Once you get one, they all come running...to high hilarity.

           This past Saturday afternoon I could be found on the regional train from Fontainebleau to Paris. I was traveling by myself and with two suitcases, one mine, the other one the girls kiddos', and was seated comfortably devouring the end of The Great Gatsby.

             At the stop in Melun, the train became packed with passengers, seeing as it had been twenty minutes late in the first place. I slid my suitcases up onto the luggage rack and hesitantly moved over to the window.

              MISTAKE.

              A large Franco-African man sat down next to me after helping me lift my luggage and smiled. I thanked him politely and tried to delve back into my book.

               He informed me he was Franco-Congolese after me stuttering ¨pardon? pardon? pardon?¨ because his accent was thicker than mine and then added that his name was Trésor. Yes, you got me right. Treasure.

                Like all the hilarity in the bay area of young (I promise I am not being racist here, just making an observation!) of African American children named things like Diamond or Achilles or Jermajesty or Tayshaun.

                 Treasure then got to asking where I was from (America. California. Yes, yes, I am a foreigner.) I tried to turn back to my book. What I was doing here? (Studying.) I turned back to my book. Did I come to Fontainebleau often? (No. That was a white lie.) Face back in my book. Who did I visit? (My friend.) Once again, face back in my book. Did I like to read? (Yeah. Seeing as this is what I am attempting to do while you interrogate me). GAH FACE BACK IN MY BOOK. What did Trésor mean in English? he asked.

                   ¨Treasure,  like you know, normally,¨ I explained, ¨ Like buried treasure or pirate's treasure or diamonds or whatever,¨  I tried to brush him off. He was not satisfied with my answer.

                   ¨I'll be your first Congelese friend on your list then, right?¨ he smiled. He was starting to remind me of Old Gregg. Hi there! Pleased to meetcha! 

                   ¨Uh, yeah...,¨ face back in my book, ¨I suppose you will.¨

                   ¨You'll be the first American one on mine,¨ he was beginning to weird me out.

                   Face back in my book. 

                   He kept persisting until I was so fed up I blurted out:

                   ¨ SI VOUS ME PERMETTEZ JE N'AI QUE 2 PAGES À TERMINER MON CHAPITRE.¨

                      He FINALLY let me finish. It reminded me of all the bad pickup lines my roommates and I would hear from guys on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, my two favorite lines having been directed at my roommate, B:

                      1. ¨GIRL, you be WORKIN' them spandex!¨
                      2. ¨You wanna go half-sies on a baby with me?¨

                     Oh the panache from the likes of the Treasures, the Tayshaun's, and the Malakai's of the world. I do NOT know what it is, but once you start seeing one guy they all come running, and sometimes to high hilarity. Even here in France.