Hardly two weeks after I touched down in Geneva town, X arrived, toting his brand new fancypants European-Style (and size) Tumi luggage and all (and he brought his fancy weird shiny pants as well).
Lesson learned: Never invite someone to go/come somewhere unless you REALLY want them to be there and are fully prepared for them to be there.
I have to admit, at first I was incredibly skeptical when he said he was coming, because how many times have I been given false promises? I've lost count. Besides, I think any normal person would assume that if a person says he'll fly 8 hours across an ocean to see you, he's either severely medicated, or you know, crazy. Although it was a nice surprise for him to just jump on a plane and hop the pond, immediately I felt awkward with him being in my already-tiny studio space. He arrived around 6:30am on a Monday morning - fantastic timing, of course because on Mondays I find myself particularly excited to get out of bed at 5am and trek out to the airport in the freezing cold. I found him at the airport, we went back to my place to drop off his stuff, and then walked a little ways to get a quick café and croissant before I had to go to work.
I think that was probably the most awkward part. I mean, yeah it's great for him to come out here for a week, but when I'm working my butt off doing two jobs at once and in a completely foreign country with new people who don't know my work ethic or reputation yet, it's really stressful to try to balance all of that and do well. On one hand, I have a new boss who is more than happy to dump work on me for this huge global platform; on another hand, I have my coworkers from DC still requesting random things from me; on one foot, I'm trying to figure my way out around this new city and navigate the language, culture, and everything in between; and then this friend shows up whom I feel obligated to entertain since he did come all this way. (I really only had one foot left at that point - should've used it to kick him back to the states). So, needless to say, I found myself in downtown Stress City.
I ended up managing it pretty well - being super productive at work so I wouldn't have to work too late and I would come back to my flat to spend a few hours with him. The first day, he wandered around and went grocery shopping (for himself). He later told me "Yeah I went grocery shopping today because I thought to myself, Harleen could use some snacks, like as she's working at her computer or something." He brought back walnuts, which is strange considering he should know by now that I'm allergic to them, especially from that day when my throat started closing up after accidentally eating one and he was right there watching me struggle to find water. It took him a few minutes to realize I was having an allergic reaction. Thanks, doctor. Anyways, he also said he "would have gotten me chocolate, but…" I don't even remember how that sentence ended because my brain stopped processing after those few words. What on Earth would lead any human being (or martian) to NOT get a girl chocolate, and then TELL HER you didn't get her chocolate…? I mean, am I missing something here? I don’t know anyone who would respond to that by saying "Yeah, actually, I'm really glad you didn't get me chocolate". Well, besides an Oompa Loompa maybe.
I digress.
So in the evening we would usually just go straight out for dinner at a place he would have picked out earlier in the day, which was cool because I probably wouldn't have found these places on my own or even had the time to go exploring to such an extent. I appreciated his efforts, but just not so much his company, as horrible as that sounds. At first it was nice to have someone to converse with outside of the office since I'm so used to having that back home, but there's a difference between talking with someone, and talking at someone. I felt like he was doing more of the latter, with not as many opportunities for me to add my thoughts. Waiting to get a word in the conversation was like waiting for a Metro door to open on a ride - you wait around awkwardly and finally get a brief window of time to breathe or add to the conversation, and then you're back underground and smothered by everyone's smelly armpits.
This routine of working all day, coming back and going out to dinner/exploring continued for several days and soon (probably one day after he arrived) I found myself counting down the days until he was leaving. It seemed like on average, every 27 minutes or so, he would start a conversation like this:
"Wow, I can't believe I'm in Switzerland! None of my friends know I'm here. I mean, I told a few people, but I don't need everyone to know my business, you know?" He then takes a picture of something, uploads/instagrams/tags/checks in/comments. "Haha my friends are commenting and wondering where I am right now…this is just so crazy. I was JUST in DC [insert number of days] days ago." (Repeat this paragraph every day, at least seven times between the hours of 7pm-11pm; triple this number on weekends.) More: "You know, I wasn't sure if I would come here to Geneva, but I thought to myself, why not? I can do my work from anywhere, and I haven't traveled abroad in a while. Last time I was in Europe, it was for a violin tour (with his elementary school, blah blah blah)…and I was thinking to myself, I should bring my violin and maybe play on a street corner, but it's a really nice one, cost over $10,000. I used to be really good, but then I gave it to my little sister (blah blah blah).." (repeat the Violin Story at least once every other day). Most of "our" conversations were all centered around him and all the supposedly-amazing things he's done in his life. He would occasionally throw a compliment my way, something generic along the lines of "I can't believe how much you've accomplished at 22…when I was 22 blah blah blah…" and he would go back to talking about himself. And no, it's not beneath him to still brag about high school leadership positions…at 30 years old. Regardless of what he's talking about, he'll have the most serious of expressions on his face as if all of humanity depends on the words coming out of his mouth. Pair that with my inability to take anything too seriously and viola - you get these ridiculous docu-mockeries!
