My new plan consisted of sucking it up and dealing with him.
I was in Paris after all and who knew when I would be able to return? I was still incredibly lucky for being where I was so I figured I might as well just try to enjoy what I could, ignore him as much as possible, and not let him ruin my time.
We woke up Sunday morning, knowing we had to get going to catch our train on the other side of town - or at least that's how I woke up. I immediately went to shower while he updated Facebook, Instagram, FourSquare, MySpace - whatever. I don't know what it is about this kid but he has no sense of urgency at all. For example, we woke up late, we're already running late if we wanted to get breakfast, and he's just taking his time, packing his things ever so slowly, commentating on EVERYTHING, thinking the train is going to wait for us or something. Are ya kidding? FREAKING MOVE IT.
When we were finally all ready, I prepared myself for the Everest-equivalent hike I would have to endure, what with adding my backpack to the prior day's shopping weight. We went downstairs to the lobby to check out and it occurred to me that I never asked about the price for the hotel - huge mistake. I don't know if this kid has ever stayed in a hotel before, because our total for two nights ended up at nearly 500 Euros, meaning this hotel that we only partially slept in cost us 250 Euros a night. REALLY buddy?! We didn't have a view of the Eiffel Tower, we still had to hike to get virtually anywhere, and quite honestly - what the F was worth 250 Euros a night!? I am by no means a cheap person - I prefer the term economical, or you know, SMART WITH MY MONEY. For example, when my family went to Australia last year, I found us a two-bedroom duplex penthouse suite right on the harbour in downtown Sydney with an AMAZING view for 250 Aus a night - and that was booked three days before we decided to fly out there in the middle of prime tourist season. So when comparing that to this, I nearly flipped a cow. That's the last time I'm ever trusting anyone to do anything. He saw my raised eyebrows when we got the bill and said, "Pretty good deal, huh!?" He was so proud of himself. So. Clueless. I didn't even say anything - just put my card on the counter. There's 250 bucks I'm never seeing again.
Before we headed to the train station, he wanted to have breakfast first, and looked up directions to another one of those fancy shmancy places that actually squeezes grapes to make you grape juice. Unless it's wine, really, what's the point of all that effort?
We entered the restaurant and it was completely empty. By completely, I mean that besides the servers, there was no one in the restaurant. They asked if we had a reservation. We said no and they looked at us like that was the most ridiculous statement they'd ever heard and we were all of a sudden intruding on their restaurant's ambiance. The hostess stared at us then went to look in some book, flipping through it and finally running her finger down the page. Let me repeat - the restaurant was completely empty. Finally, she sighed, rolled her eyes, and told us to follow her. She pointed towards the back of the restaurant, so, since we had 10,000 things, we took a seat at a table with 4 chairs, but no sooner had I unstrapped my backpack when Crazy Lady came back and asked us to sit at a table for 2.
(Did I already mention how there was NO ONE in the restaurant?) Fine with me. I scattered my (consolidated) bags all around me, and if they had to climb over them to deliver my food and refill my water - that wasn't my problem. They wanted to make this difficult. I just hoped none of the imaginary people taking up all the other tables would trip over it.
I took a look at the pretentiously over-priced and limited breakfast menu and decided on crepes. Figured I'd go with something I know. Turns out, they had "run out" of crepes. I think all the invisible people in the restaurant ate them or something. I ended up ordering French Toast which was soggy and gross. Again, money well spent. I should've just walked out on the street and gotten a crepe or croissant for less than two euros. I definitely would've been a lot more satisfied than I was with the cardboard on my plate. The servers took a year and a half to bring us our bill, and soon we were running late once again.
We grabbed a cab and got to the train station, luckily found our correct seats on time (6 minutes before the train was going to leave), and were headed back to Geneva. By this point, I was too annoyed to deal with him any longer, so I stuck my ear buds in, pulled my hood up, leaned my head against the window and just fell asleep.
Before I knew it….click. Click.
Click.
Click.
Who the HELL still keeps the clicker sound on when using their camera phone? I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - he's also the type who keeps the keypad sound on for every touch on his phone. Which of course isn't annoying in the slightest.
Not. One. Bit. And neither is leaning over me to take pictures through the window.
At this point, the kid finally got one of Harleen's infamous "Shut-the-F-up-or-I-will-cut-your-balls-off-and-throw-them-to-starving-wolves" look that I only reserve for a select few people.
His reaction (completely shocked): "Oh, I'm sorry! Was I bothering you?"
My response: "Of course not. Just like an iceberg didn't bother the Titanic."
