FNF: I am Not French, but I Kiss That Way

Sorry to go so long without a FNF (Friday Night Funny) Story. Not that I have run out of stories to tell, not by a long shot. Basically it came down to other things taking precedence. So today I am giving you an extra big (Super Size) FNF.

Today it is all about French.

Let me start before High School, when I was a pre-teen. My parents and I loved to travel via camper and see most of the United States. One of our destinations was Quebec Canada. Quebec is a fascinating province because it is still deeply rooted in preserving the French language and its own culture.

When we visited Quebec we had the opportunity to visit a restaurant. At the time, no one understood a word of French and the language was a complete mystery to us. The waitress apparently spoke only French. She noticed that we were English speakers and did nothing to help us breach the language barrier.

My Dad basically gave up, and immediately put on his American Legion jacket with its large flags of the United States of America. The waitress notices the jacket and then remarks in perfect English, “Oh you’re from the United States.” To which we reply in the affirmative.

She then explained to us that apparently there are sharp disagreements between the French speaking Canadians and the English speaking ones. The French speaking Canadians basically demand that all Canadians know French. Apparently my Dad’s jacket identified that we were from the USA and that we weren’t natives but tourists. Apparently the demands don’t include citizens of the USA.

So my advice to every citizen of the USA traveling in French speaking Canada is wear a shirt, jacket, pin, etc that identifies you as being from the United States. Your travel will go a lot smoother when you are easily identified as a tourist and not a native.

OK, fast-forward a bit to High School. I originally wanted to take Latin, but as luck would have it, it was cut the year I entered. Apparently the dead language was apparently officially dead then. So my choices were Spanish, French, or German.

Wasn’t too keen on German because I felt my chances of ever being exposed to the language were slim at best. So it was between Spanish and French. It came down to me thinking of the Canadian episode I just mentioned. I also started to think if there ever was a war would it be better to run South to Mexico where Spanish would be beneficial, or North to Canada where French might help. After all the joke was ROTC means “Run Out To Canada”. So French was the choice.

My teacher was a Haitian gentleman with great command of languages, but with a very distinct accent. His teaching style wasn’t the best, relying mostly on listening to records over and over again, and various true and false quizzes. So I don’t think I really learned a lot in the two years I had. The only thing I can say that I truly learned was foreign languages was not a gift to me, and I should avoid any college degree that requires a foreign language.

When I was a Senior in High School, I got the opportunity to travel to Paris and London with my Granny and my Mom. OK, two years of High School French and entering the City of Lights, I am sure you are seeing where this story is going.

Paris was a fantastic city. The streets were amazing, the buildings, the Eiffel Tower, street cafes, art, culture, wine, and Champagne.

The people of Paris though were rather unforgiving to tourists who struggled with their language. I tried my best with what I learned in High School. However, all I usually got were stares. They were all wondering why this white kid from Chicago was talking French with a Haitian accent.

French cuisine is undoubtedly one of the world’s finest. But the problem for an American traveling in Paris is the food selection. We are definitely accustomed in this country to having a great selection of food. For example, I just had Chinese food for lunch and last night I had Italian. So many cultures that we can choose food from. Paris was very uni-cultural, and while the food was excellent it got old quickly to our American tastes.

So I went out to seek out some American foods. There was a Pizza Hut in Paris at the time, but a plain pepperoni pizza was not on the menu. The flavor was definitely French with bleu cheese and even snails on pizza. So no luck there.

Then I sought a cheeseburger, a core of American cuisine. I even found a fast food place that actually served cheeseburgers. However, I walk in and the first thing that hits me is that we never went over the word for cheeseburger in class. What to do?

Crazed with hunger and wanting a cheeseburger, I walk into the place and approach the counter. I basically explain to the cashier that I am American. Having no idea what the words were to describe what I wanted, I proceeded to act it out in front of the counter.

I put my hands to each side of my head to mimic bull’s horns and make a MOO sound like a cow. I then make motions with slapping my hands together like I was making a patty, and then said the French word for cheese and bread.

The guy behind the counter is cracking up. I bet this was the first time a person placed his order via performance art. I was too hungry to be embarrassed, and the end result was I got my cheeseburger. It wasn’t a good cheeseburger by any stretch of the imagination, but it was close enough.

After spending almost a week in Paris, our next stop was London England. Guess where our first trip was: McDonald’s. I get up to the counter, relieved that I can finally speak English to a cashier and she would understand me.

I then proceed to give my order to the cashier of McDonalds in London. “I would like two AMERICAN Big Macs, a large order of AMERICAN fries, and an large AMERICAN Coca Cola with ice please.”

The cashier chuckles a bit, and says I take it your American. To which I respond, “Yes from Chicago Illinois USA, and I just got back Paris and I need an American food transfusion STAT!”

She laughs and says, “Welcome to London! Enjoy your AMERICAN food!”