It's not just the annoying, pompous, arrogant part of him that bothered me, but he was also very pretentious and thought he knew everything about everything. He would make a huge dog and pony show (is that the right term?) in a restaurant when sampling wine because he learned how to "properly sample it in Napa Valley". I'm pretty sure I could have French braided my entire head of hair in the amount of time it would take him to tell the waiter he was okay with the tiny sample of wine they would pour into his glass. First he would sip it, then swirl it around and stick his nose in it to test the "aromaticity", followed by taking a bigger sip and sloshing it around his mouth, before he could tell whether he liked it - he had a whole routine down. Meanwhile, I counted ceiling tiles to prevent my eyes from rolling out of their sockets.
As if that wasn't bad enough, he would constantly name and refer to his things by their brand, e.g. rather than "sunglasses" they were his "Ray Ban Sunglasses"; it couldn't just be a "suitcase" but a "Tumi European Sized Suitcase", etc. When we went to an Italian-Indian fusion restaurant one night, he said he would fit right in. I asked why, and he said because he's half Indian and he's wearing a Versace scarf. I didn't even know how to respond, but I felt stomach acid rising. Not only was he so branded, but we would oftentimes end up at such expensive restaurants, and Geneva is expensive enough without trying to go out of your way to find a nice place. For anyone who knows me well enough, prissy restaurants are NOT the way to impress me, and especially if we're splitting the bill? I can tell you right now that as amazing as some DC restaurants are, my favorite meals consist of hotdogs off the streets, Chipotle, and Vapianos. The fanciest thing I will do is eat pizza with a fork and knife - and if there is more than one fork and knife at my place setting, I start feeling uncomfortable. I don't care how I grew up or what kind of stuffy restaurants my parents love, but that's not me. I could tell that he REALLY likes/liked me though, and was constantly trying to impress me with his "knowledge" or whatever, which was even more of a turn off. I never seem to like the guys who actually like me. Plus if you're trying too hard and it shows - that's just sad.
What I found most weird about the whole ordeal was how little I wanted to do with him physically. As in, I didn't even want to touch him, let alone hold his hand. After our first "date" on Valentine's Day when we went to Vaps, he tried to kiss me and I recoiled. It wasn't the right time, place, moment - nothing. Plus I don't like kissing just anyone? I mean, ew. I'm of the opinion that a kiss should mean something - you don't just toss those around - unless you're married or something, but even then mean something and are reciprocated by both people involved. In any case, the entire time he was here - no kisses, no hand-holding, no cuddling, no nothing. Barely hugging, maybe? If you could call it that? And even those were more awkward than the half-hug uncles give you at parties. It's not just my brain that doesn't like him, but my body doesn't either which I find strange because I'm normally such an affectionate, cuddly/snuggly/huggy kind of person, and my body was definitely showing signs that there's obviously something off in this whole situation.
NOT TO MENTION the absolute worst thing about him that drove me absolutely insane - his snoring. I don't care how much he spends on going to a personal trainer however many times a week or whatever, but this kid's money would be better spent thrown at a sleep therapist. I have never heard of anyone in my life who snores as badly as he does. Which, by the way is the reason these little novelitas were drafted so late at night when I should have been sleeping. I would literally spend nights on end awake writing instead of sleeping. He claimed when he came here that he didn't want to distract me from my work, but when his dumbass can't stop snoring, nor position his head and pillow in such a way to reduce the amount of snoring, and I can't sleep properly for an entire week - YES, you are distracting me from my work. I tried to wake him up in hopes that it would get him to temporarily stop, but that didn't work at all and within three seconds he would be back at it. I found myself going for walks in the middle of the night and could hear his snoring DOWN THE HALL from my room. I would come back and work at my desk, and could still hear him THROUGH my earbuds. Motorcycles and buses would pass by outside the window and yet his snoring was still the loudest! Granted, I don't have Beats by Dre Headphones like he does (and let's not forget that he calls them that every time he refers to them - they have a specific identity, after all), but that was just SO unacceptable. I was trying to gauge the noise between a lawnmower and chainsaw, but I think it's closer to the noise level of an airplane. Damn, as much bad karma as I'm going to have for writing all this, I feel even worse for whatever unfortunate man or woman has to spend the rest of their life sleeping in the same bed as him. At the rate he's going though, I don't even know what kind of creature would want to.
