Billy Joe, Canada, and Seven French Students from Delaware

What could possibly go wrong with that equation?

French class. Sussex Central Sr. High. Georgetown, Delaware. 1979. *le sigh*

Two years of French and two years of Spanish and I’ve forgotten more than I remember. Ah well. C’est la vie. How cute am I? 😊

An entire week in Canada. Montreal and Quebec to be exact. I remember having to call home as soon as we landed. Not only was there a snowstorm but the Canadian pilots were talking about going on strike. “Mom, Dad, I may need more money.” was the call I made.

Six girls, one guy, and one chaperone. Loving those odds indeed. How much trouble could we possibly get into? Turns out, a lot.

The very first night we had to call the front desk, in French of course, and ask for a doctor. A doctor actually made a bedside call to the room. One of the girls, Tina, had eaten some bad mushrooms (no not that kind, the kind on a pizza) and had gotten sick.

I went for a dip in the hotel pool. It was so cool! Half was indoors. Half was out. To get from one part to the other you dove under the partial wall and came up the other side. So naturally, I did. It was snowing out that night. And with the sudden temperature change, I got a nosebleed that I didn’t think would ever stop.

The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful. We saw every museum and cathedral worth seeing. We ate French food at French restaurants. The pilots’ strike had been adverted. We were cruising on easy street. The last night there our tour guide popped in and wanted to know if we wanted to go see XYZ cathedral (groans ensued) or…and then he popped tickets out from behind his back. “How about a Billy Joel concert instead?” WAHOO WAHOO concert it is!

We got door-to-door service. We had nosebleed seats. Pun unintended. Naturally, I sat directly beneath a vent. Did I mention that nearly everyone in Canada apparently smokes weed at concerts? Yep. My first contact high. Of course, we moved. Don’t ask me how but we managed to end up right in front of the stage. We had a blast.

The next day included a lot of forced hustling. We were all dragging our feet not wanting to pack, not wanting to leave. We loaded up onto the bus that took us to the airport. We pull up to the curb, I hop out and head towards the back of the van to begin unloading the luggage. As the rest of the crew was pulling up the rear, I sat a couple of suitcases on the curb and looked up.

We had pulled up directly behind Billy Joel and his band’s van.

“Uh guys” was all I could get out and then I pointed. Everyone was excited but we had a plane to catch. As much as we would have loved to stand around and ogle we had to hustle. We get on the plane and S.O.a B. Guess who’s sitting in the last rows?

We flew back to Boston with Billy and his crew.

Naturally, now that they had nowhere to run everyone wanted their autograph. Me? I was mortified. I wanted no part of it. But I did hand my autograph book to my French teacher. She collected the scribbles for me. I stared out the window for the entire flight. I don’t remember having a whole lot to say. There was a lot to “unpack” to use today’s terminology of everything that had gone down on the trip.

It certainly wasn’t going to be a trip that I’d soon forget.