Young and Revolting: The Continental Journals of Nick Twisp Read Online Free PDF Page B

entreaties. I could only shrug and say “Sorry, I don’t speak French.” Good thing I don’t either. I think maybe they wanted me to fix something in their apartments. Hey, I don’t plan on being the slave of everyone in this building.
    So depressed by my new employment status that Sheeni took me out to the movies to cheer me up and flaunt her expensive new hairdo (she did look great, of course). Since French films aren’t subtitled here, I insisted on seeing an American movie (the latest Nicholas Cage epic in original undubbed English). Felt a wave of homesickness for my native land despite all the explosions and car chases. Shocked to see cineastes all around us whipping out their lighters and puffing away. If they tried that in California, there would be more mayhem in the theater than on the screen.
     
    FRIDAY, May 21 — Right after breakfast I had to don my apron and go down to deal with fresh graffiti from the latest student manifestion. Every time you turn around in this town herds of students are marching by bearing signs. Too bad they don’t write a few in English for the benefit of us foreigners. I haven’t a clue what they’re complaining about. Such militancy is almost unknown in America. Perhaps if French schools imposed compulsory gym, there would be less energy for such exercises.
    As I was scrubbing away Alphonse and Babette emerged from the front door. They seem surprised to see me in my new custodial capacity. Alphonse especially appeared embarrassed that he had been mixing socially with the proletariat. He was even more surprised when his girlfriend invited us to their place for dinner tonight. I accepted without hesitation. Our own larder was nearly bare and I wasn’t eager to hit the shops as I seem to have forgotten all my French numbers. Bummer.
    While I swept the public areas, My Love went off for solo clothes shopping and to investigate school possibilities. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to think about school in May. The horrors of September will be upon us soon enough. Three more needy tenants stopped to chat—one of them, I regret to say, an American expatriate. He wanted me to look at his balky fuse box, but I declined, citing rigid union work rules. He sighed and asked me if I wanted a job walking his toy fox terrier Maurice twice a day. I agreed, but said there would be an extra fee for cleaning up after it. He pointed out that the damn dog only weighed eight pounds. I said maybe so, but they can still be big producers. So he thought it over and said OK, but I would have to show him the bags. I’ve marked him as a potential tightwad.
    4:30 p.m. Took Maurice for a walk and got totally lost. Foolishly, I had left home without my Michelin map. Soon in despair, but gave Maurice his head and he led us right back to our street. Pretty smart dog for having a brain that couldn’t be any bigger than a pecan. Tiny Maurice is also something of a babe magnet. Lots of cute French girls stop to pet him and chat up his Belmondoesque master. I just nod soberly and answer “Oui” to anything they say. Feel rather self-conscious though clutching baggie, since most French not into pooper-scooping. Walking very treacherous in this town as Parisian canines said to produce 16 tons a day.
    10:45 p.m. Back from dining downstairs. Sheeni dressed in flattering Parisian fashions, the cost of which she divulged to anxious husband in a blur of rapid French. Most toothsome French cuisine prepared by Alphonse. Babette explained that her boyfriend hates all things English and therefore does not regard her cooking as worthy of serving to company. He nodded in agreement while spooning up the seafood soup. Apparently he understands at least some English, but does not deign to speak it. Babette likes to embarrass him with personal revelations. She said the French are so reserved they would never consider inviting people to dinner they just met, so she has to take the initiative.
    “ Parisians are the