Jota Luna and the Gypsies

Sound track of the day:
In my eyes,
Indisposed,
In disguise
As no one knows.
Hides the face,
Lies the snake,
And the sun

Current Temperature: Sunny days finally chasing the clouds away

Culture clash: uh, gypsies।

The sun had finally won its battle with the darkness of the clouds spreading from the gloomy British Isles. And although we had our sights ambitiously set on a day of touring Montmartre and shopping the Marais, we took our time in our suburban apartment preparing for the day. Jen was exhausted after a week of test prep and actually completing her final Corporate Finance exam. I was recovering from travel and yet another system imbalance (which I’m investigating and hypothesizing has something to do with my possible aversion or allergy to France – or maybe the couch).

After some coffee and more daily rituals we were human again and ready to join the world. The sun was shining brightly across a pale blue sky kindly speckled with milky clouds. On the kind of Saturday afternoon where it’s the first nice day after weeks of gloom and rain, Parisians crowd the Metro flocking to various points of interest and the trains burst at their seems disguised as rickety old manual doors with families, tourists, lovers, vagrants and gypsies.

With the intention of doing some leisurely shopping at the Marais and then picking up a PC to television adapter at FNAC, we ventured into Paris to join the herd and revel in the glory of a spring day in France’s great capital. As if, having relived the 40 days and 40 nights of Noah’s day, the people of central France were given a cleansing and chance at a new start, we also were going to celebrate in that glow. I was optimistic because I haven’t yet had a fully sunny and warm day in France and had just returned from picturesque Madrid only to find France still submerged under a sheen of sadness and chill.

We had just transferred on the Metro at Châtelet to the one (1) line heading toward St. Paul and, being that the train was full, we stood near the sliding doors. Just before the doors closed two young girls entered, one too young to really be anywhere without adult supervision, appearing to be no older than 12 but dressed in a tube top and cornrow braids as if trying to disguise herself as an adult but not pulling it off. The older girl, around 14 years, entered and stood very close to the door. The second, younger girl entered behind her and headed straight toward me with her hand reaching out toward my shoulder, at which point I dodged her allowing her to grab hold of the pole for stability. As she slid into the center of the car’s vestibule I inched toward the door closer to the older girl.

The car proceeded to its next stop, Hôtel de Ville.

Only a moment later I glanced toward the little girl, astonished at her slight frame and its ambitious attempt to fill out such a womanly top and then shifted my eyes toward Jen and mouthed “looks so young.” Jen didn’t seem to make the interpretation and when I glanced back at the girl I realized she was not holding the pole at all but seemed to be using Jen for stability and was very close, if not clinging, to Jen.

I started to watch her more intently unsure if I should alert Jen to the situation but Jen already had her eye on the little demon by then. My stare must have been very obvious because her friend, who until then hadn’t been clear of her association with the gypsy adolescent, just then crept into my line of vision, preventing a clear view. I made cold eye contact with the intruder and said to myself, “if I were to describe the facial features of a grifter, I would describe someone with stereotypical Romanian features and this bitch had them.” (Sorry Nadia.) I leaned over toward Jen and said audibly “Hey, watch your shit.” I hoped, but doubted either understood me.

At that point the train had reached its next stop and both girls exited the train. As the younger derelict made her departure, either in an effort to divert Jen’s suspicions or to be funny, she gestured toward Jen showing enthusiastic approval and admiration for Jen’s well-endowed upper region. We both glared at her to get away.

It was a bad call on both of our parts to shoo her so quickly. In fact, we should have pinned her down on the spot. Because just as the doors closed and she headed away from us down the platform Jen checked her bag and found that her planner had been taken. Despite the clear bad vibes I got from these girls, it was hard to belief that we were right, that they had pick pocketed Jen right in front of her as we both watched.

I was disappointed. I was troubled that I watched it all happening, and didn’t say a word for fear that I was wrong. I doubted myself more than I doubted them. I told Jen to watch her shit, instead of screaming at the tramps to “WATCH YOUR SHIT!”

Jen took it a lot better, even though it was her property stolen, her person violated. She reminded me, and herself, that things could be worse. And she was right. The theft of petty property has nothing on physical damage or even dignity. This was simply a personal diary with some appointments and other daily details. Still, the oldest child part of my ego that wants to protect people was bruised.

After taking a quick inventory however, Jen realized she did have some minor banking information on a card in her planner. It contained password information to an account that didn’t do much. It also contained her Social Security card. Can you say identity theft? Our concerned then shifted over to the ingenuity of the thieves.

Are gypsies that tech savvy?

We had to ask ourselves and the answer was: anything is possible. And even if they aren’t, in this day and age it isn’t hard to find and partner up with someone who is tech savvy. Even if you’re a vagrant, untrusting nomad willingly living on the fringes of society, only to join it disguised as a happy participant meanwhile sucking what you can from it before you move on to your next locale.

No, seriously, I have nothing against gypsies.

On tonight’s menu:
Pho at Bambou

A little red wine at Cyber Cafe