Family of One Has an Unpleasant Encounter in Paris

As previously related, I had the most splendid time in Paris with nary an uncomfortable exchange or stressful moment--except for one which took place in the cozy, charming lobby of the Hotel Sainte-Beuve--and involved, bien sur, an American.

Picture a tiny boutique hotel just off Boulevard Raspail. Enter the front door and, to the right, is a lovely little sitting room with two couches, a few tables with interesting tchotchkes, and a demeure fire. Just behind this sitting room is a more modern area with several sectional sofas and a couple of small dining tables with chairs. This is the area where breakfast is served. It is also charming.

After a lovely dinner at Sensing, considered the "anti-bistro" for its modern stylings and fare, I returned home, looking forward to a quick chat with ma mere--also known as Mother-- and then relaxing in front of the well-needed fire with my iPod.

I had sent Mother print-outs of where I would be staying; unfortunately, the one for the Sainte-Beuve had described it as being on an alley, so Mother thought that this had robbery AND kidnapping written all over it. I was happy to give her a quick call when I returned from dinner.

As I entered the hotel, I glanced to my right to see that a lady of around 60 was comfortably ensconced on one of the sofas. Wanting to be considerate, I went to the part of the lobby with the dining tables which is separated from the living room with several posts, a couple of replicas of the Washington Monument, and some large plants. As you know, I am a stickler for cell phone etiquette, so reminded myself to keep voice low and conversation brief. Then, I could lounge on the other sofa.

The call was predictably brief--remember that I always give miscreants at the Biltmore gym five minutes for any call--but then Mother decided to discuss issues about the care for Aunt Louise. I pondered going to my room, but the elevator would disconnect the call and she was saying, interestingly, some very wise things.

Suddenly, this lady climbs over the partition, between the Washington Monuments, and says, "Could you please take your conversation elsewhere?"

I nodded and said, "of course".

Mother immediately reacts--"is that a kidnapper? Don't talk to anyone. Don't give out any information."

I attempt to get us back on track, albeit briefly.

I say to the woman, "I have a very ill relative back in the States and we are discussing her care. I will finish this up quickly, please indulge me".

About another three minutes go by. I wind up the call, but not before the woman again climbs over the partition and tells me to either take the call downstairs to the toilet or go outside. She also says, "I can tell you are from the South and you people pride yourself on your good manners. I know you would not want to be considered rude."

I hang up. The woman climbs back through the partition for the third time, now to be begin the lecture in earnest. She went from societal influences, the death of good manners, the advent of the cell phone, the importance of self-protection.

I thought it best to let her have her say, but finally said, "I am so sorry that I disrupted your evening. It is hard to get a good signal in my room and, by coming to this part of the lobby, I thought I was signalling to you that I was respecting your privacy. I, too, am in need of some quiet time as I have been dealing with this ongoing drama for several months, so I know how you feel".

Her response--"I, too, have a very ill relative back in the States and I came to Paris to forget about it for awhile, but you have succeeded in doing nothing but reminding me". Editorial note--I somehow didn't buy this--just a little too convenient--and I was starting to think she might be slightly psycho.

I murmured my sympathy, turned on my iPod, and proceeded to lounge on the sectional sofa as if I were back in the triplex.

Once again, she climbs through the partition--this is getting a little silly. She starts again on "you people from the South" and "why did you think that you invented good manners?" and "where were you when that lesson was taught?"

I am now more amused than anything. I have briefly reflected on my own shushings and realize that I have never emitted more than a sharp SHHHHHH or, on occasion, had a brief, but pointed, dialogue, focusing on the situation at hand, not a history of manners in the United States. Note to self--do not adopt this strategy.

I stand up and look her straight in the eye as she dangles between the two Washington Monuments. "This is quiet time now", I say. I put my fingers to my lips. "Let's see how quiet we can be. Let’s be very, very quiet”. She keeps nattering. I smile wistfully. “I am going to come over and sit in front of the fire with my music”. She keeps blabbing.

When I don’t engage with her, she becomes quiet. Suddenly, in a moment that she has obviously been practicing mentally, she stands up and makes a grand exit to the elevator like Katharine Cornell in a Broadway play from the 1930s. “Just like all people from the South, you may think that you have the premium on good manners, but from my experience with you tonight, it is clear that you don’t”. Exit to waiting elevator.

I sigh. I shake my head. I continue to listen to show tunes. The fire is just wonderful. Not another soul comes into the lobby.