Coffee and cigarettes
It’ s morning, it’s early, it’s cold. I’d like a coffee, a warm coffee. Warm, that’s the keyword. I could have made one at home, then I could avoid her, I am really not in the mood. I’ve been trying to talk to her for years, but we can’t seem to get anywhere. And she knows, she is well aware that all I want from her is a café latte. Maybe my pronunciation wasn’t quite right at first, and maybe it still isn’t, but really… I’ve practised so much… Even my native-speaking friends think it’s perfectly clear what I want. So why do I have to play it over and over again? It’s embarrassing, the whole scene, me nodding, her asking me back, me blushing, me bubbling something again, then giving up and saying it in German, English, Hungarian. Maybe that’s her way of teaching me the perfect pronunciation? Or is she simply in a bad mood in the morning (I can understand that)? But I’ve been trying at noon and even in the afternoon. The hell with this bakery and its bartender.
Unimaginable
How many more pictures will this woman print? Jesus! She’s talking to me and pointing out how many more she has left, or who knows what she’s explaining. I smile sweetly and say “Okay. Ça va”. Actually, it’s really okay, there’s no need to be nervous. I’ve got a lot of printing to do too. I’d rather take my coat off, put it in the basket, listen to some podcasts and play some 2048. I have time, it’s Thursday and the shops are open late.
Hah… How nice that I didn’t get out of the queue, more people are coming to print. Nooo, she’s talking to me again. That’s too much, I tell her “Je ne parle pas français”, I don’t speak French (she speaks very fast, so let’s ignore for now that I’m actually learning French). She starts talking more, I reply “Je ne compris pas, Je ne parle pas français”, I don’t understand, I don’t speak French. She calms down, stops talking, starts printing again. I look at her more closely now, she must be in her early 60s, dressed in average clothes, not too expensive, not too cheap, she looks okay. Although actually, she could wash her hair and clean her nails. But who cares, though, she must have spent the afternoon working in the garden. I’d better get back to my podcast.
More people are queuing up, and unfortunately for me, the woman begins to speak again, explaining something to me more and more nervously, I take the earphones out of my ears and stare at her with my mouth half-open. Didn’t I tell you I don’t speak French? Maybe she didn’t understand, I repeat. And as if she hadn’t heard me, she continues. I look more and more desperate, my face turns red, I smile awkwardly, I spread my arms, I shake my head, I don’t understand. Then a gentleman behind me gently taps me on the shoulder and asks in German if he can help. I am relieved and ask him to translate for the lady that I don’t speak French, I don’t understand what she is saying. French babbling. Then it turns out she’s explaining that she can’t help it, but there’s a lot of printing to be done, so I should be patient. I ask for another translation: I’m not impatient, I have time, I have to print a lot too, so it’s OK. The gentleman translates again, then says goodbye, he only has a few pictures to print, but he doesn’t have much time. I offer him to stand in front of me, but he refuses and leaves. The moment he steps out the door, she turns to me and starts explaining all over again. At this point, I could scream and shout. I don’t even try to repeat to her that I don’t speak her language, instead I reply in eloquent Hungarian:
- Nem értem mi a ******-ot makog itt nekem. (I don’t understand what the ***** you’re talking about)
- Abbahagyná kérem? *****-ul idegesít. (Can you please stop? You’re ***** annoying.)
- Jajj fogja már be a ****** száját, könyörgöm. (Oh shut your ***** mouth, I beg you.)
And then, my phone rings, Seb calls to ask where I am. I quickly tell him that I’m in the queue, he doesn’t need to pick me up, I’ll just walk home, no problem. I hang up the phone and search for the podcast, suddenly I hear an English voice, I look up and she’s speaking to me in English… She apologises for printing so long, she’s trying to print pictures for a Christmas present, but the machine is very slow and she doesn’t understand how it works 😀 I smile and ask if I can help.
Right or left?
It’s a good thing I’m not alone, it’s annoying to have a stick stuck up your nose, and on top of that, to have it all in French… Who knows what would happen if Seb wasn’t standing next to me. This way they can at least hear that he’s a native speaker, and we speak English with each other, so they’ll definitely let him come in with me, especially if they don’t speak any foreign languages. We also ask if they speak English or German. “Of course, of course” – the assistant replies, I can go in on my own, no problem.
They lead me into a small booth, separated from the rest of the shop by a door. I sit down and wait. The assistant lady, dressed in a blue costume as Smurfette, arrives: bonjour, est-ce que blablablablabla. I quickly say “I’m afraid I don’t understand, could you repeat it a little slower, my French is not that good”. And of course, her English and German are not so good, and I actually doubt her French skills too, because 3 minutes earlier she was the one who claimed with great enthusiasm that she speaks English and German.
So I am forced to bring out the best of my French knowledge. The task is simple: she asks questions, and I answer. I suppose she wants to know why I need the test if I have any symptoms if I’ve met someone infected. She doesn’t seem to be bothered and speaks French the whole time, while I explain, very slowly and probably grammatically too correct, that I’ve been vaccinated, but I need a test to go home, that’s the rule there now. I’m using modal verbs, future tense, past tense, I’m very proud of myself. But she doesn’t seem to give a damn, she says okay, she’s just ticking things off, and then she gets to the point. I already know this part, I tell her “á gauche”, from the left one, to take a sample from my left nostril, she counts backwards in French (I count backwards with her, we just repeated the numbers in French class) and we’re done. First triumph in French.
Notes
Switzerland is known to have 4 official languages, German, French, Italian and Romansh. I speak German, but not Italian or Romansh, and more importantly I learn French. So why not Italian? So first of we live in a canton where French is the official language, so it makes sense to learn the language. And after all, they were here first, so it’s only natural that I should adapt to them. Plus if the locals speak any other language than French, they keep it very well hidden. So I practice every day, I practice a lot. And I’m trying my best, I really am. The stories above are a record of my attempts, they actually happened to me. However, to avoid offending anyone I have changed the places and names.
