"You're not going to believe this... Look!", I ushered our group forward to the subject of our recent interest. "It's a smoking room for people who are stuck inside the airport and can't go outside. Have you ever seen one of these before?" "Awesome!", Mark replied and hastily went inside to light a cigarette. He was puffing away before his backpack even hit the ground. As us female companions looked on in amusement, the irony of his position became evident. Granted, the health posters inside the glass room showed a passive-aggressive discouragement of the addictive past-time taking place inside it's transparent walls, but the social and psychological impact was clear; one had to separate themselves from everyone else in order to smoke, and then be displayed to passersby in an exhibit-like fashion, all while protecting the rest of society from the harmful fumes of second-hand smoke (not to mention the nauseating scent that accompanies it). "We could really use those in America!", Sharron observed. "I think so too," I said while noticing a metallic box with images of food on it. I walked up to it and began reading the options on the distributeur automatique. "Hey! They have coffee in this vending machine!" I excitedly informed Sharron. "Well then, there you go! Help yourself, you know I don't drink any" was her reply. As I went to insert my currency and select the coffee option, I noticed a sign by the cash insert slot. "OH NO!", I couldn't help but voice my dismay. I turned to Sharron who was studying a map of Paris that she'd picked up from a nearby travelers resource kiosk. "It's out of order until further notice." "That's some rotten luck!" she laughed, "Sorry... I'm sure they'll be others around here in a place as big as this." "I hope so", I dejectedly replied before studying the directional signage around the baggage/lobby area that we were now in, while we waited for Mark to finish in the newly christened "smoker room".
Just as he was emerging, I noticed a uniformed man in a reflective orange vest heading in our general direction, pulling some sort of trolley system. "Pardonnez-moi monsieur, mais ou est la station de train?" I inquired. The man gestured in a general direction while replying that it was back through the door that we had just come out of a few moments ago to get our luggage. "Merci! Vous-êtes trop gentil!" I thanked him. We subsequently went back through the doorway and looked around for any signs of direction. When none became apparent, we went back into the baggage area and through the door on the far end, just in case there had been a misunderstanding. "There's nothing here!" Sharron exclaimed. "Why don't you go ask one of the women at that tourist help center?", she suggested to me. "No way! I don't want to do that!" My social anxiety was beginning to show itself again. "Mark, you go and ask them!" I pushed him. "Wut em I gonna say?", he asked in a desperate manner, "Y'all know I don' tawk like them." "Just use your charm or something like that..." I suggested. Mere moments later he was sauntering up to the women there and nervously asking for directions in the clearest English he could muster. He soon turned around and told us he didn't know what they had said, and recommended that we just wander around until we found somewhere that looked like the right place. No doubt about it, we're lost in a huge airport and nobody that we know could help us if we called them. We were truly out of options, so we decided it was best to follow Mark's advice and simply go searching in all directions until we found at least one of the things that we were looking for. It was then put forward that we might be more effective in our goal if we searched the expansive areas around us individually, then meet back in the middle where there were sofas and artificial trees prominently placed for the comfort of weary travelers.
We were just heading to one of the many stairways that were on that particular level of the airport when suddenly, Sharron noticed a sales stand by the railing. "Let's grab a snack. I'm starving!" she said. That sounded good with me, as there had been nothing but snacks, and airplane food- that to be honest, was little more than a glorified snack itself- and water for the past two days. While selecting our bottled beverages (mine included an iced coffee, as that was the only coffee option available), sandwiches, and various other foodstuffs, Sharron noticed the SIM card that she had been looking for on display for purchase. "Great! Now I've got everything I need, even if it's more expensive than I thought it'd be...", she voiced her glee. After paying for our colloquially-termed haul, we moved over to a nearby empty bench to eat, and to let Sharron insert her new SIM card and get her cell phone working on the new French network. Mark and I talked to pass the time and to get to know each other a little better. After all, if we were going to be "stuck" in the same place for over a month in the same group, we should at least learn enough about the other person to be comfortable with the situation.
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