I went out for a girl’s night at Bus Palladium, an old-school nightclub in Paris. There was a private party/concert and Johnny Depp was apparently on the premises. My friends and I snuck ourselves in and enjoyed the mediocre, Jim-Morrison-inspired live music and amusing dance scene.

But the real drama took place when we left the club and started walking home. A few obnoxious guys began cat-calling us from their car. Fed up with the offensive French tradition of harassing girls in skirts (it’s way worse in Paris than in the United States), I flew off the handle and started to yell at them. In retrospect, not my brightest idea.

The troop of major creepers drove up onto the sidewalk, jumped out of their car, and continued to verbally abuse us. Before I knew it we were in a full-on screaming match in the middle of the street. They threatened to call the police on me, accusing me of denting their car door with my high heels. One of them kicked me in the stomach, and I thought to myself:

1.  Chivalry is dead

2.  These guys are not interested in robbing or raping us — they’re merely interested in fighting wit a couple of American girls.

3.  Maybe next time I go out I should leave my balls at home so that I don’t get kicked in the ovaries.

- Haley Hogan

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