Missed it by that much, one of our favorite sayings from Get Smart..... has been a running theme for us on this trip. Whether its a train, metro, or boat we seem to be missing a lot of things. Upon arriving in Paris, we were missing 'things' more than time. We had gotten used to how things ran in Italy and had just spent a week on the beach. Now, we were in Paris, a city with 45 million visitors a year. Different country different processes. The kids and I had lined up to go through the train exit in our regular order, so that put me in the back. Three had gone through successfully, then Tanner puts his ticket through and heads for the double swivel doors. He quickly halts over the center of the divide where his suitcase gets stuck on the floor tracks. So sad too bad, you have timed out. The doors have closed on his suitcase with him still behind the exit. We reminded him that pulling was easier than pushing. I look at Todd and read the words like a teleprompter going through his mind scrolling across his eyes. His ears are only slightly smoking while he wonders, again, why he planned this whirlwind trip. Kylie is still ahead of me, so we decide to have her put her ticket in and we were just going to pull an Italian, our name for not paying for a ride on the bus, metro, water taxi, etc. It is so named because they do this a lot. We saw a couple of people get caught when inspectors would board public transit to check. It's scary. A couple of guys get on, like a public transport SWAT team. I always start to throw my hands in the air and drop to the ground, too many cop shows I guess. Maybe because I am always guilty of something. I hold Tanner's ticket, even though Todd says everyone holds their own. I am not taking the chance that he loses it and my baby is left behind glass doors while we are trying to run and catch another train. The difference between my part and Todd's part in getting him into this world vary greatly. Major contribution equals worry more: minor contribution equals little worry. On one metro ride, the man in black special ops clothes asked for my ticket; I handed him both and he passed them onto his supervisor. I look at Todd and of course he is perturbed because I am drawing attention to us. I know I had the right two ticket because I had put them in a different pocket than the other ones I was holding. The mistake I made was handing him the adult ticket and I held the child's ticket. Why couldn't the first meat head figure this out instead of trying to stare me down in his silent French intimidation process. Seriously, it's the metro. So every time we have to pass someplace that requires us to hand a ticket or pass a gate, I start sweating. One, I hope we make it through and second; if we don't, I don't know who is scarier.. Todd or the inspectors. Kylie has just slid her ticket into the machine. While it is sucking it through, she shoves Tanner through the door, suitcase and all, grabs her ticket and runs. Well, I should say, tries to run. Upon running, her legs come off the ground and she is sprinting in place. Tanner, on the other hand, lands with a thud on the opposite side. Kylie, not so lucky. It was her turn to wear the bomb backpack which is the largest backpack without a frame that I have ever seen. When wearing it, you have a depth of about three feet. Not so bad if you have issues with space. Not so good if you are trying to pull an Italian on the metro. One through and one, not so through. She made it through, well most of her did. The doors quickly closed right behind her shoulders, kind of squeezing her like a kid sitting in a bucket and when he gets up he is stuck inside. Instead for Kylie, it was metal doors and not a flimsy little bucket. No amount of dancing or jumping was going to release her from this iron grip. Metro 2, Bradys 0, Todd mad, the rest of us, I guess, morons?
It's up to me. Great. That alone instills underwhelming confidence in everyone. If Todd would, for once, stop walking three miles ahead of us like Napoleon leading his army, maybe we would not get in these situations. And then again, he could be Captain America and I don't think it would matter. I gear up, take three large breaths, envision my plan, and go. The second my ticket is sucked in, I shove Kylie through the door. Luckily, her suitcase was already on the other side so the only thing we needed to clear was her backpack, my suitcase, and me. I'm screaming, "go, go, go". The only thing left to get stuck on me, after pulling not a single but an Italian squared, was my butt. There is a lot of junk in my trunk, but I would like to keep my trunk to stay with me and not get left behind in Paris, no pun intended. I have wanted to shave some off the backside, but this is not the time nor the method. The screaming helped either scare Kylie, the doors, the operator, or the inspector. I don't know. I don't care. We made it.