Every night I would pray that I wouldn't get a noise complaint. Funnily enough, one night he had the nerve to tell me that he couldn't sleep well at night because I was being too loud. He said that I grind my teeth at night when I sleep and he thinks that's a consequence of my anxiety issues. Excuse me? What now? I have, what? Better question - how the F can you hear what the hell I'm doing while I sleep OVER YOUR OWN SNORING. If he can't wake up to his own snoring, I have no idea how the hell anything can wake him up. Of course, I have a million flaws and whether or not one of them is that I "grind my teeth due to anxiety issues", okay whatever. So I'm not perfect. But me? Anxiety? Hmm, I wonder why - maybe it has something to with juggling twelve different things at once while being sleep deprived and simultaneously doing my best to NOT kick someone's butt for keeping me up all night. UGH.
I'm pretty sure I could go on and make a list of another 10,000 things that annoy me about him, including his terrible table manners, lack of gentlemanly traits, and the fact that he claims to be a medical professional and doesn't cover his own cough. I don't understand how you be a doctor and studying public health, and NOT understand the spread of germs. That's just unbelievably stupid.
For the record, his stupidity by no means ended there. It just goes to show that as perfect as someone may seem on paper - what with being a doctor, coming from a family of doctors, etc. - that doesn't necessarily translate in person. Especially when the person totally sucks.
We ended up going to Paris together from Friday afternoon through Sunday, but by Wednesday evening (he arrived on Monday) I was planning on telling him I had no desire to go. I needed to SLEEP, and catch up on work, and I needed a break from him. Of course by the time I got home on Thursday evening, he had already gotten the tickets and my choices were quite limited. I ended up waking up at 6am on Friday morning (after another nearly sleepless night) to get work done so I wouldn't have to worry about it over the weekend. Meanwhile, he of course slept/snored in.
He also conveniently didn't tell me what time our train was leaving and agreed with me when I asked if it was leaving at 3:30pm. So while was under that impression, working away at the Starbucks down the road, at 12:30pm he came over to where I was working and told me the train was leaving at 1:30. THANKS, BUD. So, I had to quickly finish up my work, sprint back to the apartment and throw some clothes in a backpack in less than five minutes, then run to catch the train. And of course he had already showered and packed up his little Tumi carry-on bag before coming to inform me of this. Really cool.
By the time we got on the train, I was absolutely exhausted. The seats weren't assigned in this train, so as soon as we picked out two empty seats, I passed out almost right away. We had to change trains in Lyon, where we got another boarding pass. I asked the kid about thirty times if the seats were assigned - he kept saying no, but lo and behold - they were. We spent about a third of the next train ride (45 minutes or so) hanging out in between train cars near the bathroom without a seat because he didn't think we were assigned one. We met a little stowaway there, who started talking to us in French. I was about to let the man know we didn't speak French, but X, being X, had decided upon coming here that he didn't want to speak English and would only speak Spanish or whatever little French he knew. So, the gentleman kept asking him questions and watched as X struggled to answer in French. After about ten minutes of this, the guy finally says in perfect English, "Man, your French is terrible." I think I laughed out loud for a full two minutes - and then internally for the rest of the trip.
Turns out, our assigned seating was all the way on the other side of the train from where we had gotten on. Translation: at the next stop, we had to sprint down the train to make it to our correct compartment. Of course, when we got there, someone was already sitting in those seats since "no one had gotten on" at the previous stop and the seats were reassigned. Luckily, some nice folks let us sit next to them in empty chairs, but holy CRAP that was the most ridiculous moment in the world. French trains are cray. I don't travel by train often (or really, ever) but for someone who claims to travel by train often (no, not just the Amtrack, but the freaking lightning-speed Excelsia version of it or whatever) X was pretty dense when it came to reading a train ticket. For the record, numbers and letters next to your name usually indicate that you have an assigned seat. Moron.
