I think of myself as a good ambassador ... I'm polite, I give up my seat on the Metro when appropriate, I bring wine and other treats to dinner parties, I don't wear jingoistic clothes on the streets of Paris (not that I do in the U.S. either, but I've left most of my T-shirts with American sayings on them back in the States).

So it caught me off guard last night when my ugly American side reared up ... brought on by an ugly Frenchman.

I was standing outside the Open Cafe with some new friends, drinking a couple of beers. The place was mobbed. It's a fancy place for the pretty gays. Inside the decor is all blond wood, red hanging lamps, an undulating ceiling. Outside -- the bar is on a corner -- a few tables line each of the perpendicular sides.

On Friday night, the crowd spilled onto the sidewalk. One of the barmen had to keep corralling people closer to the bar's doors. After say, three beers, we decided to move elsewhere. I followed the lead of my friends, one of whom had placed his empty glass on a small round table near the entrance to the bar. I followed suit.

"Non!!!!" bellowed a 50--something French guy sitting at that table. He looked as though I had just insulted his mother as the whore of the French revolution. And I'm pretty sure he waved his finger at me.

"Yes!" I said back, turning my back and leaving him fuming with my glass on his table. My friend Eugene, an American living here with his Scottish boyfriend Colin, stayed behind to soothe things with the irate Frenchman.

According to Eugene, the French guy said something like: "You should all go back and be with George Bush."

Better comebacks French guy, better comebacks.

 

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