We'll always have Paris

My trusty old winter coat is gone. Out of style, out of fashion, out of luck. I forgot to mention that it was getting shopworn as well. I'm a grown man so I haven't exactly outgrown my clothing since my early twenties but somehow this old coat felt a little tight. I needed to breathe again and replacing it was at the top of my list for the winter of 2007.
I'll never forget where I'd purchased it more than twenty years ago. I was in Paris for six weeks attempting to recreate a Hemingway experience by being Bohemian and artsy. I deliberately didn't pack a coat because I knew I wanted to buy one in Paris. All this in a pathetic attempt to keep up with my dear old college friend, Nick, who had purchased his winter coat in England the previous year. I'd show him. I'll just return from Paris with a better coat and we'd see who'd have the last laugh. So after spending a night in a hotel in the Latin Quarter I began my search for a coat. Since I was a poor student I needed to keep the costs minimal so I talked to the locals who directed me to a street market just one stop north by Metro of the Gard du Nord. There I found a veritable street bazaar made up mostly of Middle-Eastern sellers whose shops all had their particular ethnic music blaring from the back of their kiosks. I found one shop who seemed to specialize in exactly what I was looking for. I started sifting through his inventory and after ten minutes or so I finally found what I was looking for...a long grey number with a herringbone pattern. I paid the Pakistani fellow 100 Francs (sixteen bucks) and made my way out of the store, back to the Metro station. Along the way I threw away the bag it was in and put it on to wear. It was never far from reach.
I traipsed all across Paris with that coat. From Pere LaChaise to Pigalle to Sacre Cour to the Catacombes it went with me without fail. For six weeks we were inseperable as we both became expert at la vie Francais.
I returned to the states just in time for winter on the Central Coast and although the California winters weren't brutal they were at least chilly enough to have to wear a coat. Well guess what, I just happened to have one and it's from Paris you know. Even my friend Nick was impressed and by God, that's what made it all worthwhile. I was now on equal footing with my friend who was the epitome of all that was cool. I tried mightily to be cool but eventually settled on "fool" which was much easier.
For about a year I wore the coat non-stop then Nicky moved away and I found a brilliant brown leather jacket I just had to have. My Paris coat fell into disuse and sat forlorn at the back of the closet only to be used for the occasional fete. I lugged it from NorCal to SoCal then from there to Ohio and never once entertained the notion of getting rid of it. Until now. I'm not sure where the idea took seed but I felt compelled to get a presentable winter coat that rivalled the fine outerwear seen on the corporate types who make 400 times what I make in a year. Maybe it was watching one too many episodes of The Apprentice that got to me. Maybe it was an epiphany, a moment of sea change that tells you that times have changed and it's past time to move on. Time to shed your skin and recreate yourself. Time to announce to the world that you're moving on up and out of the old humdrum.
I knew what I wanted, I'd known for some time. It was the camel-colored (that's tan for you proles) overcoat popular with many businessmen. I loved that color. And I will have it come hell or high water. And on an outing to my favorite thrift store I found it...the perfect coat. It looked brand new with no signs of wear. I hurriedly made my way to the cashier in case anyone else would by chance claim ownership. I paid my eight bucks and it was mine! It was astonishingly beautiful. What was it doing in this thrift store? Did it have a purpose? Was it waiting for me? I couldn't wait to wear it but this time I waited until I got home before I put it on again. Maybe in the interim I'd learned patience. Well, that's something. I first wore it to work one day and my co-workers commented on how gorgeous it was. "It looks new" said one of them. My judgement now validated I could move on from this dress rehearsal to the real world...a wine tasting. That was the coming weekend and while I felt right at home with people who made far more money than myself I still had that nagging fear that one of them would accidently spill a whole glass of Pinot on my new coat. With a sigh of relief I emerged from the tasting unscathed and confident that my new coat had survived it's first coming out party. This will do nicely.
Now comes the hard part. I need to save space and the best way to do it is to give away the old Paris coat to charity. The next day I packed it up into the car and drove down to the Salvation Army store. I waited for five minutes or so for a clerk that would take my old coat for me. When she saw me waiting a little old lady behind the counter asked if I was just dropping off things to which I replied affirmatively. "Go ahead and leave it here on the counter dear" she said in soothing grandmotherly tones. I hastily folded the coat in half and left it there, grateful to be done with it and on my way. Halfway out the door I looked back and I saw my old friend crumpled up on the glass counter, seemingly ignored and unloved. It was then that I promised myself that I'd come back in a week or two to see what happened to it. To see if anyone had bought it and to see what they would charge for an old coat of mine. I'll bet they get at least 100 Francs.