHING like Sex and the City. We tried to hail a cab for 5 hrs, and it was around this time that the sun was comming up. Not a single cab was unocupied or would stop for us. We sat on the curb, depressed and soggy… some of us. Message from the future: Jim, you douchebag, you deserved to sit on a curb for 5 hrs like a dipfuck. Who the hell believes some dumb broad who thinks shit works “Just like Sex and the City” Your stupidity knows no boundries…
Message from the future: Rob, you’re still a tool.
We finally got a cab at around 8-9am, and I had to pay the cabby 90 euro to drive us to our place. To give you an idea of how much a euro is, .72 euro = a dollar Message from the future: Don’t be too upset about the 90 euro you spent Jim, because later on you totally go on to stiff Patrick for the bill for the Hotel and fuel needed to get to and from Paris. High five!
We slept all day and left at night. On the way out, I caught sight of some french establishment named Hippopotomas and somehow, seeing this made me feel all better. Go figure…
