Under the Parisian Sun...a story

Thanks to yesterday's comments I decided to write a little story to take my mind of the fact that I am sitting here looking at stack of scripts. Today was my first day back at work. My immediate boss called me and I'Med me from France, saying the crew misses me esp. FH man, and thanks for respresenting the company well. Apparently the hotel they are staying in is very nice unlike the not so great place in Hamilton. Sigh, once again.

Yesterday it was suggested I pack my stuff send it to my family and just move overseas. Or go to the airport and fly to France with the clothes on my back, like in a typical Rom Com (how we in Hollywood refer to Romantic Comedies). Picking up from that idea:

I would need a sassy best friend to drive me to the airport. The sassy best friend could be a smug married or a gay man offering all types of advice to their single straight friend. Of course on the way to the airport there would be major traffic and I would almost miss my flight. Cue the montage of wacky L.A. road rage, me hyperventilating, an officer pulling us over, the sassy best friend saying I needed to get my man and the officer replying YOU GO GIRL! eventhough we are not really saying that phrase in that context anymore (it has gone the way of OH SNAP!)

I arrive at the airport in France after flying all night and I hop into the cab of a driver who hates Americans. I get to the hotel. The snooty concierge tells me the crew has checked out of the hotel, zut allors! In reality I would call the Toronto production office or my office for the number but that is not rom com movie logic. Instead I freak out.

I wonder the street of Paris crying as a light rain falls. I sit on a bench wondering why did I fly all the way from L.A. At that moment a very aggressive mime starts to bother me. Turns out he is not a mime but a mugger and steals my purse. I am now a foreign city without my passport or money. I look up at the sky and ala Nancy Kerrigan I scream "WHHHHYYYY?!" I find a police station and there is a kind officer, who tries to help me. He too knows disappointment. He used to work security at Hermes but got fired after Oprah had, as she called it, "her Crash moment." He wasn't the one who wouldn't let her in but he was let go like everyone else on that shift. "Fate can be a cruel mistress," he said. While he tried to call the American Embassy, I took a nap on one of the hard benches.

I woke up to a major commotion. The streets were filled with chaos. It was a strike protesting the opening of a Pinkberry. First Disney Paris, then McDonalds and Starbucks and now frozen yogurt? A line had to be drawn. The Parisians were against eating a substance called yogurt that had no milk in it. What would happen to the French cows if Pinkberry conquered France? The police station cleared out, they had more important things to worry about. I walked outside and tried not to get trampled. In the distance I saw the mime eating a large Pinkberry yogurt topped with strawberries. I gave chase. We ran through colorful markets and bumped into French people who said Merde!

I almost caught up to him but he was too quick. I crossed the most beautiful bridge in Paris and yelled "Help, stop that mime!" A tall, very handsome guy grabbed him. It was FH man! He walked over and gave me my purse. He didn't ask how or why I was there. We kissed. There were fireworks, literally. True, it was not a holiday and the middle of the day but a rom com ending practically demands such things.

The End.