(my buddy christophe)
Maybe it was because the gorgeous Irish man was off visiting his homeland and therefore the universal bar fighting balance was off, or maybe because Virginie and I were just talking about how in Paris during the first day of summer every year massive bar fights spring up like brush fires, or maybe it’s because there was a drunk women from Utah saying racial slurs to my favorite bartender, but I found myself head to head about to start a bar fight on a Wednesday night at my favorite French restaurant.
No, I’ve never got in a bar fight before. I have split up a few dozen when I ran two nightclubs in Atlanta, and I’m a peace and love (sprinkled with ambition and a little aggression) kind of girl.
(dj on the decks at 'les enfant terrible')
Let me explain.
Virginie and I wanted to celebrate. It was about to be the first day of spring, and despite the rain, we felt the temperature raising and it was making us giddy.
We walked down the street to ‘Les Enfant Terrible’ (The Terrible Child) just blocks from our house to sip (or gulp down) our favorite drink ‘The Cosmopussy’ and to eat pommes frites (French fries), and mussels, mmm…delicious. Our favorite bartender Christophe insisted that we sit at the bar, where he plied us with a pre-cocktail shot and our favorite DJ mixed the Police and Chaka Kahn (it was a killer mix). As we danced in our seats, sipped our cocktails, and caught each other up on juicy gossip- a drunk women kept knocking into the back of Virginie chair.
I was mildly irritated by this but Virginie seemed to brush it off. As Virginie went outside for a smoke the women that was bumping her chair followed her.
Virginie came back in shortly, “That woman is SO DRUNK!” She said with a laugh and taking back her seat.
(virginie, always so friendly)
The drunken women came into pay; only do get mildly disgruntled that the place only took cash and AMEX.
“What is my money not good here?!” she said beginning to get more aggressive with Christophe.
Christophe is a very good natured French man. He smiled, “Darling, these are not my rules, we only take cash or American Express.”
She begain to shove the card into his hand. “Well this type of card is a Visa, can you understand the word VISA, or do they not teach that word in Africa?” She was pointing her finger at his face.
That was it. I moved Virginie aside. I grabbed her hand and placed it on the counter firmly. “I think you need to locate and ATM machine, and pull out what you owe him, and then apologize for what you just said.” I said to her as she looked a little dazed.
Virginie smiled. She knew that the woman wasn’t going to try and start anything with me.
The women begin to grow irate, “This card works, I’m on business from Utah, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I didn’t know this was a black restaurant.”
Oh lawd! Racism, alive and well and brought to you all the way from the land that does believe in polygamist marriages, but ironically not caffeine. The women had a friend that was sitting just beside her. She seemed not to share her friend’s philosophy or drunken stupor. I looked at the women’s friend “Seriously either pay for the meal or I might end up going to jail.” My face now only a centimeter from the racist women’s face.
The women’s friend pulled out an Amex card. No way! She could have solved this situation 20 minutes ago. For my troubles Christophe poured me and Virginie another complimentary round and a shot, the DJ hugged me and played me a few rounds of Prince.
I’m not saying everyone from Utah is bad, shoot; I used to live in the Southwest. But you best check yourself before you wreck yourself in NYC.
(me pulling my hair out my mouth....sexy...)
