St. Patrick's Day or, Good Thing I'm Not Claustrophobic

My St. Patrick's Day began at 10 pm, roughly twelve hours after all my friends. In the short hour I spent at the bar, we scored potentially offensive "Irish" hats and made mustaches out of Guinness foam at bars, before ending up in a large apartment complex where everyone galloped up the stairs and onto elevators like we were late to our own party. This is clever of me to say because we actually did end up late to our own party. An hour late, actually. Where were we, you might ask? Oh, in the elevator.

I'll never know if the eight-person capacity elevator could have handled our fifteen-person mass because the two last guys to pile in jumped up and down as the elevator doors closed, young and spontaneous as they were feeling.

After about 30-seconds of very little actual elevator movement, we all begin denying reality ("It's not stuck! We're fine!"). When I say we, I am talking about two Frenchies, one Indian, four Americans, one Romanian, five Mexicans, one Bahraini, and one Englishman. Then, the buttons stop responding and the Bahraini and Romanian girls turn into Beliebers who have just seen Justin Bieber himself, but in a bad way. As we are packed like lady fingers in tiramisu, everyone gets hit by their thrashing about. Then, the two girls scream "OPEN THE DOORS" on repeat, pissing off everyone who was lucid, because obviously we're not keeping the doors closed for fun.

Two minutes in and the elevator lights turn off. Hysteria that had momentarily been sequestered to the two girls ensues en masse, and then a few people irritated by the bedlam decide to fight back with their own by yelling ("Oy! Shut the f*** up!"). We all feel each other up at this point as we try to reach our cell phones to create a strobelight-y ambience.

The Romanian girl lets everyone know that she is claustrophobic (duh, she just tried to stampede us) and then lets out blood-curdling screams. In fact, so much blood is curdled that it starts spurting out of her nose ("OH MY GOD MY NOSE IS LITERALLY BLEEDING, YOU GUYS"). Her equally sauced friend, an American, then takes off her own dress ("I AM GETTING NAKED I DON'T EVEN F***NG CARE") so that the Romanian can have a napkin for her bloody nose. From that point on, anytime the Romanian had a breakdown (read: every four seconds) the American would take the girl's face in her hands and say "I AM NAKED FOR YOU OKAY? HONEY LOOK AT ME, I'M F***ING NAKED RIGHT NOW."

The Romanian fainted four times in total. The first time she fainted was the worst, because the American thought that meant she was dead ("SHE'S NOT BREATHING, OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW YOU GUYS") and no one believed her ("SHE JUST FAINTED, WE CAN'T OPEN THE DOORS") and she reacted in the way people do when they think they are saving someone's life by yelling: she yelled more.

The second and third times the Romanian fainted were less traumatic and more the new norm, which we adjusted to pretty smoothly. However, the fourth time she fainted was met with a lot of relief, because it was forty minutes into our Really Great Elevator Ride and she had begun her last rites ("LISTEN TO ME, I HAVE TO SAY THIS. LISTEN, LISTEN. THERE IS A BOY. IN ENGLAND..."), she also gave rites for her family members. So, she is doing these rites, which are kind of making everyone else wonder if they should be doing their last rites, and the English guy, who full context-based loathing, says he is going to knock her out with the beer glass he stole from the bar. He starts positioning himself to take a swipe at her, despite protests from those who have retained clarity, when she knocks herself out with screaming. Close call.

The Bahrani student also had a hard time with the small space in which we were sardined. Similar to the Romanian, she lashed out at those around her but, after time, just needed to hold everyone's hands (we were all kind of holding hands anyway) and then get out of the "corner." In an elevator made for eight, everywhere is a corner, but fine we pretended we got her out of the corner. We were also covered in shards of glass, because someone tried to turn the light back on by punching the bulb.

The only moments of silence were when someone (two Canadians) yelled down the elevator shaft to us. At first, these snippets of communication were helpful ("We've called the fire department. They're coming") but became naive ("Just sit down!") and unintentionally obtuse ("How many of there are you? Fifteen?? That sucks! Guys, they said there are fifteen of them in there!").

About halfway through our Group Bonding Experience, one of the French guys started playing gangster rap from his cell phone to "calm everyone down." Despite rap's reputation for being soothing, it added to the mayhem. There was no moment during the entire fifty-five minutes that anyone was able to have a conversation, because the yelling was constant, though the yellers varied.

While the two girls previously mentioned had the most extreme reactions, the general feel of the group was taught. Someone cleverly declared that we were all running out of air (there was a vent on the ceiling) and then people yelled at each other to stop yelling because it was "using all the air." This theory was buoyed by the rising heat in the elevator: our skin became increasingly sticky, and my hair was stuck to my forehead by the end.

Elevator situations happen on sitcoms, rom-coms, reality tv, and they're always funny and romantic. I am here to deliver the surprising news that tv lies. Excluding a moment that the only couple in the elevator had, we were not feeling frisky or witty. What the elevator did reveal, though, was the role each of us assume in moments of panic. There are, of course, the panic-stricken (the Bahraini and Romanian). There are also those who add to the maelstrom by trying to deplete it (the Frenchies), and those who become care-takers of the stressed (the American friend). There was a leader (the English guy), who became the official communicator between us and our friends yelling through the shaft, and a couple quiet ones, who just waited it out ("We were zen" - my Indian friend said afterward).

I never thought we were going to die, because I once read a fourteen page article on elevators in the New Yorker and had learned that being inside an elevator is the safest place, but also because I knew I couldn't think it. There were already people convinced we were having our last moments of life ("I'M DYING IN A F***ING BOX ON F***ING ST PATRICK'S DAY") and when a certain number of individuals move in that direction, everyone else has to keep it together.