Idiot. Rolled over. Went back to sleep.
We were approaching the station in Geneva and usually people get up a few minutes beforehand to gather their things and make sure they get off the train in time. Nope, not this kid. He was sitting on the outside and decided to wait until the train had come to a complete stop (wait, were we on a school bus in elementary school?!) before deciding to get up, carefully wrap his scarf around his neck, pull his arms through his jacket, leisurely gather his bags, and take his sweet old time, as per usual. By the time I was even able to get up, all the people who were supposed to get off had already gotten off. Fantastic. I grabbed my things in half a minute, took two seconds to put my sunglasses on, swung my coat over my arm and plowed through to the exit.
Now, although there are signs everywhere that say "have your passport ready for immigration," no one does that. I kept my head up, walked straight through customs like I owned the place, and no one questioned me.
Meanwhile…
Little tourist over there decided to walk around with his passport in hand, making eye contact with every customs official, and of course - he gets stopped and questioned. For someone who claims to be a doctor, he doesn't know how to answer questions well at all - he told the officer he was coming from Geneva and left France on Friday.
What? It was Sunday and we were in Geneva. We left FOR France on Friday.
Total. Moron.
I finally helped him out to get his countries and dates straight, and although the immigration officers still looked skeptical (tall, dark, male - what's not suspicious about that these days?) luckily I was somehow able to smile a lot while taking to these officials and they let him go. I should've just kept walking and let him get taken to a Swiss prison. Ugh.
Of course, the moment we get out into the general train station area, he starts going off about how he can't believe he was questioned and he was thinking to himself that he might have to call his uncle. (You guys remember, the one who works somewhere in the government of Trinidad?) I wanted to punch him in the face and say 1. Your phone doesn't work here so good luck calling anyone with it, and 2. Who do YOU think your uncle is and how is that even relevant to this situation in GENEVA and why on earth would that even remotely matter!? Unless he was planning on flying out to Geneva and somehow saving your sorry ass (and hopefully taking it with him), newsflash: NO ONE CARES.
We got back to the apartment and my arms were about to fall off after carrying so much. I started stretching them out after putting all my stuff down. He lays on the bed while watching me, then says 'You know, you could really use a massage" as if inviting me over to the bed.
"I don't do massages," I said clearly. "I don't like people touching me." And then I went to go shower. Again. Whatever I could do to decrease the amount of time I had to spend with him, I would do it.
Since his flight was set to leave Monday morning, it was technically his last day in town. I asked him what he wanted to do, and he wanted to see my work place. Of course he would. That's the absolute number one place I want to go on my day off - my office. Fantastic. So we made the 2 km hike up to the IFRC office, he took some pictures, and then we walked back towards the town for ice cream and dinner (in that order). We went to Movenpick, my absolute favorite ice creamery in the world (practically a sanctuary to me). The flavors were SO DELICOUS but I definitely would have enjoyed it a bit more had I not been sitting across a three year old who doesn't know how to eat ice cream out of a cone.
We ended up at another snooty place for dinner, but this one wasn't as bad as I originally anticipated. There was a set menu of steak and fries and the only real choice you had was how you wanted your meat cooked and what you wanted to drink. The moment you finish whatever is on your plate, they immediately bring you more, which was cool, but dangerous. For drinks, I let him choose the wine off the list and what ended up at our table was so vile, I couldn't take more than a sip. He didn't like the wine either and was upset because they didn't bring a sample first. (He was probably going to call his uncle about that later.)
The food overall was good, but I could feel myself counting down the minutes until he was going to leave. His inability to talk about anything but himself was so unbelievably obnoxious and I felt myself more interested in people-watching and making up stories about the strangers around us than actually listening to the words coming out of his mouth. I'm pretty sure I could have napped under the table while he talked and he wouldn't have even noticed.
We eventually made it back to the apartment and I thanked God that it was my last night with him. We got into bed and he put his arm on me, trying to give me a hug…? He thanked me for letting him stay with me and for such a great time. I said it was no problem, that I'm glad I had someone to go exploring with.
His arm stayed there. I slipped away and got up to paint my nails. He fell asleep.
Thanks to his snoring, I once again couldn't sleep, so I thought I would use my time constructively, put my ear buds in, and begin this novella. There were a few times though that I just couldn't take the snoring anymore and went for walks outside, but even then I couldn't escape the noise. I don't know how my neighbors dealt with him. I kid you not when I say it is the loudest snoring I have ever heard in my life, and it DOES NOT END! There aren't even any breaks!
