One Night In Paris . . .

Now that my Parisian life is finally coming together - friends, school, speaking, the works - I have found that I am able to get along quite well in France, and I'm beginning to slowly but surely blend in with the French. Well, I was beginning to blend in, that is, until a series of recent events put me right back into the "stupid crazy foreigner" category.

*Disclaimer: for those of you who are unaware, I can in fact legally drink in Europe, so please do not be alarmed by this story because things do get a little out of control . . . but hey, you're only young once, right?*

It was this past Friday night, the night before Halloween which also meant the night before Rema's (one of my best American friends in France) birthday. Naturally she wanted to go out and celebrate so that she would be partying as the clock struck midnight. We started our night in typical Rema and Laura fashion - we bought a €5 bottle of rum and sat on the Champs Elysées people watching and making cheeky conversation with the passersby who just couldn't resist us. We met up with her boyfriend and one of his friends (both French) and headed out towards Le Tania club (one of my personal favorites because all the boys are rich and spoiled and there is no cover charge). Unfortunately, we didn't get in (damn boys!) so we headed down the street to Le Régine which is an even classier club right off the Champs Elysées. We danced, we celebrated, we made light conversation at our own private table and had a fabulous perfect little night to welcome Rema into her 22nd year of life. It wasn't until we decided to leave when things took an unexpected turn.

After leaving Le Régine I thought it would be fun to see if we could get into Le Tania now that it was a little later. I bypassed the line, went straight for the bouncer (again, typical Laura fashion - who waits in lines anymore anyway ?) and got in sans problem. Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize that Rema and the boys didn't follow me in and failed to pay attention to my phone AKA creating a major miscommunication with my friends. By the time I did think to call them, however, I had no service whatsoever and reluctantly left my new friends (read: new bottle service table) to search for network. Of course, I had a hundred missed calls from Rema and her boyfriend but I also had 3 missed calls from my friend Olaf (my one and only Parisian friend, because there is a HUGE difference in being French and Parisian as I have learned). I don't know what Olaf's family does, but he is the richest person I know. His house is out of control huge over looking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine River (on Quai d'Orsay for those of you familiar with Paris, classy), marble stair cases everywhere, two kitchens, two entire floors, 4 terraces - everything about him just screams "made of money." He told me he was having a party that night and that I should come. Intrigued, I accepted.

Walking into his apartment was like walking into a party straight out of Gossip Girl or The OC or The City or The Hills (if you are familiar with any of those shows). Everyone was young, beautiful, well dressed and so stereotypically French I could barely stand it. I made friends with one of Olaf's friends and he was absolutely fascinated by my American life and couldn't stop asking me questions about it as he scrolled through the thousands of pictures I have stored on my camera. A majority of the party migrated out to the biggest terrace for a smoke and my new friend suggested we climb on the roof for a better view. The two of us sat up there for close to an hour as dawn slowly approached us. We discussed politics, the French and Americans, the different cultures before finally deciding to head back inside because, oh hello ! I live in France and it was FREEZING !

However, we discovered as we climbed our way back to the terrace that everyone had already gone inside, and all the windows, doors and shutters had been locked shut. Our initial response, call Olaf, wake him up and make him let us inside. However, as we called we could hear his phone ringing on the coffee table inside which was no where near where Olaf was sleeping. Naturally I told the guy to call somebody else since obviously Olaf wasn't going to answer. It wasn't until then that we both found out that neither of us knew anybody there except for Olaf and therefore had nobody else we could call to come save us. By this time, it was 5 in the morning. The coldest part of the day. It was windy, it was wet, and I was miserable. We pounded on the shutters, screamed at the top of our lungs, we even climbed around and over the roof to all the different terraces before finally coming to terms with the fact that we were completely, and helplessly stuck on this terrace.

At first we didn't think too much of it, then an hour passed by, another hour (mind you we had been up there for an hour before that already), we kept hoping that somebody inside would wake up and realize that we were out there, but another hour passed and still nothing. Somewhere around 8 or 9 in the morning I start to get genuinely pissed off at everything that is going on. I started picking fights with the boy I was with, telling him he's French he should know how to get us off this building. I then start calling every French person I know. My friend Alex picked up and all he did was laugh at the situation, and suggested I call the pompiers aka the French firemen. I told the idea to Frenchy and he agreed, called them, was told to call the police, who told him to call the concierge of the building, who's phone we could hear ring to no avail, to which we decided to call the police again. It wasn't until 10:30 or 11 that the police finally found us from a terrace across the way. They told us not to move and help would be coming shortly. After over 5 hours maybe 6 of being stuck, FREEZING COLD on this terrace, the shutters finally open and we make our way inside. I gave the police my information as did the Frenchie and the police left. I then continued to yell at Olaf in the meanest French I could muster and spent the next five minutes getting lost in his house because I couldn't find the front door.

I can't remember the last time I was so angry. I spent the entire 15 minute walk to the metro screaming and venting on the phone to my friend Jessica, turning heads and no doubt reinforcing the stereotype of a crazy obnoxious American. I finally got home at 11:30 in the morning after not having slept a wink all night and nearly missing my stop because I had in fact unwillingly fell asleep on the metro. Needless to say it makes for a great story, and I am already laughing about it now. But it was the most miserable hours of my life. I mean, who else could manage to get themselves stuck on a rich Parisian boy's terrace for over 5 hours? Only this crazy American girl of course. I was the girl who never sleeps in the city where no one is responsible for anything. It was a combination that could only end in disaster. Ugh, damn socialists.