Being petty and middle class has its advantages.
“Screw the Mona Lisa…” I barked as my young daughter and I strutted down the Champs-Élysées after becoming victims ourselves of the Coronavirus Zombie Apocalypse, getting rejected from The Louvre in order to “…prevent the spread of Covid-19…” per the sign posted in front of the famed glass pyramid.
We had come to see the Mona Lisa without lines. Without busloads of Chinese tourists but, here, the exact wave we were expecting to shred had decidedly crashed upon us.
Well, to hell with the Mona Lisa. To hell with Leonardo da Vinci and the rest of his northern Italy countrymen who had been walled off from the rest of the world anyhow. I taught my daughter to terrorize them through extreme surf-based territorialism and it worked too well. Now all of Italy is walled off.
The whole boot.
No Romans or Neopolitans either.
Locals only.
But the victorious lesson felt pyrrhic as spaghetti bolognese is our shared second favorite meal and this damned Coronavirus.
Pizza probably third.
This mad, mad, mad, mad world.
Well, life goes on, there’s always another wave etc. and exactly when I was wondering the next surf-based lesson I should teach her, Wall Street went straight over the falls.
The biggest single day point drop in stock market history.
Investors ripping hair pieces off while losing billions. Analysts garbling on about “confidence” and “the desk.” Russia and Saudi Arabia engaging in a wild oil war. Trading halts, billions lost. The end of this mad, mad, mad world.
I watched the crazy play out on a French restaurant’s television while chewing a less-than-perfect steak-frites but immediately knew.
“Baby girl…” I said. “…first thing tomorrow we’re headed for the Palace of Versailles.”
“Where Kristen Dunst lives?” She asked.
“Yes.” I responded. “Or where Kristen Dunst did live until she got her head lopped right off.”
“Why did she get it lopped off again?” She asked.
“Because she was a rich interloping bastard…” I said mid chew “…and let me tell you a story. The French had this really weak-willed king named Louis XVI. He was crazy rich but shy, out of touch and weird so his family hooked him up with an Austrian babe named Marie Antoinette…’
“Kristen Dunst?” She cut in.
“…Yes, I mean Kristen Dunst. So anyhow there they were being rich and out of touch together-ish when The People™ got fed up and lopped their heads off.”
She looked at me quizzically while stealing a fry, which was far better than the steak.
“Ok. So let me bring this home for you. In surfing we basically have a Louis XVI. His name is Dirk Ziff and we basically have a Marie Antoi… Kirsten Dunst. His name is Erik Logan. They are rich, interlopers and out of touch and The People™ are just about to lop their heads off too, at least metaphorically. Plus the markets tanked today. Let’s go rip one in a fancy place.”
We woke late and took the short train out to Versailles, cut the mile long line and wandered the War Room, Hall of Mirrors, gardens etc. Had a delicious chicken breast risotto and pain au chocolate lunch in the palace itself. Mind-bendingly incredible, all of it. The painted ceilings, giant fireplaces, drapes, wallpaper, chandeliers, gilding.
An absolute vision and virtually empty inside. I have no idea what the mile long line was all about.
She seemed sad about the demise of Marie Antoinette during lunch, loving her style, clothing, attitude, breathing that same air.
“Localism is a tough business…” I offered as sympathetically as possible “…and so is being petit bourgeoises but we play the hands we’re dealt then fight through our consciences.”
“What’s petit bourgeoises?” She asked, dabbing her eye gently with a fine linen napkin.
“Unfortunately us.” I said. “It means really petty middle class but don’t worry. We’ll have the last laugh somehow. It’s a joy of being petty. Plus there is more of this Coronavirus Zombie Apocalypse to shred. Look, we’re basically eating cake in Kristen Dunst’s house without a reservation. That’s pretty awesome, no?”
She nodded and seemed to cheer up some.
“Who knows what lessons tomorrow will bring.” I continued “But we should probably go to Germany. Their chancellor just said 70% – 80% is going to get the Coronavirus. That means we can get into all the trendiest underground techno clubs without being on the list and you being extremely underage.”
She nodded again.
Being petty and middle class has its advantages.
More as the story develops.