I finally crawled into bed and woke up around 8am, which is still considered sleeping in for me. I asked him what time his fight was, he said 12:15 or something around there. As sleepy I was, I told him he needed to get up and get ready to go, especially since he hadn't even packed yet. Expecting a 30-year-old to be responsible and get his shit together (literally and figuratively), I figured I did my job so I rolled over and went back to sleep.
I wake up an hour later around 9:15am, and he's still in bed. At which point I again, nearly flip, and tell him he needs to get up and get going. Of course, he goes and takes a shower, comes out and takes his sweet old time getting ready and packing his things. While I try to hurry him, he tries to "reassure me" by saying you're usually supposed to be at the airport an hour before an international flight.
Hold on. What? What the hell kind of international flights does this kid go on?! I burst his bubble a little and told him he actually should've been there at 10 - you know, like right then. While he continues to pack his things (HOW LONG does this take?) all the while narrating where everything is going to go in each of his special Tumi European Style Suitcase compartments. I ignored him and at least checked him into his flight online.
We end up leaving my place to get to the airport around 10:45am. Again, this kid has no sense of urgency. It took forever to find a cab, and we got to the airport at 11:15am. There's one person in line before him so we had to wait a bit more, and finally he gets to the front of the queue. The woman at the counter is of course very flustered, as would anyone be in her situation who now has to deal with a moron who showed up for his flight less than an hour before it was set to take off, and now wants to check his bags on top of that so he can walk around Montreal (his layover) without having to worry about them. She does her best to get his ticket as soon as she can and takes his bags.
With his ticket in hand, we said good-bye, did that awkward hug thing, and FINALLY he was gone. I felt like I could burst out into dance in the middle of the airport. (I actually even might have.) Besides the fact that I was supposed to be working from home that day and I was clearly not, I took my time at the airport and ate breakfast before taking the bus back to my place. The sun had come out for the first time in ages in Geneva, and I could just tell that it was going to be a beautiful day.
When I got back to my place, I showered then cranked my music up, totally had my own little dance party, thanked God, Waheguru, Allah, Moses, Jesus, Gandalf, and all the powers that be in the universe that he was finally GONE GONE GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was actually SINGING, I was THAT happy.
Yeah. Two hours later I got a call. The mother fucker missed his flight and the next one wasn't leaving until tomorrow.
I was in Paris after all and who knew when I would be able to return? I was still incredibly lucky for being where I was so I figured I might as well just try to enjoy what I could, ignore him as much as possible, and not let him ruin my time.
We woke up Sunday morning, knowing we had to get going to catch our train on the other side of town - or at least that's how I woke up. I immediately went to shower while he updated Facebook, Instagram, FourSquare, MySpace - whatever. I don't know what it is about this kid but he has no sense of urgency at all. For example, we woke up late, we're already running late if we wanted to get breakfast, and he's just taking his time, packing his things ever so slowly, commentating on EVERYTHING, thinking the train is going to wait for us or something. Are ya kidding? FREAKING MOVE IT.
When we were finally all ready, I prepared myself for the Everest-equivalent hike I would have to endure, what with adding my backpack to the prior day's shopping weight. We went downstairs to the lobby to check out and it occurred to me that I never asked about the price for the hotel - huge mistake. I don't know if this kid has ever stayed in a hotel before, because our total for two nights ended up at nearly 500 Euros, meaning this hotel that we only partially slept in cost us 250 Euros a night. REALLY buddy?! We didn't have a view of the Eiffel Tower, we still had to hike to get virtually anywhere, and quite honestly - what the F was worth 250 Euros a night!? I am by no means a cheap person - I prefer the term economical, or you know, SMART WITH MY MONEY. For example, when my family went to Australia last year, I found us a two-bedroom duplex penthouse suite right on the harbour in downtown Sydney with an AMAZING view for 250 Aus a night - and that was booked three days before we decided to fly out there in the middle of prime tourist season. So when comparing that to this, I nearly flipped a cow. That's the last time I'm ever trusting anyone to do anything. He saw my raised eyebrows when we got the bill and said, "Pretty good deal, huh!?" He was so proud of himself. So. Clueless. I didn't even say anything - just put my card on the counter. There's 250 bucks I'm never seeing again.
Before we headed to the train station, he wanted to have breakfast first, and looked up directions to another one of those fancy shmancy places that actually squeezes grapes to make you grape juice. Unless it's wine, really, what's the point of all that effort?
