Matt the Mouth
I’m Matt, I live in Paris and I know things. Not everything of course, but in my head, amongst the useless trivia and quotes from Ghostbusters are a few gems. Gems that I would like to pass on in order to help those who choose to listen. As my bank account dwindles and the creditors come calling, I take comfort in knowing that at least my thoughts cannot be repossessed. So take these words and benefit. I am here to help.
In recent weeks I’ve realized that there’s one thing on everyone’s mind (and everyone’s shoes) when they first arrive here ‐ dog poop. At first you don’t notice and that’s because for most of your life it’s been safe to walk on the concrete sidewalks of the world. Somewhere deep down, on an subconscious level, you’ve been classically conditioned to know that in a park, or other similarly grassy areas, you have to step lightly and avoid the occasional landmine. However when it comes to the sprawling urban jungles of the world, without even sensing it, your brain let its guard down. Foolishly you assume that the worst you might encounter would be a discarded piece of gum, or the infrequent hypodermic needle. This is not the case in Paris.
Your disillusionment begins on that first day, when you feel an unexpected smoosh beneath your shoe and then lose traction, causing an infamous Parisian poo‐slide (average slide length = 14cm). This startling event leaves you confused and disoriented, that is until you turn around and realise exactly what caused your near slip.
Your mind races for answers as your whole world turns upside‐down. Black becomes white. In becomes out. Places where there should never be faecal matter become veritable litter boxes. Moments later after the shock of this enlightening experience wears off, you are left with a new perspective. You begin to notice it everywhere ‐ the small piles, the large ones, the old lady pretending not to notice as her dog relieves himself in front of a café and of course the sidewalk streaks (average length = 14cm) where some other poor soul has suffered a similar fate. The innocence and sense of security you possessed only seconds before, has now been lost forever.
I remember vividly that tragic day in March when I was first violated by the sidewalks. I was walking to work, hurriedly I admit after stopping for a wonderful Pain au Chocolat. I turned the corner with optimism. My phone informed me that I still had two minutes and I felt a sense of relief, knowing I would make it. Ten steps from the door with victory so close, my shoe landed slap bang in the middle of the most revolting pile to ever litter this planet. I felt heartbroken, betrayed and completely grossed out. When I surveyed the damage, it was clear. Those shoes were casualties in the loosing battle against poop in this city. No amount of cleaning could remove the impurities and restore them to their former glory. Fortunately I wasn’t penalised for being late and someone else had an extra pair of shoes. Unfortunately my Parisian poo‐slide had taken place in front of the office window for all to see and endlessly mock. Little did I know that yet another surprise was awaiting me later that same day.
After an enjoyable meal at one of those perfectly quaint cafes, a friend and I were casually walking home. We were laughing as I recounted my early morning incident and I was thoughtlessly fiddling with the change in my hand. I felt a two euro coin slip out of my hand. It hit the ground and began to roll. Now this was one of those rare instances in which speed, direction and momentum align to send the coin barrelling down the street with great velocity. My friend and I fell silent, entertained by this occurrence and we began to wonder ‐ how far will it go? Where will it end up? Our questions were promptly answered as the coin veered left, then right and ramped slightly into the air, before coming to rest atop a doggy bomb. I was speechless. I did not pick up the coin. In a single day, the dogs of Paris cost me a pair of shoes and a two euro coin. It was my own personal D‐Day (Doo Day).
In this city where civil responsibility is virtually non existent, you have to train yourself for a new method of street walking. Here you are on high alert, constantly scouring the sidewalk for looming danger. You are not in Kansas anymore. You are now in a place where poo anarchy reigns supreme. You are now in Paris.
‐ Matt Smith
No comments were found
