"Bienvenue à Paris"

Maybe it was the half cooked steak. Maybe it was the warm beer. Maybe it was the fact that I had to watch "The Exorcism of Emily Rose" twice on the plane here. Either way my fantasy trip to Paris is being ruined by a sickness. I don't think illness like this has existed since the Dark Ages.

"You look like hell" Mr. Turner said. Mr. Turner, or "Turtle" as we called him behind his back, is my boss. Out of hundreds of employees he choose me to come along with him. That would be great if not for the fact that I had always planned to go to Paris with my fiancé. "Are you going to vomit all over me?"

"No" I tell him. Though you wouldn't be able to tell if I did with that sweater he's wearing. "I'll be fine." I'll be everything but fine. We get to the hotel and there's been a mix up with the rooms. We have to share.

"That ain't so bad" Mr. Turner says with the sleaziest smile on his face. Sometimes I wish I were born horribly unattractive. "I'll sleep on the couch if that makes you feel any better."

"I'll just find another hotel" I tell him. "Is there a restroom?" I ask the bellhop.

"Oui, mademoiselle. C'est au troisième étage. Prendre à gauche, un droit, un autre à gauche, et un droit" he says to me. I don't speak French.

"Uh…" I say.

"He said its on the third floor" Mr. Turner says. "He said to take a left, a right, another left, and another right."

"You speak French?" I ask him.

"Oui" he says. I thank him and rush upstairs.

Okay, I hope I get these directions right. I mean left. Wait. Which way did he say to go? Left, left, right, and left? Right? My stomach tightens but my bowels loosen. Cant we all just work as a team? I run into a room that's open. I don't care. I'd rather be caught in here than running around the hallways covered in sick and filth. I rush into the bathroom and unleash the fury of a Roman god.

This is the opposite of unladylike. This is downright manly. I finish up and just when I'm ready to flush…

"Est quelqu'un ici?"

Oh, God. Someone is here. The housekeeping! No wonder the door was open! I stand and try to flush lightly. No such luck. This thing roars and the maid screams. I rush out to stop her and trip over my own panties.

"And here is your room, sir" someone says. I look up and Mr. Turner is being shown into the room by the bellhop. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

"You speak English?" I ask him.

"Of course he speaks English" Mr. Turner says. "Now pull up your britches. I don't need a sexual harassment suit on my hands, now do I?"

"No" I say as I wait for them to look away. "Do you mind?"

"Oh, right!" Mr. Turner says as they leave the room. I get up and rub my jaw. I chipped a tooth. "You decent in there?!"

"Yes" I say as I zip the back of my skirt. They come back in and Mr. Turner keeps smiling at me. "Let's pretend that didn't happen" I tell him.

"You have something on your nose" he tells me.

"Huh?" I say. I go back into the bathroom and check my face. There is a for lack of a better term, boogers, hanging out of my nose. And it brought friends. Okay. So far my boss has seen me look like crap. My pants around my ankles. And a cave full of bats on my face. This cant get worse.

"Can you spray some perfume or something while you're in there?" he says. "It smells like something died in there. Came back to life. And died again. But no one found it until the neighbors complained about the smell. But then forensics showed up and had to use sponges to pick up what was left. And then…"

"Okay!" I shout.

I hate Paris.