So I’m down at Chatelet on the quai(sidewalk that stretches the longeur of the river Seine) to meet with Sebastien – the supplier I’m working with. We do our little business and as I’m leaving, walking the opposite way down the quai, I see Mr. Man. Yea, I saw him coming from the end of the sidewalk…just swaying – shirt off, lookin sweaty and nappy. He wasn’t African, per se, which is what you usually think when you refer to black in Paris. He was most likely from one of the other colonies in the French Caribean – Guadeloupe or Martinique – probably. They look more like Americans than Africans.
It’s another beautiful summer day in Paris, the sun is shining and tourists are everywhere – crowding out the sidewalks. We continue walking towards each other and when he gets right up on me, the NEGRO reaches out his hand – I guess to grab me – but I can’t be sure because he didn’t get that far. My Kung Fu Fighter instinct kicked in before my brain and with the most 101 of moves, I just slapped his hand down right off of it’s path. Terence would have been proud. So there we stood, me and the drunken fool, just looking at each other for a good couple of seconds – both SHOCKED at the unexpected turn of events. I quickly pulled myself together and gave him a REAL dirty look that said, “WHAT? – you want some more, POPS!?”. He didn’t. The tourists passing by didn’t either. I could tell by the looks I was getting as I walked on and I’m pretty sure I had a lot more of the sidewalk to myself.
(DISCLAIMER: I’m ALLOWED to use the word Negro and in my context, it has nothing to do with race or color. I write as I speak and most of the people reading my blog get me – for the rest of you, there is this disclaimer.)