We entered the restaurant and it was completely empty. By completely, I mean that besides the servers, there was no one in the restaurant. They asked if we had a reservation. We said no and they looked at us like that was the most ridiculous statement they'd ever heard and we were all of a sudden intruding on their restaurant's ambiance. The hostess stared at us then went to look in some book, flipping through it and finally running her finger down the page. Let me repeat - the restaurant was completely empty. Finally, she sighed, rolled her eyes, and told us to follow her. She pointed towards the back of the restaurant, so, since we had 10,000 things, we took a seat at a table with 4 chairs, but no sooner had I unstrapped my backpack when Crazy Lady came back and asked us to sit at a table for 2.
(Did I already mention how there was NO ONE in the restaurant?) Fine with me. I scattered my (consolidated) bags all around me, and if they had to climb over them to deliver my food and refill my water - that wasn't my problem. They wanted to make this difficult. I just hoped none of the imaginary people taking up all the other tables would trip over it.
I took a look at the pretentiously over-priced and limited breakfast menu and decided on crepes. Figured I'd go with something I know. Turns out, they had "run out" of crepes. I think all the invisible people in the restaurant ate them or something. I ended up ordering French Toast which was soggy and gross. Again, money well spent. I should've just walked out on the street and gotten a crepe or croissant for less than two euros. I definitely would've been a lot more satisfied than I was with the cardboard on my plate. The servers took a year and a half to bring us our bill, and soon we were running late once again.
We grabbed a cab and got to the train station, luckily found our correct seats on time (6 minutes before the train was going to leave), and were headed back to Geneva. By this point, I was too annoyed to deal with him any longer, so I stuck my ear buds in, pulled my hood up, leaned my head against the window and just fell asleep.
Before I knew it….click. Click.
Click.
Click.
Who the HELL still keeps the clicker sound on when using their camera phone? I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - he's also the type who keeps the keypad sound on for every touch on his phone. Which of course isn't annoying in the slightest.
Not. One. Bit. And neither is leaning over me to take pictures through the window.
At this point, the kid finally got one of Harleen's infamous "Shut-the-F-up-or-I-will-cut-your-balls-off-and-throw-them-to-starving-wolves" look that I only reserve for a select few people.
His reaction (completely shocked): "Oh, I'm sorry! Was I bothering you?"
My response: "Of course not. Just like an iceberg didn't bother the Titanic."
Idiot. Rolled over. Went back to sleep.
We were approaching the station in Geneva and usually people get up a few minutes beforehand to gather their things and make sure they get off the train in time. Nope, not this kid. He was sitting on the outside and decided to wait until the train had come to a complete stop (wait, were we on a school bus in elementary school?!) before deciding to get up, carefully wrap his scarf around his neck, pull his arms through his jacket, leisurely gather his bags, and take his sweet old time, as per usual. By the time I was even able to get up, all the people who were supposed to get off had already gotten off. Fantastic. I grabbed my things in half a minute, took two seconds to put my sunglasses on, swung my coat over my arm and plowed through to the exit.
Now, although there are signs everywhere that say "have your passport ready for immigration," no one does that. I kept my head up, walked straight through customs like I owned the place, and no one questioned me.
Meanwhile…
Little tourist over there decided to walk around with his passport in hand, making eye contact with every customs official, and of course - he gets stopped and questioned. For someone who claims to be a doctor, he doesn't know how to answer questions well at all - he told the officer he was coming from Geneva and left France on Friday.
What? It was Sunday and we were in Geneva. We left FOR France on Friday.
Total. Moron.
I finally helped him out to get his countries and dates straight, and although the immigration officers still looked skeptical (tall, dark, male - what's not suspicious about that these days?) luckily I was somehow able to smile a lot while taking to these officials and they let him go. I should've just kept walking and let him get taken to a Swiss prison. Ugh.
Of course, the moment we get out into the general train station area, he starts going off about how he can't believe he was questioned and he was thinking to himself that he might have to call his uncle. (You guys remember, the one who works somewhere in the government of Trinidad?) I wanted to punch him in the face and say 1. Your phone doesn't work here so good luck calling anyone with it, and 2. Who do YOU think your uncle is and how is that even relevant to this situation in GENEVA and why on earth would that even remotely matter!? Unless he was planning on flying out to Geneva and somehow saving your sorry ass (and hopefully taking it with him), newsflash: NO ONE CARES.
We got back to the apartment and my arms were about to fall off after carrying so much. I started stretching them out after putting all my stuff down. He lays on the bed while watching me, then says 'You know, you could really use a massage" as if inviting me over to the bed.
