pick-pocketers...

last night i was taking the metro to the bus stop to catch the last bus from lille to gondecourt...as usual i had my iPod on in full force to block out the rest of the world after a long weekend...nothing like a little iron and wine to make the commute tolerable...

while i was getting on i noticed a pair of guys, probably in their 40's...definately not homeless, but quite obviously drunk and looking a little scruffy...they sit down, and i stay standing near the door...after a few stops, one of them stands up and comes next to me...his partner, starts cracking up...i keep my eye on him and after a few minutes, i notice his hand start moving towards my mp3 player, which is buried in my coat pocket...so i give him a nice jab with my elbow and my best bitch stare...i mean really, did he think he was going to steal my iPod...it's connected to my head, idiot...at that, he cowers away and sits back down...for the next ten minutes or so, he keeps trying different passengers...and every time gets the same response...an incredulous look..."is that really the best you can do"...while his partner chuckles away...

i found a seat next to a nice little old lady...and after the two wannabee pick-pocketers get off she gives me the oh-so typical french sigh, and mutters under her breath...c'est vraiment penible ("it's so tiresome" - only the french would call pick-pocketers "tiresome")...and continutes to mutter under her breath about the horrible state of the metro system, and whatnot...we continue chatting as we walk to the the bus stop and it's not long until we reach the inevitable subject that all conversations lead to in this country...the 'hey, you're not french" moment...when i tell her i'm from america, i'm expecting the normal "oh, you know, we don't really like that bush guy", but i get instead..."oh the we love americans...in '44 we were all so happy to see them...so friendly and warm...not like the british...they're so cold"...i tell you, i could have kissed that little 3 foot tall, white haired, old lady...on an evening when i was beginning to hate france (i had stepped in dog crap about 30 minutes earlier...i swear to god it's like walking in a mine field here...i don't know how i made it this long, but since i bought my new, extremely expensive green and yellow asics tigers i've stepped in it twice...but anyways, i'm getting off subject) she restored my faith...unfortunately her bus came and she had to run off before i could ask her name...but i made it home with my iPod and my shoes got a good cleaning, so all is well...
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"there are sailing ships that pass all our bodies in the grass
springtime calls her children 'til she let's them go at last
and she's chosen where to be, though she's lost her wedding ring
somewhere near her misplaced jar of bougainvillea seeds "
-passing afternoon, iron and wine