Sunday was the dreadful day we had to pack up everything and leave one of the most beautiful cities. With the Eiffel tower in the background, we all headed to the metro so we could take a bus to the airport.
My older sister (the traveling one) left a day by day itinerary for my parents to follow with printed out directions of how to get to our hotels and to/ from the airports. We had gone over the way we were going to take to the bus stop the night before so we would know what metro to take. Turns out, we were unprepared.
We bought tickets for a certain line and put our tickets through the machine that opened the doors to the train station. Forgetting I had luggage, my suitcase got stuck behind the door (as the door froze) so J. had to heave it over– problem uno.
Problem two came about when I realized we passed through the wrong metro station. We didn’t want this line. We wanted the line that traveled in the opposite direction– or so my mom mentioned the night before. We plotted out our way through the other line, not this new one.
So I led us all out through the doors we came through– problem three. We all began fighting with each other about which lines to take (yes, we are that American family) and then my mom told us her and my dad had gotten tickets for the bus on the OTHER line– the original line that we were about to hop on, but she told me the night before we wanted the other one. You’re confused? Trust me. How do you think I felt?
I was afraid we had to buy new tickets since we already used it (and the machine wouldn’t open the doors since we already went through). Thankfully there was a lady working the ticket window. But she spoke NO English– problem four. My dad tried to pretend he knew French and “handled” the problem. When, in reality all he did was raise his voice (in English!) and used over dramatic hand gestures to try and explain what happened and how we needed to get back through the doors.
I’m pretty sure the lady had no idea what we wanted– her confused face said it all. And the fact that she probably felt sorry for all of us (we were making the biggest scene and all yelling at each other. . . extremely embarrassing). But after a bit she pressed a button and let us all through. My dad kept shouting his one French word he knew himself “merce” at the lady. I wanted to thank her with more than a “merce” so I just smiled real big. I don’t even think that cut it just how happy I was that we FINALLY knew what we were doing. . . after about 30 minutes of arguing with one another.