"I don't do massages," I said clearly. "I don't like people touching me." And then I went to go shower. Again. Whatever I could do to decrease the amount of time I had to spend with him, I would do it.
Since his flight was set to leave Monday morning, it was technically his last day in town. I asked him what he wanted to do, and he wanted to see my work place. Of course he would. That's the absolute number one place I want to go on my day off - my office. Fantastic. So we made the 2 km hike up to the IFRC office, he took some pictures, and then we walked back towards the town for ice cream and dinner (in that order). We went to Movenpick, my absolute favorite ice creamery in the world (practically a sanctuary to me). The flavors were SO DELICOUS but I definitely would have enjoyed it a bit more had I not been sitting across a three year old who doesn't know how to eat ice cream out of a cone.
We ended up at another snooty place for dinner, but this one wasn't as bad as I originally anticipated. There was a set menu of steak and fries and the only real choice you had was how you wanted your meat cooked and what you wanted to drink. The moment you finish whatever is on your plate, they immediately bring you more, which was cool, but dangerous. For drinks, I let him choose the wine off the list and what ended up at our table was so vile, I couldn't take more than a sip. He didn't like the wine either and was upset because they didn't bring a sample first. (He was probably going to call his uncle about that later.)
The food overall was good, but I could feel myself counting down the minutes until he was going to leave. His inability to talk about anything but himself was so unbelievably obnoxious and I felt myself more interested in people-watching and making up stories about the strangers around us than actually listening to the words coming out of his mouth. I'm pretty sure I could have napped under the table while he talked and he wouldn't have even noticed.
We eventually made it back to the apartment and I thanked God that it was my last night with him. We got into bed and he put his arm on me, trying to give me a hug…? He thanked me for letting him stay with me and for such a great time. I said it was no problem, that I'm glad I had someone to go exploring with.
His arm stayed there. I slipped away and got up to paint my nails. He fell asleep.
Thanks to his snoring, I once again couldn't sleep, so I thought I would use my time constructively, put my ear buds in, and begin this novella. There were a few times though that I just couldn't take the snoring anymore and went for walks outside, but even then I couldn't escape the noise. I don't know how my neighbors dealt with him. I kid you not when I say it is the loudest snoring I have ever heard in my life, and it DOES NOT END! There aren't even any breaks!
I finally crawled into bed and woke up around 8am, which is still considered sleeping in for me. I asked him what time his fight was, he said 12:15 or something around there. As sleepy I was, I told him he needed to get up and get ready to go, especially since he hadn't even packed yet. Expecting a 30-year-old to be responsible and get his shit together (literally and figuratively), I figured I did my job so I rolled over and went back to sleep.
I wake up an hour later around 9:15am, and he's still in bed. At which point I again, nearly flip, and tell him he needs to get up and get going. Of course, he goes and takes a shower, comes out and takes his sweet old time getting ready and packing his things. While I try to hurry him, he tries to "reassure me" by saying you're usually supposed to be at the airport an hour before an international flight.
Hold on. What? What the hell kind of international flights does this kid go on?! I burst his bubble a little and told him he actually should've been there at 10 - you know, like right then. While he continues to pack his things (HOW LONG does this take?) all the while narrating where everything is going to go in each of his special Tumi European Style Suitcase compartments. I ignored him and at least checked him into his flight online.
We end up leaving my place to get to the airport around 10:45am. Again, this kid has no sense of urgency. It took forever to find a cab, and we got to the airport at 11:15am. There's one person in line before him so we had to wait a bit more, and finally he gets to the front of the queue. The woman at the counter is of course very flustered, as would anyone be in her situation who now has to deal with a moron who showed up for his flight less than an hour before it was set to take off, and now wants to check his bags on top of that so he can walk around Montreal (his layover) without having to worry about them. She does her best to get his ticket as soon as she can and takes his bags.
With his ticket in hand, we said good-bye, did that awkward hug thing, and FINALLY he was gone. I felt like I could burst out into dance in the middle of the airport. (I actually even might have.) Besides the fact that I was supposed to be working from home that day and I was clearly not, I took my time at the airport and ate breakfast before taking the bus back to my place. The sun had come out for the first time in ages in Geneva, and I could just tell that it was going to be a beautiful day.
When I got back to my place, I showered then cranked my music up, totally had my own little dance party, thanked God, Waheguru, Allah, Moses, Jesus, Gandalf, and all the powers that be in the universe that he was finally GONE GONE GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was actually SINGING, I was THAT happy.
Yeah. Two hours later I got a call. The mother fucker missed his flight and the next one wasn't leaving until tomorrow.
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