2008 Woodie Awards
the column about nothing
French kisses and disses
Morgan Nederhood
Issue date: 11/2/06 Section: Features
- Page 1 of 1
I am a bit challenged when it comes to avoiding solicitors, strangers, and especially people who are trying to sell me candy. After growing tired of these awkward and horribly inconvenient occurrences, I developed a system for avoiding any unwanted attention. Pretend you don't speak English. Obviously, this is a risky approach since someone could call your bluff by attempting to speak your 'native' tongue, but it's a risk worth taking. I speak French at the level of a toddler, but I am able to avoid people by mumbling some sort of French nonsense as I hurry by. However, let's be realistic, no one wants to hear about success stories, and I don't want to tell them. If I am advocating something, I might as well properly warn readers of the risks. So, let's review some dangers of the faux-French world.
A couple of summers ago, I worked downtown in a store that was next to the coffee shop. My town is fairly small, and I grew accustomed to seeing familiar faces. One such familiar face was George. Probably in his mid sixties, George had gigantic, bushy eyebrows that seemed large enough to be their own species of mammal, a lazy eye that would snap in and out of sync with the good eye, and the most crooked teeth I have ever seen. George would shuffle into my store and immediately start talking to me about "those damned motorcyclists" or whatever random tangent struck his fancy. I never had another coworker to rescue me, so I was forced to listen to his rants while I wondered if his eyebrows created visibility issues for him. After he has exhausted his subject of the day, George would shuffle into the coffee shop to harass whatever unfortunate customer happened to be in the store.
Eventually, I quit my job and was blissfully free of crazy George - or so I thought. My mom and I were in the coffee shop when she struck up conversation with a friend of hers at a corner table. At that moment, I heard George's signature voice behind me. I jumped onto a seat at the counter and thrust my nose into my book. George must have sensed my fear, because he made a bee-line for my seat. As he tried to verbally beat me to death with his senseless rants, I decided that I would beat him in his own game. With eyes wide, I shook my head said, "Je suis désolée, mais je ne parle pas anglais." ("I'm sorry, but I do not speak English.") True, George has seen me before and conversed with me, but he talks to everyone - whether he knows them or not - and he is senile enough to not remember me. As I soon found out, George was not as senile as I had thought.
George's eyes bulged out as he immediately called my bluff with, "No, I know you, you work next door." Damn. In the heaviest French accent I could manage, I explained that I was visiting my American cousin whom I happen to closely resemble. George continued to stare at me like I had just grown a beard while I frantically tried to collect the shards that had once been my dignity. I continued to switch from broken English to French gibberish until my mom walked by. I blurted out some story where my mom was my American aunt, and I practically ran out of the shop after my mom. When I looked back, George was still standing, not speaking, just staring at me.
A month later, I was in the coffee shop when George managed to corner me. I assumed my 'American cousin' identity and he actually believed me. That was the last I ever saw of George.
A couple of summers ago, I worked downtown in a store that was next to the coffee shop. My town is fairly small, and I grew accustomed to seeing familiar faces. One such familiar face was George. Probably in his mid sixties, George had gigantic, bushy eyebrows that seemed large enough to be their own species of mammal, a lazy eye that would snap in and out of sync with the good eye, and the most crooked teeth I have ever seen. George would shuffle into my store and immediately start talking to me about "those damned motorcyclists" or whatever random tangent struck his fancy. I never had another coworker to rescue me, so I was forced to listen to his rants while I wondered if his eyebrows created visibility issues for him. After he has exhausted his subject of the day, George would shuffle into the coffee shop to harass whatever unfortunate customer happened to be in the store.
Eventually, I quit my job and was blissfully free of crazy George - or so I thought. My mom and I were in the coffee shop when she struck up conversation with a friend of hers at a corner table. At that moment, I heard George's signature voice behind me. I jumped onto a seat at the counter and thrust my nose into my book. George must have sensed my fear, because he made a bee-line for my seat. As he tried to verbally beat me to death with his senseless rants, I decided that I would beat him in his own game. With eyes wide, I shook my head said, "Je suis désolée, mais je ne parle pas anglais." ("I'm sorry, but I do not speak English.") True, George has seen me before and conversed with me, but he talks to everyone - whether he knows them or not - and he is senile enough to not remember me. As I soon found out, George was not as senile as I had thought.
George's eyes bulged out as he immediately called my bluff with, "No, I know you, you work next door." Damn. In the heaviest French accent I could manage, I explained that I was visiting my American cousin whom I happen to closely resemble. George continued to stare at me like I had just grown a beard while I frantically tried to collect the shards that had once been my dignity. I continued to switch from broken English to French gibberish until my mom walked by. I blurted out some story where my mom was my American aunt, and I practically ran out of the shop after my mom. When I looked back, George was still standing, not speaking, just staring at me.
A month later, I was in the coffee shop when George managed to corner me. I assumed my 'American cousin' identity and he actually believed me. That was the last I ever saw of George.
Be the first to comment on this story