Hot Takes

French Connection

The other night outside of a comedy show a French tourist came up to ME and asked,

“Do you know where I can buy zee weed?”

I have never been so flattered. I wondered what it was about me that lead her to believe that I was her top prospect to ask the age-old question of, “Where da weed at?’

Was it my leather jacket? Was it my new sense of New York City dweller cool that just seemed exuded from me? Did I appear to just know where all the drugs were and how to get them, like my life was a regular Studio 54? Was it because I was standing with two black men and racial profiling is alive and well in France? Was it because I, in fact, smelled like weed? Whatever the reason, I knew it was my time to shine and be the cool New Yorker that I am striving to be. Side note, I am fully aware that wanting to be cool automatically makes me uncool but. . .

I had zee weed on me. Which I think we can all agree is pretty cool.

Rarely do I feel very cool. There was a brief moment in time when I was 13 and I was the first one to start watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer but that was a fleeting moment. I am never the first to discover a band. I don’t have any tattoos, I don’t skateboard, I make small talk like an aunt at a Costco, specifically my aunt at a Costco, dishing out recipes to strangers in the warehouse-sized aisles. People would probably describe me as pleasant, funny, and kind before they would say cool which is fine. I don’t need to be cool. I am 32. I need career prospects and some sort of financial planning besides my boyfriends VHS collection. But not needing to be cool is what make me cool right?? Okay, now I just feel desperate. Even more so by the fact that I thought selling weed to a 20 something French woman would give me some sort of street credit. With who, I am not sure, perhaps the French?


At first, I thought, I’ll just give it to her for free. Be the cool American she’ll go back to the Sorbonne and tell all her friends in a salon-like setting,” Not all of the American’s are bad ( takes drag from a cigarette), ”Once, an American gave me zee weed for free in New York City and it made my trip C’est Magnifique. “ Exhaling smoke circles in the air that form a smoke portrait of me with a beret on my head. 


Then on the second thought, I decided to lean into the moment and give her a true New York experience. I charged her 10 dollars for the small amount of shake I had in my bag, she told me she felt cheated but she needed “zee weed” so she’d pay it and I simply said to her, “Well, oh la la frenchie these streets are tough. Just try finding this deal at the hostel. Au Revoir” And I tipped my beret I had imagined upon my head and walked alway into the night, in the wrong direction, corrected and walked passed her again with my jacket collar shielding my face from her. Pretty cool in my humble opinion.