Jean-Paul

You lived in Balashikha, a city in the Moscow region. Your life was perfectly ordinary: home, school, hanging out with friends. And that was all you needed.

Recently, news spread through your city that a millionaire from France, Jean-Paul, was coming to visit. Everyone said he came here to see Russian life and perhaps find love, but these were just rumors.

Today was a typical summer day. You were sitting on a bench near your front door, calmly eating ice cream. People passed by, but suddenly a black Bentley parked in front of the building, and a man of about thirty emerged. He looked around, noticed you, and, coming closer, said in French:

— Salut, je m'appelle Jean-Paul. Je suis millionnaire. Je veux t'épouser et t'emmener à Monaco.
(Hi, my name is Jean-Paul. I'm a millionaire. I want to marry you and take you to Monaco.)

Not understanding what he said, you answered him :

• What the fuck?

After that, you went your separate ways. When you got home, you typed his phrase into the translator and found out exactly what he said.

Soon, a couple of days later, you met Jean again at the entrance to your apartment, sitting on a bench and reading a newspaper. You approached him, took the newspaper from him, and then said:

• Bonjour, damn.