The French don't care what they do, actually, as long as they pronounce it properly!
-My Fair Lady
As my time in Paris winds down (no departure date set yet, but there should be one pretty soon), I'm noticing a lot about minor things that have changed. One of these is the tendency of others to switch to English when they hear my accent. It happens less than it used to, which of course is great. But if I stayed for 20 years, it probably wouldn't disappear completely. For one thing, some people are always going to want to practice their English, which is fine with me.
Others just live up to the stereotype about the French looking down their noses at anyone else who tries to speak their language. Which isn't fine with me.
This morning at Starbucks, I had the accidental pleasure of burning one such snob pretty badly. I made my order in French, she understood perfectly, I paid and headed upstairs with my coffee and smoothie and muffin, and that should have been the end of it. After finishing breakfast and studying for a while, I was ready for another cup. Since I had ordered the coffee to stay in the store, they'd given me a china mug. I took the mug back downstairs and asked for another cup, setting the empty mug on the counter.
The girl looked at me like I was from quite a bit farther away from here than I really am. She picked up the mug. "You want another?" she asked a bit skeptically, in heavily accented English.
"Yes, please," I said.
She looked a bit surprised, and went over to say something to another barista, too quietly for me to hear. "One moment please!" she called back to me. I didn't see what the holdup was, since there was a stack of clean mugs there on the counter and the coffee maker did not appear to be empty. But I was in no hurry to return to studying anyhow.
The second barista ran upstairs, while the first pointed at the coffee mug and nodded at her. Then she returned to me. "A minute," she said, and pulled out some wrapping paper and a small shopping bag from under the counter. She laid both on the counter and stood there looking a bit awkward.
It was then that I realized what was going on, or at least suspected that I did. "That's not for me, is it?" I asked, in English since she had addressed me in English thus far. "All I want is another cup of coffee."
"I don't understand," she said, perhaps a bit annoyed at this rude, boorish American who couldn't be bothered to speak her language, except that he had initially done so and she had replied in his.
"I only want another cup of coffee," I told her, in French. "Je ne veux qu'une autre tasse du café."
"Oh!" You could almost see the little light go on in her head. Then the French came fast and thick, about how she'd misunderstood and so on. There was even an apology somewhere in there. It was at just about that point that the other barista appeared with a brand new coffee mug, asking if this was what I wanted.
"Oui mais non," the other gal replied.