Someone asked me afterwards at what point I thought the experience was funny, and I want to say it was when the Romanian started to give her last rites, but that was mostly just surreal. It didn't become funny until the highly unamused firemen opened the door, we rushed out into the light, and me, one Indian and two Mexican girls ran outside and washed our sweaty faces off in the rain.

How Frenchies Can Tell You're American

A positive aspect of traveling is that it shows you how other people live. An equally valuable side-effect is that shows you how you live. You might have never noticed your notebook as being a sign of your country, but go to school in another nation and everyone wants to see your paper with holes in it.

As a culture that spreads itself over other countries without leaving much room for reciprocation, it is easy to forget that not everyone lives the way Americans do. With that in mind, I have compiled a list of things that Americans might not know are somewhat specific to our culture (at least, in reference to my experiences in France):

1. The words unique, special, original, and different have positive connotations.

In French, these words are used to politely describe something or someone that is “weird.” If you were to see a girl in an outfit you didn’t like, you could describe her as “original” with no ambiguity as to your meaning.

2. Ketchup can be eaten on scrambled eggs, baked potatoes, and quiche.

Ketchup does not have a wide range of uses in France, they’re bigger fans of mayonnaise.

3. If Americans want to cook something quickly, they microwave it (see: potatoes).

Microwaving is almost expressively used for reheating, never for cooking/baking.

4. In the US, you eat pizza with your hands.

You can only eat pizza with your hands if you’re among friends your age and they all agree it’s okay to do.

5. Americans eat French fries with their hands, not tiny plastic forks provided by the establishment.

Yeah, tiny forks, incredible.

6. Americans know (and often love) what a pb&j is.

French people have heard of peanut butter, but the concept of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich breaks the barriers of their culinary imaginations.

7. Americans have generally positive perceptions of other forms of English (Australian English, British English, Canadian English).

French people love mocking Quebecois French and have expressed to me many times that it is a completely different language. Then again, I think this is the way the English view American English, so maybe we're on the wrong side of the fence.

8. You probably do not know anyone who has been to Madagascar or Tunisia.

I have met many people who have vacationed in these countries, mostly because they are more accessible from this location than the US.

9. In the US, when someone says they were taught English, you assume it was American English.

They were probably taught British English.

10. You know a lot of people who have been to Mexico.

The French think of a trip to Mexico as very fancy due to the distance.

11. In the US, you are barefoot when you’re inside your house.

When I am at home (in France), I always wear slippers. If I visit a friend, I take off my shoes and s/he gives me "guest slippers" to wear.

12. You wear sweats outdoors.

If you’re leaving the house (or even your bedroom) in France, you better look awake.

13. You eat on the go.

I have a non-French friend who scarfs down toast in an alley before work because if Frenchies see her eating food while walking, she'll get the stink eye.

14. In the US, you bring beverages into the classroom, whether you’re the student or the teacher.

You can’t even bring water bottles into the classroom without breaking some serious norms (there is a working theory among some American ex-pats that the French are a dehydrated people). A couple of times I have brought tiny espressos to my 8am classes and been not-so-subtly instructed to finish my drink before entering the classroom (in other news, telling someone to chug a hot beverage is cruel).

15. Americans have the option of taking coffee to go.

First of all, coffee comes in the size and form of espresso. Secondly, it comes in tiny mugs only (major French cities excluded).

16. In the US, you think of people who smoke as “smokers,” as in a particular group that is different from you or that you identify as being a part of.

If one were to walk into a French party and say "hey, anyone smoke? Wanna go outside?" there would be no one left in-doors except some of the pregnant women.

17. When eating a meal, if you are not cutting food then you do not need your knife.

If you eat a meal in France, you’ll use the knife with your left hand to help guide your food onto your fork (this is applicable to most countries in Europe, it seems). If you do not use your knife in this fashion, you might be referred to as having "uncivilized" or "savage" eating habits. This may or may not be the catalyst for an existential crisis.

18. Many Americans have over 500 friends on facebook.

Frenchies don’t have as many cyberpals. When they see my 700 friend count, they react by saying, "you're American."

19. In the US, you understand lyrics to songs because they’re in your language.

Whenever I’m at a party and American songs play, a Frenchie makes the joke, “What’s it like to understand the songs?” Pretty similar to not understanding.

20. When people from other countries ask you where you’re from, you say the state instead of the country, assuming that they know all the states.

They don't know all the states; it reinforces the stereotype that Americans think they’re the center of the world.

21. In the US, when someone hands you bread for your meal, you put it on your plate.

In France, bread is eaten at every meal, and always placed directly on the table.

22. When a song says “put your hands in the air,” Americans do it.

The French don’t understand American lyrics, so they don’t respond to the commands. Also, French songs wouldn’t tell the listeners to put their hands in the air because it’s not a dance form in France.

23. When you dance with someone else, you touch each other.

Inebriated individuals excluded, in France you’ll probably just do something similar to the jitterbug with your partner, unless salsa music is playing, in which case you'll get down.

24. Americans hug.

Hugging in France is considered really personal, they prefer totally not intimate cheek kisses.

25. When Americans enter a party, they only greet people they know.

If you enter a French party, you go around and greet every person present with either a handshake or cheek kisses.

26. If you're American, you probably do not know how to drive stick.

Almost everyone in Europe drives stick in the same way that almost everyone in the US drives automatic.

27. Americans don't know what endives are, or how to eat them.

If you come to France, you'll find out.