SUSAN REDDING
THE TIME I GOT ROBBED
I'm thinking about writing a book, and I'd like to include this story...
During my first senior year of college, a travel course was offered at my college. These classes are offered every semester and include destina- tions like Ireland, England, Costa Rica, and Paris.
Well, many of these classes are considered honors which totally leaves me out. But, as Jason and I reviewed the course listings, we discover that TPS: Paris is not an honors course. We spent the next year counting the days until our trip, doing research about the city and discussing getting engaged at the Eiffel Tower. Never did this discussion involve the wonderful shopping opportunities awaiting me across the ocean.
When we landed, I could feel the buzz in the
air. The crisp January air smacked us in the face outside Charles de Gaulle airport. I was in France!!! I had finally been on a plane. Three Xanax and I never slept a wink.
When we met our tour guide, another student inquired about shopping. Where to go, what hours to go, etc. We mentioned how sad we were that we missed the day after Christmas. This is when we hit the gold mine of shopping information-their day after Christmas is actual- ly January 8th. It has something to do with the twelve days of Christmas. Their Christmas sea- son is different (partially due to that no Thanksgiving thing).
So I saved my money and waited, counting the days. I had no idea that people actually fly around the globe just to shop this one day! It was the most glorious thing I had ever experi- enced-everything was on sale! Most was half price or more!
Around hour six, the bags began to pile up. I had already purchased new tennis shoes to wear because my feet hurt so much. I was so in the zone, it's pathetic. Brooke and I had split from the group and I was busy rummaging the racks when I felt someone tugging on my bags. I thought for sure this was my European mug- ger trying to steal my half-price designer fare. Maybe Jason was playing a prank on me. I jerked my bags and there was definitely a tug back. I glanced down to see a pale white hand stuck in my bag. The more I pulled, the more it pulled against me. I couldn't think to scream as my eyes slowly traced up the arm to discover a
man..nequin. I was being held up by a French dummy! I felt like such an idiot. I looked around but none of my friends were in sight. Whew! I tried to ease the flushed look on my face but it just wouldn't.
Moral: Anyone who gets held up by a dummy is an idiot. •
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