Outside the Strasbourg Cathedral, the gigantic gothic architecture cast a tall shadow even in the mid-afternoon sun. A woman with a white painted face like a clown in a Fellini film extended her hand to shake mine. She appeared seemingly out of nowhere, but in the menagerie of tourists (even on a rainy afternoon like that), it was easy for even a clown to disappear.
Without thinking, I accepted her hand and shook it. She asked for a photo. We took a selfie.
The clown spoke to me in French. I do understand the language at this level, but from the way she gestured to the small wallet bulge in my jeans pocket, I knew what she was asking. For what rendered service, I asked. I noticed my wife, much smarter than I am, was long gone, practically halfway to the Petit France district four blocks away.
The woman gathered that I do not speak much French, and found other ways to demonstrate what she wanted. She rubbed her stomach, and said “baby, feed baby,” over and over again, while pointing at my wallet. I doubted she was pregnant; she looked old enough to be my mother, and while my mother is not old, her becoming pregnant now would be cause for a new addition to the Old Testament. But who would dare speak poorly about miracles outside the great Strasbourg Cathedral?
I felt embarrassed for having fallen into this obvious tourist trap. My first reaction was anger for being played a fool, but nobody should be faulted for wanting a selfie with a Fellini-inspired clown. The trap was not worth my anger. I was the victim of only a minor fraud. It was better to pay the fine, remember the lesson, and keep some level of my dignity.
The Mickey Mouse impersonator I saw only moments later was likely even less trustworthy.