Paris Underground

By Cassie
I had a new French experience last week: getting stuck in the Metro. I was supposed to meet Sid for dinner at our neighborhood brasserie after work on Thursday night. OK, so I left a teensy bit later than I meant to, but I made great time, keeping a death-march pace and hitting the trains precisely as the doors were about to close, so I was on track to post my best commute time yet. Then, at 7:25, the train stopped -- about 30 seconds before we would have reached my station. Aaarrgh! So close, and yet... The conductor made the usual plea for patience over the loudspeaker (I recognized "patientez, sil vous plait"). No problem, I thought, I'd be only a couple of minutes late, until the lights and engines went dead five minutes later. Five minutes after that, another announcement said something about a "grande accident" on the line. For 25 minutes we sweltered in the dark tunnel. Standing there in my business suit, I was sweating like a farm hand. Many of us found something to fan ourselves with, peeled off jackets and shook our heads and rolled eyes at each other in the universal language of helpless frustration. After 15 minutes, I called Niall and asked him to go tell Sid that I didn't know how late I would be, since we still haven't gotten Sid a mobile phone. Finally, some passengers started prying open the doors of the car and jumping the 3-4 feet onto the cinders beside the tracks. Others of us began making our way from car to car, where we finally were able to precariously climb down an emergency ladder to the ground and up the steps normally blocked with an ominous sign: "PASSAGE INTERDIT." This was no small feat for the older ladies, bags in one hand, skirt in the other as they attempted modesty during their steep descent. But each of us helped the one ahead down the ladder, holding briefcases, shopping bags and even strollers so two hands could grip the child-sized ladder. All told, people had to walk about 100 yards from where we stopped to the platform -- where we saw no sign of trouble whatsoever! As if they couldn't let the train go just a bit further to let us off at the platform. When I emerged from the escalator onto the sidewalk, I deeply inhaled the dark, rainy night air. Except for the unusually crowded cue at the nearby bus stop, there was no sign of the travails below. I hurried to the brasserie where a smiling Sid and two cocktails awaited. Never was a Kir Royale more deserved.