Today in…

    PARIS

Every day there are thousands of absurd situations in the city of love, lights and …the city of the absurd.

Anyone seen, anyone knows ?

Dinner almost ready. Polish tomato soup bubbling merrily in the brim clogged with unnecessary trinkets French apartment in the center of the Latin Quarter. The only one thing is missing – heroines of the evening, more important then Mona and Lisa together – kielbaski from Cracow.

She’s looking into the refrigerator. They’re not there. Looking in every corner of the kitchen. Without result. Starts searching  all around the room. They are not even in the trash. She asks him where where he last saw them. He doesn’t remembers. She open the wardrobe. They are not there. Maybe huge size of the penis vibrator and huge mascot Mickey Mouse ate them? This stupid Mickey Mouse on the mantel smiles so maliciously. Or maybe someone stole them. Or they are abducted as the Mona Lisa from the Louvre and somebody perhaps kept them carelessly in another messy Paris apartment.Meanwhile the soup is bubbling .He is hungry. She helplessly watching cats from the window opposite.

They look as if he knew something. But they says nothing about. She start worried. What to do? Call the French detective. He’s not answering. Well, it is seven o’clock now! All French detectives eat dinner at this time. – Maybe I have a problem with eyes -she think. She goes to an ophthalmologist to get stronger glasses. Unfortunately is August. All Parisian opticians are on holiday. She tired falls on the couch. He look under a pile of pillows. Something rustling. With incredulous looks he found them – a plastic bag with them Cracow sausages!
Diner is safe!In spite of chaos in Parisian apartment and the french summer break.

Dangerous bamboo

Paris lazy afternoon in the heart of the Latin Quarter. Just in the main entrance to the wonderful Luxembourg Gardens lies oblong black bag. Lies and nothing.

Passing Frenchman looks at this bag. Police guarding the gardens also looks at the bag. Horrified and nervously  checking that the guns they are working and that the hairs are well-stacked. Another minute go by. Another hour.

Tragedy hangs in the air. Maybe in the bag it is a long serpent or poisoned giant baguette ? Who knows.
At the same time Brian, an American by chance living in Paris for a while is doing his daily walk to Luxembourg Gardens. He is somewhat surprised by bag lying exactly at the entrance to the garden and exactly on his way.

He opens the bag and…In an instant all around dying of horror. Meanwhile, Brian pulls out of the bag a piece of bamboo. Not knowing who is the bamboo owner Brian gives lost bag with lost bamboo to the policeman. Policeman looks at Brian shocked with mix fear and madness in his eyes. Paris is safe. At least from the bamboo in the bag.

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 How to become Parisian in one minute : Take an elevator

 There is a one man show which beats records of popularity in Paris titled How to become Parisian in one hour? Since yesterday I know how to become Parisian in one minute. Okay, maybe in five minutes.

Here’s how to do it: Choose extremely cramped elevator in one of the extremely cramped tenements in the Latin Quarter. Wait for this  narrow  elevator. Not alone. The best is the girl with  hands full of shopping bags. She got into the elevator with these bags and looks at you invitingly. You tell her :I’m to big so I’ll wait for the next elevator.

,,Come on, You don’t know Paris realities?, says the girl. So You pushed yourself into the elevator together with her and with those bags. In the elevator you ask her, Are You  Parisian? In response she waving hand and says : Come on.Who living in Paris now is a Parisian?And this is so cool.  In such a simple way even you (me) can be Parisian without having a bag from Chanel. Not in one hour, in one minute. Well, maybe in five minutes.

 Collision

Center of Paris. I’m going straight down the sidewalk. I see the girl going across the street. Walk down slightly from her path. I expect the same from her. Meanwhile she goes straight into me. We collide. Even small pardon. Few moments later I ask one Parisian:

-Why French in Paris walking such that they always collide?

– Oh, it’s so Parisian – he explains to me if it were the most banal thing under the sun and me – stupid didn’t know about that.

Well, to understand this you have to be French.

 

Mr. President

Leaving  your Paris flat you never know what will happen. Even if you leave just to buy baguette in a nearby bakery. One afternoon I left to buy my baguette. I met the president. Mr. Hollande is a fine guy. He shaking hands all encountered people. Shaking his hand I wished him a nice day. Finally I forgot to buy baguette.

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To be a Parisian secondhand bookseller

Passing the Centre Pompidou. I see the guy with a pile of used books. I am a bookworm so start to browse. The seller is funny, offers me even a glass of wine like this, just in the middle of the street . We talk a little bit about everything – about Paris and about nothing. Than he ask me if I can replace him  for a while. I agree willingly. Within ten minutes I manage to sell 2 books.

 

 

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