As for what happened when we finally got to Paris aka the "City of Love"?
Stay tuned, sports fans…
Lesson learned: Never invite someone to go/come somewhere unless you REALLY want them to be there and are fully prepared for them to be there.
I have to admit, at first I was incredibly skeptical when he said he was coming, because how many times have I been given false promises? I've lost count. Besides, I think any normal person would assume that if a person says he'll fly 8 hours across an ocean to see you, he's either severely medicated, or you know, crazy. Although it was a nice surprise for him to just jump on a plane and hop the pond, immediately I felt awkward with him being in my already-tiny studio space. He arrived around 6:30am on a Monday morning - fantastic timing, of course because on Mondays I find myself particularly excited to get out of bed at 5am and trek out to the airport in the freezing cold. I found him at the airport, we went back to my place to drop off his stuff, and then walked a little ways to get a quick café and croissant before I had to go to work.
I think that was probably the most awkward part. I mean, yeah it's great for him to come out here for a week, but when I'm working my butt off doing two jobs at once and in a completely foreign country with new people who don't know my work ethic or reputation yet, it's really stressful to try to balance all of that and do well. On one hand, I have a new boss who is more than happy to dump work on me for this huge global platform; on another hand, I have my coworkers from DC still requesting random things from me; on one foot, I'm trying to figure my way out around this new city and navigate the language, culture, and everything in between; and then this friend shows up whom I feel obligated to entertain since he did come all this way. (I really only had one foot left at that point - should've used it to kick him back to the states). So, needless to say, I found myself in downtown Stress City.
I ended up managing it pretty well - being super productive at work so I wouldn't have to work too late and I would come back to my flat to spend a few hours with him. The first day, he wandered around and went grocery shopping (for himself). He later told me "Yeah I went grocery shopping today because I thought to myself, Harleen could use some snacks, like as she's working at her computer or something." He brought back walnuts, which is strange considering he should know by now that I'm allergic to them, especially from that day when my throat started closing up after accidentally eating one and he was right there watching me struggle to find water. It took him a few minutes to realize I was having an allergic reaction. Thanks, doctor. Anyways, he also said he "would have gotten me chocolate, but…" I don't even remember how that sentence ended because my brain stopped processing after those few words. What on Earth would lead any human being (or martian) to NOT get a girl chocolate, and then TELL HER you didn't get her chocolate…? I mean, am I missing something here? I don’t know anyone who would respond to that by saying "Yeah, actually, I'm really glad you didn't get me chocolate". Well, besides an Oompa Loompa maybe.
I digress.
So in the evening we would usually just go straight out for dinner at a place he would have picked out earlier in the day, which was cool because I probably wouldn't have found these places on my own or even had the time to go exploring to such an extent. I appreciated his efforts, but just not so much his company, as horrible as that sounds. At first it was nice to have someone to converse with outside of the office since I'm so used to having that back home, but there's a difference between talking with someone, and talking at someone. I felt like he was doing more of the latter, with not as many opportunities for me to add my thoughts. Waiting to get a word in the conversation was like waiting for a Metro door to open on a ride - you wait around awkwardly and finally get a brief window of time to breathe or add to the conversation, and then you're back underground and smothered by everyone's smelly armpits.
This routine of working all day, coming back and going out to dinner/exploring continued for several days and soon (probably one day after he arrived) I found myself counting down the days until he was leaving. It seemed like on average, every 27 minutes or so, he would start a conversation like this:
"Wow, I can't believe I'm in Switzerland! None of my friends know I'm here. I mean, I told a few people, but I don't need everyone to know my business, you know?" He then takes a picture of something, uploads/instagrams/tags/checks in/comments. "Haha my friends are commenting and wondering where I am right now…this is just so crazy. I was JUST in DC [insert number of days] days ago." (Repeat this paragraph every day, at least seven times between the hours of 7pm-11pm; triple this number on weekends.) More: "You know, I wasn't sure if I would come here to Geneva, but I thought to myself, why not? I can do my work from anywhere, and I haven't traveled abroad in a while. Last time I was in Europe, it was for a violin tour (with his elementary school, blah blah blah)…and I was thinking to myself, I should bring my violin and maybe play on a street corner, but it's a really nice one, cost over $10,000. I used to be really good, but then I gave it to my little sister (blah blah blah).." (repeat the Violin Story at least once every other day). Most of "our" conversations were all centered around him and all the supposedly-amazing things he's done in his life. He would occasionally throw a compliment my way, something generic along the lines of "I can't believe how much you've accomplished at 22…when I was 22 blah blah blah…" and he would go back to talking about himself. And no, it's not beneath him to still brag about high school leadership positions…at 30 years old. Regardless of what he's talking about, he'll have the most serious of expressions on his face as if all of humanity depends on the words coming out of his mouth. Pair that with my inability to take anything too seriously and viola - you get these ridiculous docu-mockeries!
