French Word of the Day: voleur (vole-er)- thief

Although magical and slightly other-worldly, Paris is a city.  Like all cities, it has its share of crime.  I was one of the lucky participants this past Friday.  (Obviously I’m fine, or I wouldn’t be writing this entry.)

My friends and I went to a bar and I brought my purse.  I made sure it was safe at all times, but somehow during my time at the bar, someone managed to steal my phone and 15 euro.  They also stole 30 euro, a metro map, and a pack of cigarettes from my friend.  They decided that everything in Théo’s coat was uninteresting, but they did move a piece of paper from one pocket to the other.

Somewhere, some thief is smoking a cigarette on the metro, trying to use a phone that doesn’t work.

I felt really stupid until Arnaud told me that he once had his coat stolen off the back off his chair while he was sitting on it.  Parisian thieves just have mad skills.  Strange taste in what they steal, but mad skills none the less.

We were in the south of France (Avignon… très belle, but largely uneventful) all weekend, so I haven’t had time to update.  I had tests today and yesterday as a welcome back present from all of my teachers.  One of them was today.  It was a thirty-minute oral test on my business experience (for Business French).  They said I did very well. (I have 2 teachers: one for the oral part and one for the writing part.)

The oral French teacher finds my partner and I very amusing.  When she has us break off into scenarios, she usually ends up spending the most time around us.  Not because we need the most help, but rather because we’re the dramatic ones.

For example, the other girls have conversations like this:

Girl 1: I would like to return this camera.

Girl 2: Why?

Girl 1: It doesn’t work.

Girl 2: Ok, I’ll give you a refund.

Luisa (my partner) and I have slightly different conversations.

Luisa: I’m returning this awful product.

Me: What was wrong with it?

Luisa:  You sold me the wrong software and it made my computer malfunction.  What is this?  It’s not Windows.

Me: Do you have the original packaging with you, ma’am?

Luisa: Yes.  Here it is.

Me: The box clearly states this isn’t Windows.  Did you read the box before you bought it?

Luisa: I shouldn’t have to read the box.  Your salesperson told me it was Windows.

Me: Was was his name?

Luisa: Juanito Carlos.  You should speak with him.  He’s an idiot.

Me: The short kid?  Please wait here.  I’ll be right back….  I found Juanito.  He’s been fired for misinformation.  We are going to give you back your money.

Luisa:  Good, because I was going to call the police if you didn’t.  You should hire competent people next time.

Needless to say, our conversations usually take longer than everyone else’s.  Our teacher told us we have overactive imaginations.

Yesterday, Théo’s friends from school took over a bar (not the same one as the infamous voleur), and had a huge potluck-style dinner with couscous and wine.  (Nothing goes better with food than wine.)  Afterwards, several of them helped me prepare for the Business French exam I had today.

I find it interesting that going to a bar can be marked as “studying for a test.”  I recommend it.

I majorly heart all of Théo’s homedogs from school. (Homedogs… are that kids still using that word?  I’m so not hip.)  They’re all extremely nice and inclusive, and some of them come from the south (that’s a shout out to you, Louis), so I can actually understand them when they speak.  (People from the south actually pronounce some of the letters in the words.  It’s lovely.)

Also, one of them is named Pierre.  This excites me greatly.  I know an actual French person named Pierre.  I was beginning to doubt they existed.

Now that I’m friends with them on facebook and they’ve had time to stalk my pictures (which is why facebook was invented), they would like to know when my sisters are coming to visit.  Sisters, any comment?

Pain au chocolat count: 30