Metro Mecs

I was on my way home. I was alone. And it was on the metro...

It takes two trains for me to get home from Châtelet. Je prendrais déjà la ligne 1. Maintenant, I was taking the 13 back to Malakoff, Plateau de Vanves.

I was sitting on the metro, minding my own business quand soudainement (suddenly),

Quite possibly the hottest guy I have seen in France walked on.

That's the only way I can describe him.

I mean

;kfnea;knfaslfm'lasmfdasmf's

Anyways, let me explain a bit more about the architecture of the metro before I continue.

It's not like the RTS.

By that I mean my seat was facing down the line, not to the opposite window like on the city bus.

And my seat was facing directly down this guys seat, and his mine. So naturally, that was the direction one's head would be turned in.

But his hotness was too much. I couldn't take it all in. I would literally be staring him to death.

So, I turned my head to the map and started looking at all the stops.

I concentrated so hard on that map, I paid no attention to the words I was hearing.

But wait.

Words?

People rarely engage in full-on conversations on the metro.

He was on the metro with a friend, and I realized they were talking, and pretty loud at that.

Anyways, I eventually had to look back at this beautiful mec, you guys.

But be still my heart, when I turned to looked at him, I realized he was talking to (and about) me.

ME.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHdstm;efaosjdf[aksp[fda

And good God Almighty of heaven and earth knows how I figured out what they were saying.

This was all in loud, (likely alcohol-influenced) French.

Anyways, he told me he and his friend were trying to guess the first letter of my name. They called out random letters and finally decided to go through every letter of the alphabet in order.

It was hilarious. Together, they chanted :

ah, bay, say, day, euh, ef, zhay. ahsh, ee, zhee

I stopped them there. (zhee is how you'd say the letter j in French it. It sounds like ghee).

So they got the first letter. Now they were on to the names. They were pretty determined.

"Joanna!"
"Julie!"

But they were only calling out French names. I knew they wouldn't get it, so I gave them a hint:

"Le nom n'existe pas en français," I told them.

True story, bro. Though they called out those names I mentioned above, they said it with a French pronunciation. They just so happen to be names that exist and are spelled the same in English. Jenna, it just so happens, does not have a French equivalent.

They both let out a disappointed sigh. Almost the type you make when you can't remember the name of something, so you have to Google it.

They seemed pretty stumped, so I decided to just spell it out for them:

"zhee euh en en ah," I said.

They quickly repeated me: "zhee euh en en ah!"

Then it clicked.

"Jen-nah!" "Jen-nah!"

Puzzle solved. Just asking "Tu t'appelles comment?" works, but I gotta admit this way was way more fun.

Anyways, they introduced themselves, too.

The super hot fella was Gaëtan (I think that's how it's spelled. I honestly have never heard the name until then—it sounded like "Gie tahn." His friend was Jules.

Anyways, Jules turned to me and said:

"Tu viens d'où, Jenna?" (Where are you from, Jenna?)

I replied "Les états-unis" (The United States)

Pretty sure Gaëtan interjected here:

"Mais tu parles bien!" (But, you speak well!)

Anddddd stop.

This is what made this such a big deal for me. The fact that, finally, I spoke French well enough that someone was surprised I was an American. I feel like the results of all of those weeks had finally shown. With two days left in France, I had finally spoke well enough to "pass," you know?

One of the best feelings any language learner can have, really.

Anyways, the conversation continued in French. Jules invited me to go to some bar with them—they were on their way to Montparnasse – Bienvenüe.

It's really the only place anyone would go at that point on ligne 13. My host mom's house in Malakoff is technically outside of the arrondissements of Paris. It's like the suburbs, so you wouldn't expect young people to be headed there on a Friday night.

Anyways, back to the invite.

Don't get your panties in bunch. I declined, you guys.

I'm not that stupid.

I mean Gaëtan's ridiculously hot and Jules is really nice, but I don't know these guys, I'm alone, and, probably the biggest thing, I may have fooled them, but I am not fluent in French. I'm not about to get myself date raped with two days left to go.

Anyways, Gaëtan sensed my thoughts I think. My comprehension of French can be fuzzy at times, but I'm pretty sure he smiled when I declined and said jokingly to me something I'd translate to "upon further reflection, no," as if he could tell I thought it was a bad idea.

Anyways, they were curious where I was getting off. They started guessing different stops.

Eh.

Still not stupid enough to straight up tell them.

Anyways, they never got the chance to guess Malakoff.

The metro reached Montparnasse, so it was time for them to leave. For the first time, they spoke in English.

"Bye, nice meeting you."

The door closed and I continued on my way to Malakoff. The metro was considerably quiet now that those two were gone.

Well, that's my story. The story of how a funny encounter with two strangers helped me take pride in my speaking skills.

The story of drunk metro guyz.
















P.S.

Jesus Christ, this Gaëtan guy tho. Talk about missed connections. Imma need to hit up Montparnasse and find him.