This morning as I was leaving the gym, a man who looked to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, looked at me and exclaimed "hey, you're an American!" I was confused for a moment until I realized that Hervé (the French equivalent of Avery!), the man who runs the gym, must have told him. I smiled at Hervé who was sitting behind his desk and looked back at the man.
"Yes, I'm American! Have you been to the U.S.?"
"Yeah I love it!" He high fived me and squeezed my hand, clearly thrilled to be touching the noble digits of an American.
"Where in America are you from?"
"I'm from right outside Boston."
"Oh Boston! What a lovely city! It's so beautiful. Beautiful. Very cultured people. Great. And the chicks! They are so beautiful!"
I laughed and smiled and the man, whose name I never got, laughed louder and smiled wider. He adjusted his wide brimmed hat and colorful scarf.
"I lived in Manhattan a long time. Loved it."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah! You ever been?"
"Of course, I love New York!"
"Yeah, Washington Square. Great place. And the chicks! They are easy, eh? HA! American women, oh man. You know what I mean?"
He made a not quite so subtle humping motion towards Hervé's desk as he illustrated what he meant.
The guy seemed to have really enjoyed his time in the States.
"But America...it is sad now, is it not? People are unemployed. They travel a thousand miles to find a job and still can't get one. Your government is no good. The Republicans keep getting in Obama's way. He did nothing wrong and they're blaming him for their mistakes. It is bad. And the rich people get so much money! They look at the poor and walk away."
"Yeah it's definitely pretty unequal. I read that 1% of Americans have 24% of the wealth."
"Wow. Yeah I hope it gets better. Americans are good. A good people. They deserve good things."
A week ago, I met my friend Rachel at Place d'Italie to get dinner at a restaurant she'd said was great--Chez Gladines--and it was. We were walking by a commercial center when we saw an old man carrying several bags, dressed in heavy clothes, and walking with a cane. After a moment, his cane slipped, he dropped his bags, and he fell to the ground. He was still. Suddenly he began moaning and clutching his chest. His legs tensed slowly and released. A crowd formed around him. We asked him if he was ok and he was unresponsive for a few seconds. Then almost at the same time, everyone took out their cell phones to dial the police to get him help. In a mix of French and some words that to me sounded more like Italian or Spanish possibly, he loudly interjected.
"No! Don't call the police! Please! Don't call them. I'm Roma. They will lock me up and kick me in the head and send me away. Don't call."
Everyone lowered their phones and looked around at one another. After another moment, the man clutched his chest and moaned again. Then he was still and we asked him if he needed help. He started to try to get up off the ground. Some people walked away, but Rachel and I stayed, quickly looking between our phones, each other, and the man.
"Sir, do you need help? Are you ok?"
He didn't respond. Medical technicians came out from the commercial center and began to get him off the ground. He acquiesced. Once he was on his feet, they walked him into the building.
Several weeks ago, when my friends and I were getting on the RER train to head back into Paris after class at Gaulier, we were being perhaps a bit louder than usual. A man stared at us intensely with wide eyes.
"You speak English?!"
"Yes."
He continued to stare silently. I ventured a guess at why.
"You don't hear English too often on the train?"
"Never! Where are you from?"
"I'm from the U.S., he's from Australia, he's from Singapore, she's from Brazil, and she's from Italy."
"Ah. I used to live in the U.S."
I got up to sit across from the man, who was dressed in a suit and held a briefcase on his lap. He looked Russian to me and his accent wasn't quite like many French accents I'd heard.
"Where did you live?"
"Santa Barbara. I studied at UC Santa Barbara for two years. Got my master's there."
"Oh wow! It's beautiful there isn't it?"
"It is, yes."
"What did you study?"
"Environmental science. I worked in the oil industry for a long time."
"Oh, wow. But you don't anymore?"
"No. What did you think of the BP oil spill?"
"Uh, I was against it. Yeah."
He continued his intense gaze at me, unblinking. Not smiling. He didn't think it was funny.
"I think Obama waited way too long to respond and missed a real opportunity to do something about alternative, clean energies. He waited months! It was ridiculous."
Pause. He didn't respond.
"Where are you from?"
"France!"
Oh, that answered the question. Still, something sounded a bit bizarre, but what do I know.
"Where are you from in America?"
"I'm from right outside Boston."
"Oh, ok."
We chatted a bit about the States and he started to kind of avoid my gaze. The conversation came to a lull and he went back to reading his paper. I talked with my friends some more, when, after a few minutes, he interrupted me.
"Do you know what I think the world will resent America for for a long time?"
I hesitated. "No what's that?"
"Two things. The war in Iraq and the financial crisis."
"I agree with you. And to that I'd add Afghanistan, too."
His gaze started to get intense again, unwavering.
"But especially the financial crisis. Your country's problems have hurt the whole world."
"I agree."
He didn't really care that I agreed though. He had found an American to unload on.
"And I think it was so absurdly selfish."
"Yeah I agree with you. It's unbelievable how little the financial institutions cared about the effect what--"
"It wasn't just the financial institutions. It was your government."
"Yes."
"And it wasn't just the government. I think that every single American shares responsibility for this crisis. Every American."
Silence for a moment.
"Really?" I countered with.
"Yes." His death-stare continued.
"Why's that?"
"You all live in the system that created the crisis and did nothing to change it. You voted for the people who made it happen."
"But you really think every American is responsible?"
"Yes."
"But we had no say in what happened at AIG or Lehman Brothers or anywhere. And so many Americans were seriously screwed by this thing. How are we responsible?"
"Because you all did nothing."
This time, I started to feel uncomfortable and had trouble meeting his unflinching laser stare.
"And I think America is doomed."
"Doomed?"
"Yes. You're all in big trouble."
"I kind of agree with that a bit."
"I think within ten years, America will barely be a speck on the map to the rest of the world. You're falling. You'll be replaced."
"Who do you think will replace us? China? India?"
"No."
"Who?"
"France and Germany."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Wow, France and Germany?"
"Yes. And within fifteen years, I bet America will dissolve."
"Really. You think it won't exist anymore?"
"Yes. It will collapse. The country is too different everywhere you go in it. People can't agree on anything. Your government gets nothing done. Are you going back?"
"Yeah I'm going back in a bit over a month."
"You shouldn't go back."
"Well I already have my return ticket. And it's my home."
"Still you should stay in France. It makes more sense to stay in France or somewhere in Europe. You really shouldn't go back...America will collapse."
I looked in his eyes. We stayed there for a few quiet seconds.
"Wow. You really think so?"
"Yes. Believe me."
"Wow."
"I hope it doesn't, but it will."
He was so dead certain. The ride ended in silence. Then, when he got off, I extended my hand.
"Uh, nice meeting you sir. Good talking to you."
He mustered a polite smile and shook my hand. The laser gaze was gone, though.
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