So I have learned a VALUABLE lesson- do not go on a week long trip with someone you don’t know very very well. George (previously known as hot doctor, now know as BIGGEST ASS IN THE WORLD) has got to be the worst kind of American tourist ever.

It started as soon as we met in the airport. He started loudly proclaiming that the French should be catering to his every need because we liberated their ass in two world wars. Funny thing is, George is only recently an American. While my grandparents actually did storm the beaches of Normandy and help liberate the French from the Germans, none of George’s ancestors have ever fought in an American war. He was not terribly pleased when I pointed this out to him. Later, when he was trying to get “frisky” and I wasn’t in the mood, he was PISSED that I wasn’t going to roll over and spread my legs for him. When I said that acting like an ugly American tourist was a giant turn off, he couldn’t understand why I didn’t get that he was just kidding.

So the next day I tried to be nice and he “tried” to be nice. But he turned all his pent up ugly American behavior on me instead of on the French and proceeded to argue with Every. Single. Thing.I. Said. I stopped being nice when George woke me up from a dead sleep because he couldn’t figure out how to turn off the bathroom light.

Bernard and Ruth had both decided to keep in check their jokes about how med school would be easier than being mathematicians and Bernard has mad jedi skills at diverting George when it became obvious that his behavior was going to cause me to stab him in the eye. By Tuesday, I stayed home and slept while they went to the Eiffel tower. By Wednesday, George’s bitching about wanting a cheeseburger and only drinking diet cokes was making me nauseas. As was his screaming at lovely French waiters in English and interrupting Ruth when she talked to them in French.

I became openly hostile. He deserved it. While watching a French fireman work, George thought it was appropriate to scream at him in English “Success! Success!”. The look the firefighter gave George was priceless. It said “Some of us have real jobs you asshole frat boy”.

By Thursday, after having George the wonder ass disparage everything I said without having any sort of well rounded knowledge in anything, I took to treating him like an imbecile. At Versailles he made the genius discovery that there was “a lot of Roman influence” to which I replied “yeah- it’s a whole art movement called Neo-classical, you dumb ass”. He then decided to be bitchy because he wanted a cheeseburger. In France.

George had to leave early (thank god) because he said he had a patient having problems back home. True or not, he still was there about 6 days longer than I could tolerate.

I think I know what was wrong with him though. I think he has the citizen equivalent of “New Money” syndrome. The newly rich go through great pains to show off their wealth and importance as a way to prove that they have arrived. Old Money doesn’t have anything to prove. I think as a new citizen, George may feel the need to prove his American-ness by being every ugly stereotype of us there is: arrogant, loud, rude, aggressive, ignorant, uncouth, un-read, incurious and abusive.

That doesn’t excuse his behavior, and he is still the only person I have ever felt I really had to restrain myself from stabbing through the eyes. The great thing is that Paris was awesome in spite of George, particularly Friday when we had a lazy frittata breakfast and much informed rambley discussion about life and politics and everything before heading off to the Pompidou where I got to play art historian for Ruth and Bernard. To contrast the behaviors, Bernard who likes art but doesn’t know much about it asked me about who “that guy that makes the big square paintings is”. At first I thought he meant Mondrian, but then I figured out he meant Rothko. We searched the museum so I could find him the 2 Rothko’s they have and I explained how you can tell when a Rothko painting was done by looking at it because they get darker and sadder later in his life, right up until he committed suicide. I also got toe explain the industrial scariness of Leger and how it was very timely with two world wars and the industrial revolution and how Picasso was not the inventor of nor the only person to do cubist figures. I showed him Braque and Gris and Klee and the distorted figures of Modigliani and we all marveled at Niki de St. Phalle’s The Bride.

Despite speaking no French and having no art background, Bernard was easily able to deal with the French politely and show a sincere curiosity and humility. George did neither. I am not the most humble of people, but I do think think that travel requires you to act like a guest in someone else’s home. Tread lightly, be polite and don’t demand respect without giving any.