Some ignorant Americans think that French people are arrogant assholes, and that really pisses me off. I have spent considerable time in France for the last five years of my life, struggling to learn French and talking to real French people. I spent years trying to grasp the subtleties of this great and ancient culture, studying its literature, art, and rightfully celebrated art of living. I travelled throughout France, taking in her beautiful and extremely varied countryside, visiting innumerable historic sites and museums, and enjoying distinct regional cultures. I visited vineyards and wine makers, learned about the process of wine making, and my palate grew accustomed to some very good (and reasonably priced) vin! I also performed various jobs, working with students, farmers, professors, delivery people and office workers. The point is that I have intimate knowledge of what French people are really like, both rich and poor, old and young, country folk and city-dwellers alike. After all this experience, I must say that most French people are the most arrogant assholes you can imagine.
Do you see how infuriating this is? It's like if a physicist spent the last 5 years of his life trying to figure out how gravity works, and some fat Texan pulled up next to him in his Range Rover and said, "Duh, it makes shit fall down you fag! Haw haw!" The Texan then would then start guzzling a Big Gulp and leave the physicist in a cloud of dust and exhaust. Fuck you, ignorant Americans! You can't even begin to fathom the complexities of French assholery.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Andrew! What crawled up your bidet? OK, I admit that this outburst is prompted by a series of hilariously assoholic incidents which I will permit myself to relate to you. The first two are train related.
Yesterday the train going back to Aix was particularly packed due to a strike that reduced the number of trains in service. As I boarded I saw that many people had already resigned themselves to just standing, but I went looking for a seat anyhow. I found one, but the girl opposite the seat said that somebody was sitting there. No matter, I found another seat not much farther down the car. Nobody took it because somebody had put their coat on it. When I inquired about whose seat it was, nobody said they knew, so I sat down. Then the man sitting behind me asked me, testily, to move so he could remove his coat. I laughed it off! As I settled in I noticed that I had a clear view of the seat I was originally going to take, and that it was still empty. I didn't think much of it - the train hadn't left yet, no worries. You see where this is going. It was right out of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Imagine my increasingly sour expression cross cut with shots of the empty seat as the train leaves, with the girl and her friends giggling. The seat was empty the entire trip! But to my shame I didn't instigate a LD-like confrontation with the girl.
Then, this morning I got on a similarly crowded train to go to Marseille. This was the express train, meaning there there are only two stops - first Gardanne then Marseille - and takes about 30 minutes. Shortly after leaving Gardanne, a smartly dressed train employee briskly walked past me, opened the door to the next compartment and said "I'd like to remind you that this section is First Class only. If you don't have a First Class ticket, please find another seat." So everybody obediently left (even though nobody else was there), except there are no other seats so they just stood for 20 minutes. Now, there are First Class sections on many trains, but I have never seen anyone give a shit about it, especially on a short commuter train. No wonder these people get stabbed. I don't get it. They go on strike, they don't bother to tell you why, act like douchebags and expect us to show solidarity? Or maybe it's just that the non-striking train workers are fascists.
Finally this afternoon I had some time to kill at the Marseille station (my train had been cancelled) so I went into a press shop. I checked out a few magazines, then, I admit, I spent a bit more time with an issue of Fluide Glaciale - five minutes maximum - when the 20 year old clerk came up to me and said abusez pas... which can mean "don't abuse", but it's better translated as "don't exagerate". I just raised my eyebrows in a 'what are you talking about' kind of way. Then a minute later he said something to the effect of "This is not a lending library!" to which of course I responded "I'm sorry I don't speak French. I only speak English!" (In English of course.) Ah, the glee in my heart when all he could do was open his mouth, then close it, with a mixture of anger and embarrassment flushing his face. After reading for a few more minutes I got in line to pay. When it was my turn I said "I was going to buy this, but I changed my mind because you're an asshole." (In French of course.) There are 3 press shops and 2 bookstores in a 100 meter radius at Marseille St Charles, and I've never been fucked with in a single one before today. Good job, new generation of French assholes!
Do you see how infuriating this is? It's like if a physicist spent the last 5 years of his life trying to figure out how gravity works, and some fat Texan pulled up next to him in his Range Rover and said, "Duh, it makes shit fall down you fag! Haw haw!" The Texan then would then start guzzling a Big Gulp and leave the physicist in a cloud of dust and exhaust. Fuck you, ignorant Americans! You can't even begin to fathom the complexities of French assholery.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Andrew! What crawled up your bidet? OK, I admit that this outburst is prompted by a series of hilariously assoholic incidents which I will permit myself to relate to you. The first two are train related.
Yesterday the train going back to Aix was particularly packed due to a strike that reduced the number of trains in service. As I boarded I saw that many people had already resigned themselves to just standing, but I went looking for a seat anyhow. I found one, but the girl opposite the seat said that somebody was sitting there. No matter, I found another seat not much farther down the car. Nobody took it because somebody had put their coat on it. When I inquired about whose seat it was, nobody said they knew, so I sat down. Then the man sitting behind me asked me, testily, to move so he could remove his coat. I laughed it off! As I settled in I noticed that I had a clear view of the seat I was originally going to take, and that it was still empty. I didn't think much of it - the train hadn't left yet, no worries. You see where this is going. It was right out of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Imagine my increasingly sour expression cross cut with shots of the empty seat as the train leaves, with the girl and her friends giggling. The seat was empty the entire trip! But to my shame I didn't instigate a LD-like confrontation with the girl.
Then, this morning I got on a similarly crowded train to go to Marseille. This was the express train, meaning there there are only two stops - first Gardanne then Marseille - and takes about 30 minutes. Shortly after leaving Gardanne, a smartly dressed train employee briskly walked past me, opened the door to the next compartment and said "I'd like to remind you that this section is First Class only. If you don't have a First Class ticket, please find another seat." So everybody obediently left (even though nobody else was there), except there are no other seats so they just stood for 20 minutes. Now, there are First Class sections on many trains, but I have never seen anyone give a shit about it, especially on a short commuter train. No wonder these people get stabbed. I don't get it. They go on strike, they don't bother to tell you why, act like douchebags and expect us to show solidarity? Or maybe it's just that the non-striking train workers are fascists.
Finally this afternoon I had some time to kill at the Marseille station (my train had been cancelled) so I went into a press shop. I checked out a few magazines, then, I admit, I spent a bit more time with an issue of Fluide Glaciale - five minutes maximum - when the 20 year old clerk came up to me and said abusez pas... which can mean "don't abuse", but it's better translated as "don't exagerate". I just raised my eyebrows in a 'what are you talking about' kind of way. Then a minute later he said something to the effect of "This is not a lending library!" to which of course I responded "I'm sorry I don't speak French. I only speak English!" (In English of course.) Ah, the glee in my heart when all he could do was open his mouth, then close it, with a mixture of anger and embarrassment flushing his face. After reading for a few more minutes I got in line to pay. When it was my turn I said "I was going to buy this, but I changed my mind because you're an asshole." (In French of course.) There are 3 press shops and 2 bookstores in a 100 meter radius at Marseille St Charles, and I've never been fucked with in a single one before today. Good job, new generation of French assholes!
No comments:
Post a Comment