Laugh Lines: Midlife, missteps and a mission to butcher a beautiful language with style
Fall always feels like a beginning to me. Perhaps it’s a return to grade school days — a clean slate every September, new homeroom teacher, new desk, new subjects, new friends. So even now, I have the urge to continue to grow at this time of year and I’m emboldened by the possibilities.
When a friend reached out to offer me her apartment for a few weeks in a charming city in the south of France, how could I say no? A free place, the ability to work remotely, a diet of croissants and coffee. Pourquoi pas? What new experiences lie ahead? Well, none if I don’t put myself out there.
Although I’d spent a college semester in Paris, that was over 40 years ago and now my French is rusty, as are my knees and my wardrobe. How will I appear to others? Does it matter what the French think of me? Do the French care that I care?
While I shook off my jet lag, I explored the small city to get the lay of the land. I was determined not to be afraid to try to communicate. It was the only way to improve my speaking skills.
Within moments, I created my first scene. I stopped at a local café, thinking it would be a good place to grab dinner later, but there were no hours posted. I went inside where the host was busy taking an order from a group of German tourists who were struggling with the language. When the young chef came out of the kitchen with a to-go order, I stopped him and thought I was asking: “How late is this place open?” but essentially it came out as “What time do you get off tonight, my good man?”
His eyes got large and he said nothing. He looked at the host. I looked at the host. The German tourists looked at me. I said to the chef, “Oh, not you personally! I mean the restaurant!” He retreated to the kitchen. The host laughed and told me the hours. I fled the scene with absolutely no idea how late they were open because I was too embarrassed.
The sun sets, the sun rises. A new day and another chance to either humiliate myself or rehabilitate my reputation. Luckily, a faux pas, literally meaning a false step, is rarely fatal.
The next day, I realized my cellphone was not connecting at all as I thought it would internationally. I needed to buy some data or a SIM card. This should be interesting. So, into the phone store I marched, exclaiming in my version of French, “I am a rather aged American who forgot to arrange internet for my phone. What can I do?”
The staff immediately offered me a coffee. The lesson: Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. People enjoy the opportunity to be helpful and to demonstrate their expertise. Along came a young clerk who, according to his colleagues, spoke excellent English. He was embarrassed because it was about as good as my French. “Not at all,” I said. “I think your English is great.” We laughed and agreed that speaking slowly helps. We continued navigating our two languages until we got my phone working.
“Wait, I’ve been visiting that phone store for two years,” my friend responded when I texted her, “and no one has ever offered me coffee or ever laughed before. You are fearless.”
I smiled. The season was off to a good start.