It's not just the annoying, pompous, arrogant part of him that bothered me, but he was also very pretentious and thought he knew everything about everything. He would make a huge dog and pony show (is that the right term?) in a restaurant when sampling wine because he learned how to "properly sample it in Napa Valley". I'm pretty sure I could have French braided my entire head of hair in the amount of time it would take him to tell the waiter he was okay with the tiny sample of wine they would pour into his glass. First he would sip it, then swirl it around and stick his nose in it to test the "aromaticity", followed by taking a bigger sip and sloshing it around his mouth, before he could tell whether he liked it - he had a whole routine down. Meanwhile, I counted ceiling tiles to prevent my eyes from rolling out of their sockets.
As if that wasn't bad enough, he would constantly name and refer to his things by their brand, e.g. rather than "sunglasses" they were his "Ray Ban Sunglasses"; it couldn't just be a "suitcase" but a "Tumi European Sized Suitcase", etc. When we went to an Italian-Indian fusion restaurant one night, he said he would fit right in. I asked why, and he said because he's half Indian and he's wearing a Versace scarf. I didn't even know how to respond, but I felt stomach acid rising. Not only was he so branded, but we would oftentimes end up at such expensive restaurants, and Geneva is expensive enough without trying to go out of your way to find a nice place. For anyone who knows me well enough, prissy restaurants are NOT the way to impress me, and especially if we're splitting the bill? I can tell you right now that as amazing as some DC restaurants are, my favorite meals consist of hotdogs off the streets, Chipotle, and Vapianos. The fanciest thing I will do is eat pizza with a fork and knife - and if there is more than one fork and knife at my place setting, I start feeling uncomfortable. I don't care how I grew up or what kind of stuffy restaurants my parents love, but that's not me. I could tell that he REALLY likes/liked me though, and was constantly trying to impress me with his "knowledge" or whatever, which was even more of a turn off. I never seem to like the guys who actually like me. Plus if you're trying too hard and it shows - that's just sad.
What I found most weird about the whole ordeal was how little I wanted to do with him physically. As in, I didn't even want to touch him, let alone hold his hand. After our first "date" on Valentine's Day when we went to Vaps, he tried to kiss me and I recoiled. It wasn't the right time, place, moment - nothing. Plus I don't like kissing just anyone? I mean, ew. I'm of the opinion that a kiss should mean something - you don't just toss those around - unless you're married or something, but even then mean something and are reciprocated by both people involved. In any case, the entire time he was here - no kisses, no hand-holding, no cuddling, no nothing. Barely hugging, maybe? If you could call it that? And even those were more awkward than the half-hug uncles give you at parties. It's not just my brain that doesn't like him, but my body doesn't either which I find strange because I'm normally such an affectionate, cuddly/snuggly/huggy kind of person, and my body was definitely showing signs that there's obviously something off in this whole situation.
NOT TO MENTION the absolute worst thing about him that drove me absolutely insane - his snoring. I don't care how much he spends on going to a personal trainer however many times a week or whatever, but this kid's money would be better spent thrown at a sleep therapist. I have never heard of anyone in my life who snores as badly as he does. Which, by the way is the reason these little novelitas were drafted so late at night when I should have been sleeping. I would literally spend nights on end awake writing instead of sleeping. He claimed when he came here that he didn't want to distract me from my work, but when his dumbass can't stop snoring, nor position his head and pillow in such a way to reduce the amount of snoring, and I can't sleep properly for an entire week - YES, you are distracting me from my work. I tried to wake him up in hopes that it would get him to temporarily stop, but that didn't work at all and within three seconds he would be back at it. I found myself going for walks in the middle of the night and could hear his snoring DOWN THE HALL from my room. I would come back and work at my desk, and could still hear him THROUGH my earbuds. Motorcycles and buses would pass by outside the window and yet his snoring was still the loudest! Granted, I don't have Beats by Dre Headphones like he does (and let's not forget that he calls them that every time he refers to them - they have a specific identity, after all), but that was just SO unacceptable. I was trying to gauge the noise between a lawnmower and chainsaw, but I think it's closer to the noise level of an airplane. Damn, as much bad karma as I'm going to have for writing all this, I feel even worse for whatever unfortunate man or woman has to spend the rest of their life sleeping in the same bed as him. At the rate he's going though, I don't even know what kind of creature would want to.
