My Parisian Bathroom

The one thing that I really, really remember about my first trip to Paris was the French-specific smell of their cigarettes. Yeah, yeah, I remember a lot of other things as well like the architecture, culture and everything, but the cigarettes really stick out in my mind since there was a non-smoking and a smoking section in my hotel, not that it really made any difference in the end, since the smokers were of a breed that I have never encountered before. It seems as if they lived off the damned things for their oxygen. But, their cigarettes, while vile, smelled a hell of a lot better than the American cigarettes that you smell oozing off scummy Walmart patrons and those crumbling in to their chairs at dive bars.

So, how does this all tie into my bathroom? Simple. In my apartment, there are these shafts that run up the building and allow the bathroom window to have somewhere to vent. It just so happens that they really frown on smoking in the building. Naturally, this doesn’t stop people from smoking and when they smoke, instead of going outside, they smoke in the bathroom for some reason.

I’m of the opinion that that there is a gay French couple that live some floors down below me. I’ve heard them speaking French on occasion and I’ve only ever heard two male voices. At any rate, I think that they like to smoke French cigarettes, because in the evening, when I walk into my bathroom, I suddenly feel like I’m sitting back in my French hotel after a long walk back from Notre Dame. Never thought I wouldn’t mind cigarette smoke, but then again, it is French, so I’m sure that tosses some kind of weird flavor in to the pie.