Tonight, however, I witnessed firsthand why some French people don't believe this is the case. Why they think Americans are just plain idiotic. This realization was brought on by a shameful force of nature.
The culprits?
BIDDIES.
Worse. Drunk biddies.
Devyn and I met a great group of friends at our orientation session and we all went on an AUP (American University in Paris) sponsored pub crawl last night. The students of AUP basically showed us noobs the good spots in the city for students to go to have a good time with good friends and good drinks. It came to be about 1:15am and the Metro closes here in Paris at 1:30am on the weekends, which is a major departure from the 3am closing time of the DC Metro. Being that we didn't feel like paying for a cab, Devyn and I left the bar and headed to the metro.
We come up to the stairs of the station and begin to walk down them. Little did we know that we weren't entering a mere metro station. We were descending into a disturbing underground sanctum of biddies.
For those that are unfamiliar with the species "biddy," allow me to elucidate.
The "biddy" is a simple-minded creature, typically a female of high school to college age who wears overly provocative clothing, drinks liberal amounts of fruit-flavored alcohols, and possesses questionable standards and morals.
As we arrived on the metro platform to take the train home, we come upon a pack of American biddies loudly informing the entire metro station that they have no idea where they're going.
"WHAT METRO STOP ARE WE GOING TO????"
"IT'S NEAR THE EIFFEL TOWER!!"
"MEGAN THAT DOESN'T HELP!!!"
"WHATEVER I'M DRUNK!!!"
To which Biddy Megan trips and falls to the ground.
Following Biddy Megan's little spill, the pack of biddies spent the remaining 5 minutes before the train's arrival shrieking a cacophony of innane statements:
"I WANT MORE WIIIIIIIIIIINE!!"
"THIS TRAIN'S TAKING FOREVER!!!!"
"THIS METRO SMELLS SOOOO BAAAD!!"
With every idiotic word, I cringed more and more in my seat as I watched the French people around me glare at the biddies with their judging stares, speaking in French about how ridiculous they're acting and how you can expect that from Americans.
As Devyn turned to me to ask what metro stop we needed to go to, I hushed her real quick. If any English came out of our mouths, our identities as Americans would be exposed. To which the scornful whispers and sneers of our fellow Parisians would immediately come our way. I wasn't gonna have that.
I was completely embarrassed for America. Which made me realize...holy crap have I begun to adapt to French culture? In the U.S., it's completely normal for people to shout across the street to each other or expel any type of emotion at will. Here in France, people are more reserved. Conversations are held in quieter, calmer tones. It's not appropriate to ask acquaintances personal information. People are much more private. Unfortunately for biddies, who throw all privacy out the window when their dress flies up as they trip and fall to the ground, French culture doesn't really mesh with them.
Cultures are weird things to adjust to. I've begun to learn that as my first week in France comes to a close. And I'm still nowhere near possessing full comprehension. But I'm getting there.
So to those State Department officials that are trying to engage in more rewarding, diplomatic relations with another country, before you sit down to analyze policies or study up on cultural customs, maybe you just need to slap an international travel restriction on the passports of biddies everywhere.
Bam. Done. World Peace.
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