Every night I would pray that I wouldn't get a noise complaint. Funnily enough, one night he had the nerve to tell me that he couldn't sleep well at night because I was being too loud. He said that I grind my teeth at night when I sleep and he thinks that's a consequence of my anxiety issues. Excuse me? What now? I have, what? Better question - how the F can you hear what the hell I'm doing while I sleep OVER YOUR OWN SNORING. If he can't wake up to his own snoring, I have no idea how the hell anything can wake him up. Of course, I have a million flaws and whether or not one of them is that I "grind my teeth due to anxiety issues", okay whatever. So I'm not perfect. But me? Anxiety? Hmm, I wonder why - maybe it has something to with juggling twelve different things at once while being sleep deprived and simultaneously doing my best to NOT kick someone's butt for keeping me up all night. UGH.
I'm pretty sure I could go on and make a list of another 10,000 things that annoy me about him, including his terrible table manners, lack of gentlemanly traits, and the fact that he claims to be a medical professional and doesn't cover his own cough. I don't understand how you be a doctor and studying public health, and NOT understand the spread of germs. That's just unbelievably stupid.
For the record, his stupidity by no means ended there. It just goes to show that as perfect as someone may seem on paper - what with being a doctor, coming from a family of doctors, etc. - that doesn't necessarily translate in person. Especially when the person totally sucks.
We ended up going to Paris together from Friday afternoon through Sunday, but by Wednesday evening (he arrived on Monday) I was planning on telling him I had no desire to go. I needed to SLEEP, and catch up on work, and I needed a break from him. Of course by the time I got home on Thursday evening, he had already gotten the tickets and my choices were quite limited. I ended up waking up at 6am on Friday morning (after another nearly sleepless night) to get work done so I wouldn't have to worry about it over the weekend. Meanwhile, he of course slept/snored in.
He also conveniently didn't tell me what time our train was leaving and agreed with me when I asked if it was leaving at 3:30pm. So while was under that impression, working away at the Starbucks down the road, at 12:30pm he came over to where I was working and told me the train was leaving at 1:30. THANKS, BUD. So, I had to quickly finish up my work, sprint back to the apartment and throw some clothes in a backpack in less than five minutes, then run to catch the train. And of course he had already showered and packed up his little Tumi carry-on bag before coming to inform me of this. Really cool.
By the time we got on the train, I was absolutely exhausted. The seats weren't assigned in this train, so as soon as we picked out two empty seats, I passed out almost right away. We had to change trains in Lyon, where we got another boarding pass. I asked the kid about thirty times if the seats were assigned - he kept saying no, but lo and behold - they were. We spent about a third of the next train ride (45 minutes or so) hanging out in between train cars near the bathroom without a seat because he didn't think we were assigned one. We met a little stowaway there, who started talking to us in French. I was about to let the man know we didn't speak French, but X, being X, had decided upon coming here that he didn't want to speak English and would only speak Spanish or whatever little French he knew. So, the gentleman kept asking him questions and watched as X struggled to answer in French. After about ten minutes of this, the guy finally says in perfect English, "Man, your French is terrible." I think I laughed out loud for a full two minutes - and then internally for the rest of the trip.
Turns out, our assigned seating was all the way on the other side of the train from where we had gotten on. Translation: at the next stop, we had to sprint down the train to make it to our correct compartment. Of course, when we got there, someone was already sitting in those seats since "no one had gotten on" at the previous stop and the seats were reassigned. Luckily, some nice folks let us sit next to them in empty chairs, but holy CRAP that was the most ridiculous moment in the world. French trains are cray. I don't travel by train often (or really, ever) but for someone who claims to travel by train often (no, not just the Amtrack, but the freaking lightning-speed Excelsia version of it or whatever) X was pretty dense when it came to reading a train ticket. For the record, numbers and letters next to your name usually indicate that you have an assigned seat. Moron.
As for what happened when we finally got to Paris aka the "City of Love"?
Stay tuned, sports fans…
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