Small Victories

A couple weeks ago one of my coworkers told me that I wasted my time in France by not learning French. I was so livid about this for several reasons. First, the official language of business for the company is English. Second, I actually have learned a little bit of French; it just so happens that what I’ve learned (what I use on a daily basis) isn’t really applicable in the office. Third, the few times I have used French in the office I’ve been corrected in a very condescending manner--as if I’m being told that I should only speak French if I can do so absolutely perfectly.

So no, I don’t speak French in the office, but I do speak a little bit outside it. I also didn’t waste my time here by not becoming fluent, thank you very much.

I noticed a lot when I first moved to Paris that when I would try to speak French--at a shop or restaurant or gourmet bakery--people would roll their eyes and switch to English (which doesn’t help me learn). It was, and still is, annoying to me. But there have been several places where people accept the French I use, bad accent and incorrect pronunciation and all. I’m in France so it’s only natural for people to expect to speak French. Plus, I assumed this was because they didn’t know or weren’t comfortable with English.  But in one specific case, that’s not true at all.

My sister Hannah visited me recently. I had to work a few half days, so I instructed her to stop at the local boulangerie to pick up a croissant or chausson aux pommes for breakfast. She stopped by one morning and ordered a croissant...but was then asked (in French, bien sur) if she would like anything else. My sister politely said “Pardon?” in hopes of understanding a word or two, but when the baker repeated the question she still didn’t understand. So Hannah asked “Parlez-vous l’anglais?” And sure enough, the boulangère switched to English and asked Hannah if there was anything else she’d like.

Hannah chided me that afternoon for not telling her to expect a question and recounted the story for me. My mind was blown. I’ve been going to this place 2-3 times per week for SIX MONTHS and I had no idea the baker spoke English. No freaking clue. For the past six months, she’s greeted me with “Bonjour!” and a smile and sent me on my way with a heartfelt “Merci, mademoiselle. Bonne journée mademoiselle! Au revoir!” Even on days when I walk by without stopping in, she smiles and says hello as I make my way to the metro.

(And yes, I admit, I feel a little like Belle in the opening scene of Beauty and the Beast and I LOVE IT...because I almost always first pass the guy about my age setting up the tables at the Italian restaurant on the ground floor of my building who makes a point to say bonjour to me. Or, sometimes he yells “Bonne journée mademoiselle!” as he realizes I’ve walked past him while he was speaking with a delivery driver. So yes, it’s my 60 seconds of being Belle and I’m not ashamed. I would probably even be reading a book as I walked down the street if I wasn’t positive that I’d step in dog merde while doing so. There aren’t feces in princess movies, but there are in real life. Quelle dommage.)

Anyway, I couldn’t believe that the baker had been that patient with me for so long. This woman deserves an award. Along those lines, so does the owner (?) of the sushi shop who has memorized my order (embarrassingly enough because I can get Dr Pepper there) AND makes small talk with me while I wait for my order. So no, I may not speak French at work because it is utterly terrifying and induces anxiety attacks--the tu/vous dilemma is my biggest fear, honestly--but I speak French and there are some people who appreciate my effort and don’t make me feel like a total fool. To the baker and the sushi guy, I’m going to miss you immensely.