My stomach is still unknotting as we board the last metro before our stop to our apartment. Between backpacks, fanny packs, secret compartments in your pants, purses and our suitcases - miniature but still there, maneuvering the metro is a trick at anytime of the day let alone rush hour in Paris. I can see Todd going Zen and I know we had better haul on the way out, or we may have another Inferno bus moment, the whisper scream to the nth degree. Since its rush hour we may not be able to hear the whisper scream but it would be easy to read by the pulsating veins in Todd's head along with the bulging eyes, gritted teeth, and froth at the corner of his mouth. Who needs any language, French, English, sign when you get hints like that.
When we board the metro, we are in correct Van Trapp order. For exits, we make a swift 180 degree turn, in reverse order, and exit. To our credit, the week on the beach made us a little rusty. With all the gear, and our nerves frayed from being eaten by the jaws of the exit gate, we were not as quick on the trigger exit as usual. Rush hour didn't help. I ran off first, the kids all follow as quickly as possible. If you notice in pictures, we are kind of like two groups. Todd, and then the rest of us. We move as one and he is somewhere else getting his space, downtime, whatever you want to call it. Back to the metro, with all the garb in between us and on me, I feel like the Stay Puff Marshmellow Man and can't grab kids and pull them in. Since we are always attached, they followed closely anyway. It's like bats, we don't even have to be looking in one another's direction. We just move as one. Sometimes, though, I wonder if I was this or that, what would it be like. Brittany says its a Freud issue and only therapy could fix it.Todd doesn't think it will be fixed and just ignores it, hence the blank stare most of you can recognize on him. Honestly, though, this is the only time I have wanted to be an octopus. I dated some octopi, but never wanted to be one until now. The rush hour crowd dispursed and I could see one, two, three, four Bradys and me. Dad is last, but not to worry. He is the expert, unattached to the blob, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, faster than a speeding bullet, etc., etc. I look up to see him still on the metro. No worries, he is just being polite like always and letting the first hundred people off or ahead of him in line because they are pushy and rude and he always steps aside. I see him take the step to exit just as the doors are starting to close. In that split second, our eyes meet and I don't know if I should scream for him to step back on the metro or hurry out. My survival instincts kick in and tell him, or holler at him, to get off the metro. I am not going to be stuck in the bowels of Paris in rush hour with the house and kitchen sink, the kids, and the party pack in my pants without you for who knows how long. GET OFF THE TRAIN!! Todd takes another step forward and the doors close, not on his fanny pack, not on his party pack in his pants, but right on him. He is being torture squeezed between the metro doors. I was in shock, to shocked to laugh at all. What do I do? Stand there. I am always the one getting into these binds, not Todd. Our fearless leader is fearful so what do I do? Wait for further instructions with the rest of the blob. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to give us any, even in a whisper scream, he could barely breath. I think the doors were collapsing his other lung. So much for ever getting those blebs fixed. Todd has a high pain tolerance, he got a dislocated pinkie, one section completely jammed into the next. The ER doctor, about 250 pounds and 6'4", couldn't pull it out after multiple attempts and me attacking him for trying to kill my husband. It was only relocated after surgery. So he is a tough guy and I could tell this was hurting. Some of those souls that he was so gracious to let on the train before he got off, pulled on either side of the doors to pry them open. He ended up being the worst stuck out of all of us, at least to that point. If the train had taken off, only half of him would have made it back, and that half wouldn't have had the party pack in his pants with all our money and information so I was just glad he made it out. We were now three for three, not the odds we were looking for. Need less to say, Todd's disposition was not on the sunny side right about now.
