First Day of School

I walked into Legendre (that's what we've been calling our apartment) at about nine tonight after trudging back from St. Denis in the pouring freaking rain after sitting through six hours of class. But this six hours of class wasn't just any normal six straight hours of class. Oh no my friends. It was the first day of school. But not the actual first day of school, but the technical first day of school because oh yes, you guessed it, St. Denis is on strike. Which normally would be like a snow day, except that its 40 degrees here in lovely Paris, and its raining. Not snowing. So I arrive at school at about two because I knew it would take me about a million years to find my classroom and lo and behold was I ever correct. One thing about the French, they sure can fuck up room numbers. I mean, the rooms aren’t really marked in the first place. So if you are lucky enough to see the tiny piece of paper that someone taped to the door that says "salle 023" then good for you! But alas, I was not so lucky. After scouring every inch of the first floor of Bâtiment B and just when I was about to get desperate who do I see, striding towards me in his classy navy pea coat with arms outstretched, un-lit cigarette dangling from his lip but mister Eugene Johnson of MICEFA. We bises, we embrace, and I have never been so happy to see someone in my whole life. Ok that’s not true. But I was pretty glad to see someone with a friendly face...and a cigarette. We go out and smoke for a bit but then both have to run to class and after his reassurance, I am fresh to restart my search. I finally fine room 062 which, as you would expect, is across the hall from room 083, and set up camp to wait for my professor (who, although it’s only about ten til class starts, is strangely not here yet.) Another girl comes by to wait in the hall and after a little while says something to the effect of, what class are you waiting for. I start to say, "Atelier de Realisation" but the only thing that comes out is "Atelier de reallsaicdjakl;nklfreajkfds." She looks at me a little strangely, says...what? And I try to repeat myself to no avail. Because freakin REALISATION is hard to say man! You try to say it! Go ahead, try right now! RAY-all-eez-ah-sion. All together! RAY-all-eez-ah-sion. Now try to say it fast and when people are speaking to you in French.

Yeah that’s what I thought

So eventually the two of us come to the conclusion that although it’s five past the start time of the class, we are both here for the same class and that we are in the right place. She makes a little small talk, which surprises me because MICEFA warned us that French students aren’t interested in making friends. She asks me my name, and I ask her her's, which is Claire. And she's nice.

A moment later a flustered looking, short creature starts making its way down the dim hallway and from far away I think its just a really ugly, quasimodo-esque woman. But upon further review I realize it’s actually a man with a huge silver earring in his ear. He’s carrying a massive hot pink plastic bag, and he's flustered, sweating. He looks at us, screws up his face, looks at the door to his right, unlocks it and disappears. Claire looks at me, back down the hall to where he disappeared, back to me, and announces that she's going to ask him a question. She returns rolling her eyes and declares, that's the professor, and she looks a little miffed because he's late and still won’t open the classroom. He emerges from the mystery room he was in, asks if we will watch his stuff, sets down the huge pink bag, and shuffles off down the corridor. Claire looks at me a little scandalized and I agree with her sentiments.

After a little while two more girls arrive and ask us if this is the right room for Atelier de Realisation and we are all kind of sure that it is, but because of the strike nobody is positive. Those two seem to think its Scenario but I think they are wrong. But instead of trying to figure it out we all decide that either way, this is some kind of cinema class and we might as well all just go to it if the PROFESSOR ever comes BACK.

Which he does. And we do.

Bienvenue à St. Denis!