Machine Gun verses Small Stool (the wild conclusion) pt quatre

Conclusion (pt quatre) continued from part three.

Holding a small stool over my head like a weapon, the door flung open and I was staring down the barrel of a gun.

Not just any gun, but some type of semi-automatic rifle—a machine gun of sorts! Four guys stood in the hallway—two blocking the door open while the evil receptionist lurked in the shadows in background.

Do I strike the guy holding the gun?     Small aluminum stool verses Gun?      Gun wins!

The guy with the machine gun is wearing a bullet proof vest and is armed in riot gear. I breathe. It's the Police—three of them.

The officer holding the gun looks at me with suspicion and says, "This man here" motioning over his shoulder to sheepish-looking receptionist, "says you owe him money and that you might be..." (are you ready for this)... "that you might be BAD PEOPLE!"

Speechless—my mouth drops!    Us!       Bad People?

I can't believe it—my brain is frozen for a second—the guy is still holding the machine-gun that is strapped to his bullet-proof vest.

In a dramatic sweep of my arm I turn everyone's attention to the back corner of the room where my wife is standing and say (while pointing to her), "Do you see that lady over there? Look at her!" Suppressing rage... controlling my emotions to the best of my ability (with an-hours sleep in the past 64 hours)

I ask rhetorically, "Look. At. Her! Does. It. Look. Like. We. Are. Bad. People?"

Silence as they all look at Saint Kerry and know that there is something wrong with this guy's story.

Embarrassed they say, "This guy says you owe him money and he's afraid you will leave without paying."

Oh, this is the story he invented to tell the police as they came into the hotel.

Pupils pinpointed again and eyebrows furrowed I said, "What do you mean, we owe him money?"

Policeman with the gun. "He says, he lent you money from the register and is afraid you'll leave without paying."

I explained the situation. We have no Euros and had to use our card and the card didn't work and gave the guy more than sufficient American cash to hold the room and agreed to take care of it in the morning.  (I said all of this loud enough to wake up everyone on our floor—this injustice and this creep needed to be exposed).

All three policemen looked at me and then turned and looked at him. I said, "Wait..." as I walked across the room to the dresser and pulled out the signed letter showing that we had paid the guy and gave him plenty of American cash on deposit...handing it to the police. All three of them turn around and look at the guy in disbelief—realizing he had lied and we didn't owe him any money and that this story was nothing more than damage control—knowing he was busted.

They stared at him, waiting for an answer. Cowering against the back wall of the dimly lit corridor, he says, "I checked online. I should have charged them a transfer fee on the transaction and..." (WAIT FOR IT...YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS) "...they owe me 6 euros!"

                                                          6 euros is about 8 dollars

"Six Euros!" I shout. "Six Euros? Hold on. You mean to tell me that I had to fight this guy off and keep him from coming into my room at 4:00 in the morning for six Euros?!"

Still intentionally speaking loud enough for just about everyone on our floor to hear—What a crook, I thought. This guy was full of it and the police knew it.    Now, I wanted answers.

"You...(plural to all three policemen)...you ask him. PLEASE tell me why he felt that he had to break into my room at 4:00 in the morning. And ask him why I had to fight to keep him out for six Euros!

I. Need. To. Understand." I pleaded with them.

No one says a word!  The officer in the riot gear and with the semi-automatic machine-gun looks at my wife and beings to silently mouths the words "I sorry" over and over several times.

They refuse to throw him under the bus, however, we are at at stale mate. I walk to the dresser drawer pull out a $20.00 bill (American) shove it into the hand of the gun wielding officer and demand that he give it to the lying-cheating-swindler crouched in the shadows behind.

He hands the twenty dollars to the French-Mafioso and I insist that they also ask him why this guy felt it was so important to try to break into my room? Why I had to fight to keep him out? Why he changed his story and why all of this for a measly six Euros when we had an agreement and that we could have easily taken care of this in the morning?

I really did want an answer!   I. Asked. Them. To. Ask. The. Guy. "Why at 4:00 am in the morning?"

I wanted to know and I wanted to expose the guy for being a lying-pawn of the French-or-Turkish mafia who definitely had some type of ill-intent!

With no intention of leaving the place while it is still dark at 5:00 am in the morning, we barricade ourselves back in the room and anxiously wait until first light so we can flee safely.

The American Embassy calls back  to check in on us. They still can't believe it and ask if we have an exit strategy - because we needed to get away from that place as soon as possible.

Fully clothed we laid on the bed, hearts pounding, rehearsing the events over and over again trying to get it to make sense. We do the "pretend scenario" of the "nice receptionist" who is acting in innocence believing that we might try to rip him off— in this version he's the good guy—we're the bad people from his perspective and it just doesn't work out!

                                                     66 and 67 hours - one hour of sleep.

We leave in the morning. He's still there—again standing against the wall. I don't owe them a thing— I'm certainly not going to give them my credit card and I don't even ask for the money they owe me.

I tell the new receptionist (in front of God and everyone else in the hotel) that this was the worst night I have EVER had in a Hotel and that the man standing against the wall was a, "Bad-man"(using his language).

It was in vain. I don't think anyone understood my English. We left. Our debit card worked perfectly across the street and we found an Uber-driver in a Mercedes to take us to the Viking longboat!


 Hallelujah!

The veins in my neck still stand out when I tell this story, as if I am reliving it—still inside the room, pushing against the door—fighting for my life to keep a very evil person out.

Welcome to France.  How was our trip?

It's like someone asking Mrs. Lincoln on the night her husband was assassinated at the Ford theater, "Other than that Mrs. Lincoln did you like the show?"

Granted, I jest and it was not nearly the same thing, but "other than this" we loved every minute of our time in France.

Here are some pictures of  our time in France, and as a reminder, this quick flight to Paris from London was on brought on by the refugee crisis that had the The Chunnel back up for hours.

I think if is only fitting to realize that there are global issues of poverty, the need for clean water and perhaps the immediate crisis that should mobilize our hearts (with link below).

Eiffel Tower 

  random door Paris 

 through the clock at Musee D'Orsay

 The Louvre 

 Kerry at Monet's famous garden

 Notre Dame Cathedral of Rouen Normandy

Notre Dame of Rouen Lit up at night 

  360 degrees of breathtaking Stain Glass windows, La Sainte Chappelle, Paris. "The most beautiful stained glass windows in the world." 

 Inside Sainte Chappelle as the sun sets, making a magnificent light show while an ensemble plays Vivaldi's "Four Seasons"  

 Sunset over the Seine River

Being from Venice and being a Dahlin - means that there is never a dull moment!

Just as a reminder, this sudden hop over to Paris that landed us in the worst night of our life at the Hotel Balladins St Antony was because we tried to avoid The Chunnel due to the immigration crisis of those refugees fleeing Isis in Syria and Africa. Here is a link you can explore that might help you find some ways to get involved somehow in the greatest refugee crisis since WWII.