We head off to meet the guy letting us into our apartment, about a mile away. Julian couldn't make it so he sent Jacques who arrived a little late, a little flustered, and a little little. He hurries ahead of us in a quick French shuffle. I tried to keep up with his pace and accented English to make sure I didn't miss any instructions about the apartment. The guy in Nice was a lot easier to understand. He was a Swed raised in the States, but still gave the traditional European good-bye, a kiss on both cheeks, which didn't escape they boys. They wondered why he only gave Mom the good-bye and not Dad. Anyway, unlike Italy, since neither one of us spoke the language, the greeter directed his instructions towards me. I tried to keep up with him and his accented English. I leaned closer to make sure I didn't misunderstand anything and didn't stay more than a foot behind him. Todd was still nursing his metro wounds in the back of the pack. We all arrived on the bottom floor and crammed in the small entry hall since it had started to rain again. The base floors of most buildings in Europe are numbered zero because no homes are on this floor level. The first floor denotes the first floor of apartments. The circular staircase wound around a small newly installed elevator. We were on the third floor.
Tanner and I headed down in the elevator standing with our backs leaning against the sides. This is just the two of us and nothing else in the elevator and we have no room. Get where this is going?
The buses are like this too. The doors split to open inwards. Upon closing, they slide back out and close together.
And the elevator empty, not much bigger than the suitcases we were issued from Srgt. Todd. We have a suitcase at home that is about those dimensions. You all own one too.
Back to my story, we are soaking wet, disoriented, and taking instructions from a possible Napoleon twin. Jacques was pulling my suitcase, surveyed our group and instructed that I follow him into the elevator since it only fits two at most at a time. He shuffles into the elevator with my suitcase, turns around, and motions for me to follow him. I step in facing the back of the elevator, wondering how we are both going to fit. Jacques doesn't wonder, he already knows. I look at Jacques, we are so close I can count the pores on his nose. In the seconds I am considering declining this ride and taking the next, Jacques sees that the backpack I am still wearing will not clear the elevator doors. In one swift move, Jacques declares, "ooh, you not fit", in his very french accent. Before I know it, he has wrapped his arms around me, clean jerk launched me into the elevator. We are now hip to hip, the doors shut, and there is no light in the elevator. The only thing that would be accomplished if there were lights is seeing that I was a perfect shade of crimson red, which is almost impossible for me to achieve. I didn't need lights. I already knew exactly where Jacques was, as a whole and in parts. I almost asked him if he, by chance had an Italian cousin named Giuseppe, but I knew that he wouldn't answer me. And it wasn't a 'wouldn't', but a 'couldn't'. With the velcro hold, Jacques shifted from being nose to nose, to now having my boobs act as his ear muffs. I was pressed on one side by the elevator and my backpack, and the other by Jacques. Ugh.
Besides being deaf, Jacques nose was now pressed against my spine, from the front. If this elevator fails and I am plunged to the bottom with Napoleon's cousin, so help me Pete. I don't even know if they would know where one body started and another one ended. At least it was only three floors and his English wasn't that good so I didn't have to make small talk. The kids heard my shocked nervous laughter all the way up the lift. Since Mr. Polite was nursing his wounds in the back of the line, he didn't notice the Twister Game ensuing in the elevator. He did hear the laughter and asked the boys what was going on and Tyler calmly replied, "Mom's hoochies are all over that guy. He said, ooh you not fit and then pulled Mom in" just matter-of-factly like it happens everyday. Todd responded the same. Me, I was in shock, not only because I had a rogue Frenchman in an elevator the size of a shoebox who thought nothing of us being all over each other with my peanut butter and toilet paper backpack, made me wonder if I really needed the toilet paper. Then I remembered that I had no toilet paper. We used it in Nice. What was in that dang back pack. If I concentrate long enough I bet I can feel it through my back. I bet Jacques can fell it through my front through my back. Maybe I should ask him. Game of 20 questions Jacques? Ooh thank heavens. We are here. The kids are standing outside the elevator just to see what happened. For once, they had the same uninvolved unconcern look as their Dad. I really think those last metro rides did more than squeeze their shoulders. That was, and will be the longest elevator ride of my life. I don't know what else Jacques explained about the apartment once we arrived. I really don't care. My personal space is very small; compared to the Europeans, it is as wide as the Grand Canyon. I have been speechless more than once on this trip and that in and of itself is a miracle. Maybe that is why Todd planned this trip in the first place. Food for thought.
Oh, my goodness. I sit here at work with mascara rolling down my face muffling my outbursts of laughter. So much for being professional today.
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