Day 53 - Andrea J

I met Andrea in French Class. We worked on a group project once and she basically had to write out my entire section phonetically. When we went to France, she, Michelle and I shared an hotel room together in Paris. The first thing we did was walk 15 blocks away to a liquor store and buy a bottle of something. Then, we proceeded to sneak it into our room and drink it, but then we were stuck with the bottle as evidence. We ended up putting it inside several bags and throwing it out a window into the alley. Kind of pathetic, really.

Another night, we decided we had to go out and party because we were 16 and that was the legal drinking age. We asked the cute French boy at the hotel desk what bar to go to, got on the subway, walked several blocks and entered some bar named after a Mustang. In some mangled French, we ordered beers. As I'm putting the bottle to my lips, the bartender asks how old we are. I tell him I'm soixante. After a few minutes of arguing about it, he took our beers away. Once we were outside Andrea says, "16 is seize; soixante is 60." O, well, I guess once we had been kicked out was the time to tell me that.

We tried to go clubbing twice. One night, we had to pick up old 'Roxbury' guys outside the club in order to get in because there were no "bands" allowed. We were turned away because our dress was too "sporty." On the way home on the bus we spoke to a guy who hated Americans because we are spoiled and ignorant. The next night, we dressed in the sluttiest clothes we had brought and the club was closed because it was some Catholic holiday. By the time we headed home, the buses had stopped running, and we had to take a ride with an unbelievably creepy taxi driver.

We continued to sneak out of most every hotel room we shared during our two weeks in France. If Andrea hadn't been there, I would have slept a full nine hours every night and have no stories to tell. Quelle tragédie!