Ladies and Gentleman, Staff and Locals welcome today’s contestants with a big round of applause! The NINFS (New Immigrants, Non-French Speaking) playing with us today: Mr. Ecuador, Miss Cambodia, Mrs. England and Mrs. America.
cd key maxisRound 1:
“Your passport”
“My paper?”
“No, your PASSPORT”
“My PAPERS?”
“No, your Picture!”.
Miss Cambodia stares dumbly.
Round 2:
A-B-C...; Go over there.
64 Kg; No, over here.
Stand up. 1meter 90cm… in heels?
Spin around in circles, make a wish.
Round 3:
In the purple door, out the blue door. I’m supposed to take off WHAT?
Door slides open. Arm here. Stand there. Turn. Leg here. Come. Go. Sit down.
Good Girl, here’s your biscuit.
Exit Orange door.
Miss Cambodia grips her shirt closed, eyes wide.
Mrs. England sits straight as a board, cheeks flushed, glaring.
Mrs. America (yours truly) does a little tap dance and smiles.
Final Round:
Le Gauche! Squash? Quizzical looks. Mr. Ecuador shrugs.
Clipboard snaps. Eyes roll. The White Labcoat sighs...
Oh! I know, Left! Silly me…
And for our Grand Prize winner? A trip to Vaccination for a complete round of shots, all expenses paid! All contestants will recieve consolation Chest X-Rays to take home.
Thank you for playing “The Medical Exam”, brought to you by the Office of International Immigration. Join us next week for our Back to School special, "The French Illiad: 500 Hours of Linguistic Adventure".
CRAVATS, NECKERCHIEFS: This stylish accessory that every Frenchman and woman can be seen touting all over the world stems not so much from a sense of stylish sheik as it does from practicality. French weather leans towards the windy and damp. Protecting one’s throat is a necessity. You could wear a bulky scarf, but why? Instead, utilize a swatch of luxurious, beautiful fabric that keeps the warmth but reduces the bulk and is discreet enough to be kept on indoors. Your own private indulgence to revel the senses in during the day, a spot of color in the grey of modern monotony.
Aesthetic Intelligence. If you must be practical, color it with passion... the details are what make Life worth Living.
1742
I trace the carved stone with my fingertips. Smooth, cold. The wall smells of musty dirt, bitter carbon and oil.
Clickety, clack
My heeled boots chatter loudly, echoing down the narrow cobbled street.
S-H-H-H, The Rain demands.
I obey and find myself stopped in front of 1742, an ancient stone courtyard surrounded by towering, pastel apartment buildings. Fresh, clear water pools around my feet, weaving through the cracks of the cobblestone. Just me, the wall and my cherry red umbrella left to debate with The Rain.
I laugh in retort.
The clouds break forth a torrential downpour, sheets of water stun me to silence. The Rain wins.
Comforted by the familiar conversation with The Rain, soaking wet, I squeal with delight. If I listened carefully, would I also hear what the wall was whispering? Of Revolutions, emperors, republics. Horses, electricity, cars. Mud to pavement, blood to chemicals...
The history of man I trace within the face of the silent stone. 1742.
I glance at the old woman watching me from behind the lace curtain in her upstairs window, and smile. I am home.
Voices call in melodic languages, scurrying, pushing.
The tinge of fresh dirt in the air, the bitter scent of onions, garlic. The crackling of the corner spit fire. Ruby red tomatoes, golden corn. Baskets upon Baskets heaped with tangled string beans and squashes. Fresh eggs, spices and olives.
Polyester, dry and thick to the touch nestled in crisp cardboard boxes against scratchy lambs wool and cool silk sweaters of every size and color. From high poles stylish dresses flap, teasing the beautiful shop here... furniture, fabric, pots & pans, cosmetics, rugs, shoes. The Weekly Market here is Walmart, with a twist of haggling.
And People. People swarming everywhere... Dark skin, Yellow skin, Brown skin. Blue, Green and Dark Brown eyes. Mismatched fashions from all Continents: batik island brights, isle wool caps, cowboy boots and ski jackets. The clashing merge of traditional, modern, culture, religion and practicality.
Eyes met eyes... are they just like me? Do they struggle to live here also, to fit in? Or do they see my white skin, my pale eyes and their body flinches, their eyes grow cold– will they double their price when I ask? Split second stereotype, am I one of US or THEM?
As I walk away with my plastic bags, I realize just when I thought I understood so much about the world, I know so very little indeed.
1 hour. 2 hour. Sitting on the sideline. Couples pass No. 22, No.35.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
No. 88!
Center stage. Tap, Shuffle, Tap. Curtsey. Smile. Shuffle, Shuffle. Bat-Bat eyelashes. Tappity-tap foreword…
And back. Bad breath? Wrong coat? Smiled too much? Wrong step.
Sideline again. 1 hour. Turn to the Left. Line B.
And 1 hour. 2 hour. Sitting on the sideline. Coffee, sandwiches.