Road Rage

Saturday night, on my way to the parties, I was trying to cross the road when something happened. What happened seems to be a typical and an oft-occuring event in my life in Paris. But this time, I wasn't gonna take it. No sirree!

So, there I was, waiting patiently on the sidewalk to cross the street. The lights had changed in my favour and I glanced left, always, in self-defence. Because when you live in Paris long enough, you realize that half the buggers don't know that a red light means stop. So I looked at the twat-face, a black man, in his white van, his eyes half-closed, looking meanly at me below his nose. And then I put one step forward. And then he crossed the line! I mean, he just decided to break the law and go over the pedestrian line, as the light was red! He did it slowly enough that it gave me enough time to yell obscenities and give a very good palm smash into the side.

The palm smash caught his attention. Hitting any vehicule always gets the attention of the driver. Now, this is the most amazing bit. He stopped the van, and instead of checking to see if I was hurt, started yelling at me. So I told him, in perfect french, tu toyais-ing the bastard the whole time, that he was a fucking idiot, that the light was red, and he was too stupid obviously to know that red means stop, something three year olds understand. At which point he went blood furious and started to call me all sorts of sweet names. And then I smiled and called him an asshole who didn't care if he killed people with his van and such irresponsible assholes should be lucky there's no cop around to strip him of his licence, but that I was willing to stay around and chat, if he wanted to call a cop. (I flipped open my cellphone. He jumps back in the van and storms off. I had comic-book steam rising off my head for 10 minutes)

I bloody well lost it. Road fucking rage. Fuck.

But it was interesting. I never scream at motorists, unless from a fast moving bike. And it must have been a sight: this pony-tailed girl in her Audrey Hepburn Givenchy-like outfit, all pale pink and black, telling off some dickhead, in her perfect french. That's why dressing well is important. Because, swearing like a pirate, beating up white vans, and getting a little old lady in a white mink to stare admiringly at you, when you look like princess, is the fucking triple slam- dunk shit!