That Show With Michael Rakosi

A few years ago, I saw this Giant cream-colored Polar Bear in Paris.

It was about 5 and a half feet tall, thick with big glass brown eyes, leather nose, paws and ears.  I told the saleslady, I was buying it for a woman.  (That was a big lie.  It was for me. So what?)  She said, instead of sending it, I should buy a coach seat for it and take it with me.  I said, “Are you nuts?  Send it.”

A few weeks later, I’m back in New York, and I get a call from Customs … at Charles DeGaulle airport in Paris.  (I swear the following dialogue is verbatim.)

(French accent) “What is in ze box, Monsieur?”

“A stuffed animal, sir.”

(French accent) “What kind, Monsieur?”

“A bear … a Polar bear.”

(French accent) “You may not take stuffed animals out of France, Monsieur, we consider zem national treasures, Monsieur.”

“He’s not alive.”

(French accent) “Of course, Monsieur, he is stuffed.”

“He’s a stuffed animal, a toy, a child’s present.”

(French accent) “We don’t consider a stuffed animal from France to be a child’s present.”

“Wait a minute. You understand, he was never alive.”

(French accent) “Maybe not to you, Monsieur.”

“He has no bones!”

(French accent) “Not anymore, Monsieur.”

“I bought him from this lady on the Champs D’Elysee … she wanted me to take him home with me.”

(French accent) “You Americans encourage French people to be bad in the name of commerce.”

At this point, I was seething, and I was about to say, “Look you Frog, your women have small breasts, nobody over there showers, you always need rescuing, you’re afraid of Germans, and you all eat snails.”  But, instead, I said, “You’re right. The box is mis-labeled. It’s a gift … for Jerry Lewis.”

There was a pause.

(French accent) “Why didn’t you say so, Monsieur. The package will be sent immediately.”