A French in Glasgow.

A night out for a French in the heart of Glasgow is always a mission, not because of neds kicking about throwing buckfast on each other’s head(we all love a cliché), but because of the smoking area.
Yes the smoking area in a club, bar or even in front of a kebab-shop where you look at the pakora with disgust telling people how unhealthy it is (I’m French, I have to be snobby about food, even if I was eating pot-noodles every day, but you don’t say this to people of course. Vava-voom).
-Coming into the smoking area-

I realize that I forgot my lighter, so I sing La Marseillaise to myself to give me strength.
Now I have to pick who I’m going to ask for it, I may as well pick a girl, after all I’m a sleazy bastard. There is one with the short shirt, orange skin, and she’s barefoot because she can’t walk 2 miles with high-heels. Have some dignity bitch; are the sweet words coming to me head.
Or the arty one, that looks like Tim Burton just came by and drew her, only he had to hurry up because he just had a cigarette and coffee beforehand so mother nature was calling for him. Is she going to stab me or rape me or hug me?.
I have to think fast if I don’t want someone else to talk to me that I didn’t pick which is the worth case scenario. Ok I’ll go for the weird one. It's gorgeousness in itself.

Me: “-Excuse me, have you got a lighter please?
Girl -Oh my god! are you French?!             (Why is it so impressive? We’re all racist and stink of cheese)
Me: -Yes, have you got a…                        
Girl: -BoNNnjour, je m’appelle Kate                 (I never asked for your name…)
Me:- Nice to meet you, have y…”

And at this point, the worst happen they usually don’t know French but will still try to impress me by speaking the few words they know in French, or maybe they’re just taking the piss, in both case it’s not an inspiring moment.
Girl: « - La baignoire de la cuisine est tombe dans mon petit poisson qui bonsoir. »
A translation is needed : The bath of the kitchen fell down in my small fish who’s good night.
I’ve actually heard this before. And then she looks at me as if I’m supposed to shout Bravo! Encore! Let’s have a riot to show the world how amazing you are!
So after this, like any good citizen, I congratulate her effort by using positive body language like laughing, smiling and even sometimes walking away.
I  then ask if she has a lighter again, but she wants to know where I’m from as if once I said where I’m from she will know where it is, I could have smoked the equivalent of my whole packet by now if she would have give it to me at the beginning, what a slut.
Then she tells me she’s been to Paris… Wahou good for you my dear, I really couldn’t care less and she then says how unfriendly and rude we can be… Well no surprise, you’re a pain in the arse, you’re not even listening what I’m saying, just waiting for your turn to speak.
Me:- “ Haha yeah I know, we can be a bit rude, but it’s just a façade really, you know the education in france is very differ…
Girl:- I knooooOoowwww, you guys are like… dickheads all the time.” As she says this, she looks at me as if she just quoted Freud and wait for my turn to write a dissertation about that deep, touching and meaningful observation.

But everything’s fine, she’s now saying how she loves fashion, I genuinely wonder how she can say this when she looks like she’s been in a cat fight but then decided it’s cool to look fucked-up. She says she’s seen Karl Lagerfeld just walking in the street of Paris… My bullshit meter is reading that as a false, the guy can’t go out without at least 10 bodyguards, I picture a sweet image in my head of all those bodyguards beating her up, awwww J.

Her bad breath of alcohol grabs me back into reality because yeah, she is at about 8 cm from my nose and I can see some suspicious white powder in her nose, she was probably cooking some bread.
Oh zut alors! She’s taking her lighter out! She’s about to have a cigarette! I jump on the opportunity and ask her for it, she says yes, gives it to me, I take the best draw of the night and straight after this try to find a way how to run away from that charming girl.
So I put on a wee smile on my face, a kind of rictus, the kind of rictus that says I’ve been with you for 5 month but I’m actually a sex addict and your cat is becoming more and more appealing. Put my hand on her shoulder,  and articulate with great care the following sentence. Will you give me a blow-job and then we can do the old in-out in-out?
 So she goes away annoyed while shouting some words that don’t put me in my best light.
. Aaaaaaaaaaaaahh  at last she’s gone! I feel so good alone, and I start walking toward the kebab shop to get a pakora.

Morality: French guys are not sleazy for the sake of being sleazy, it’s just a good way to make girls run away.
See you soon.

1 comment:

  1. This makes me embarrassed for quoting 'le monde a l'invert' multiple times when we first met....sigh. My spelling here will also be shit, je suis desolee mon petit chou. Rachael x