Failure can be fun

I’m keeping up this time! I promise.

Yesterday I got my grade on my quiz back in Civ. When class first started, the professor didn’t mention the quiz at all, but jumped right in to lecturing on an opera called Samson and Delila. I figured maybe he would wait until the end of class, like some professors do, to pass back grades. That way wouldn’t be all depressed or curious about our friends’ grades during class. But right after the opera lecture, he took up his stack of papers, and began calling out names.

Now I am a girl that is used to doing fairly well with a considerable amount of confidence. But there have been instances when grades have concerned me. These instances are made all the worse by my usual confidence. Instead of sitting smugly awaiting my A, my heart starts to pound faster and faster with every paper passed back. My hands sweat, and I start to feel trapped, like I just want to run out of the room screaming. Francheska got her paper right in front of me. She smiled and gave high-fives to Alyx. A good grade. LeRoy got his back next to me. He sheepishly slid his underneath his folder. Bad grade. I tried to analyze everyone’s faces, see what my odds were. But most people were surprisingly hard to read. Not a good sign.

Then the heart stopping moment. “Lesley,” my professor said in his French accent. It seemed like seconds passed between him holding the paper out to me and my hand actually reaching for it. I cringed but like a train-wreck I couldn’t help but look.

19/20. A.

“YES!” I said loudly.

The professor proceeded to explain that in Europe, a B is a fantastic grade, and that teachers rarely give out A’s. I am not so foolish as to think that my paper actually merited an A. It’s more likely that the grade was curved. But still, it’s an A. Whew.

After class we got paninis and began discussing what we should do with our few remaining hours of daylight. Kristen decided she wanted to get her nose pierced, and some other people wanted to go get tickets to a group called Paramore, that’s playing in Paris soon. I had to go to Franprix (again!). So we decided that we’d go back to the dorm, research a piercing place, I’d go to Franprix, and then we’d meet up and all go together. And that’s just what we did.

We decided that before heading out we should go to the cafeteria for some cheap dinner. It was pretty good food for only about 3 Euros. We also heard all about RJ’s trip to the hospital. He apparently has a sinus infection. We were all mildly jealous that he got to skip class (and has a note to get him out of today’s class as well!!) but also rather worried. In such close quarters, we might all have sinus infections soon.

The RER, our usual train, is closed due to a strike. So getting to the Champs-Elysee was more difficult than normal, and involved a couple of metro connections. To pass the time we traded iPods and discussed various bands. Stephanie and Francheska kept singing Spanish songs, and I kept singing Katy Perry.

Finally we made it, and after a short hike with a beautiful view of the sun setting behind the Arc de Triumphe, we were at Fnac, a huge record store. We marched straight up to the ticket counter, only to be told that Paramore tickets were sold out. RJ briefly considered telling the lady that he had almost died that day, in order to garner sympathy, but instead we decided to run around looking at all the French films and the world music. We set up little dance parties around the headphone stations, and noticed differences in European titles versus American titles (ex: Nacho Libre = Super Nacho).

After a while we figured we should find Kristen’s piercing place of choice, so we rode the metro back to Chatlet and got off there. We found the parlor thanks to Spratt, our new fearless leader. He’s in the army, so he reads maps like no one’s business, and he has all these great hand movements to help keep us organized. Every once in a while he taps the top of his head with his palm and that means “Head Count”. We usually only do this if we suspect someone is lost. Poking the flat of his palm means “Map Check”. And then there are all of these complicated signals for other things, but when he does those, we just stare at him blankly and he translates for us.

Anyway, despite our excelent leadership, the parlor was closed. In order to cheer everyone else up, I suggested the ice cream/crepe place next door. We also found a neat vintage shop. And on the way back home, we stumbled upon a group of American violinists, playing amazingly on the street corner. They had just given a recital, and since the train they needed had stopped running, they had to organize a shuttle system to get home. One car took 3 or 4 at a time, to reunite a group of over 30. They were still missing some people, and they thought that maybe if they played, the others would find them. The music was lively and so strange and magical on that busy street corner. People clustered around to listen, and we made small talk with their guardian. They were all American, from all over the country, and it’s always nice to run into some Americans. RJ even gave them a Euro, placing it tentatively at the feet of one of the most talented girls, only 11 years old. The crowd laughed good naturedly at his donation.

So even though all of our initial goals were left unmet, it was still a fun time. And the view of the Arc with the sunset… GORGEOUS! I wish my camera wasn’t broken!!!

Advertisement