Scene: A restaurant in Lincoln, Nebraska, several weeks ago.
Waiter: What would you like?
Me: I’ll have the crêpes.
I pronounced the word correctly. After 4 years of French in high school, a semester of French diction in college, two weeks in France in 2006, and a sister who loves sharing her French major with those around her, I knew how to say the food I was ordering. Crêpe. It rhymes with “pep.”
Waiter: Okay, the “craypes”?
He pronounced the word incorrectly. I’m pretty sure he thought he was correcting me. He was nice, though. It was probably his way of trying to save me from future embarrassment. “The poor girl doesn’t even know how to pronounce ‘craype,’ ” he must have been thinking.
Me: Um… yeah.
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Scene: Cavaillon, France, summer 2006. At the home of my sister’s host family.
Me [trying to be helpful after le dîner]: Où est la… “gar-bazhe?”
I had attempted to ask where the trash can was, and I pronounced garbage with a French accent. This is what my family calls the trash when we’re trying to be funny. I didn’t know that it wasn’t an actual French word until Kate’s host sister looked at me blankly. I held up the used napkins in an attempt to communicate what I was looking for. Kate later told me that I should have asked for the “poubelle.” Whoops.
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Scene: An outdoor café, somewhere in France, summer 2006.
Me: Oui.
Kate: Kind of, but it’s more like “oui.”
She pronounced it with her expert French accent. There was a little bit of a hiss after the word. I attempted to echo her demonstration.
Me: Oui.
Kate: It’s close.
Me: What? I’m doing it exactly the same as you are!
Kate: Listen - it’s “oui.”
Me: Oui.
Kate: No, “oui.”
Me: Oui - chhhh.
I exaggerated the hiss to make her laugh. Also because I couldn’t please her with my actual attempts at the word.
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Epilogue
I was originally only going to blog the first story about my poor waiter, but then I felt like such a snob. I thought I’d include a couple of stories where I look like the stupid one so you can laugh at my flaws.
