la coupe du monde- un perspectif

SUNDAY- around 2 p.m. i became like a mad feverish woman in my booth, forced to sell and talk about our products when i could hear the beautiful words "allez" wafting over from the d'artagnan booth a few aisles over. i finally was released and felt right at home, perched on the edge of their booth, as they sat in rustic straw chairs, glass of white wine in hand, all eyes focused on the screen. valrhona representatives sat among the d'artagnan reps. basking in pride of patris. while the commentary flew out of their mouths in french, i found that similar commentary flew out of my mouth in english. we all whooped and hollered when france made its goal. but then moaned and groaned as numerous passes toward the italian goal were unfruitful. futbol is a language in its own right.

with my break over i found myself sauntering back to my booth, dragging my feet, hoping there might be some way for me to get back over to their booth and catch more of the game or at least the final moments. but in the midst of things, there was a whole troupe of ladies in our booth, ready and willing to place an order for holiday, and as i wrote down their details, cheering erupted from the d'artagnan booth making my whole body tense and my face twitch with agitation- my boss said she had never seen me like this. it was difficult at times to figure out if the eruptions of noise were peals of joy or disappointment. i missed the infamous headbutt of zidane (and was glad to hear that at least the reason for the blow was honorable or understandable in the least).

i struggled taking the order, finding myself pulled, wanting to be shouting in french with the french but instead working. finally my colleague took over and i ran to the booth only to discover that the italians had won by a precise bop of the head during penalty kicks. mournfully i walked back to the booth and completed the order.

walking the streets of new york that afternoon, so many italian flags were wrapped with pride around the shoulders of men who i could swear had gained some sort of new swagger in their step.