To Laugh or To Cry

There are sometimes in life when you only have two options: to laugh or to cry.

Trying to cook in French with a dictionary

• Climbing up a hundred stairs in the Paris metro with 85lbs of luggage behind you while your friend looks at you in pain: laugh.
• Watching the Simpsons in French and only being able to understand half of what they’re saying even while giving it your full attention: laugh.
• Making instant mashed potatoes with a dictionary and calculator in hand because you need to translate the instructions and convert the measurements: laugh.

But there are those days that all you can do is sit down in defeat and let the pain of being lost in a foreign language sink in.

For example, as I rounded the corner of an undiscovered road in Commercy, I found a treasure, the InterMarche. As opposed to the little grocery store across the street, this is a mega store, allowing my list of things to be checked off one by one. Here, unlike Hugo’s back home, the lettuce wasn’t neatly packaged, but hanging all out. Looking at the head, I decided I didn’t need much for dinner and proceeded to tear off a portion of the leaves. I collected the rest of what I needed and made my way to the caisse. The cashier weighed my bananas, next the apples, then the lettuce. “Vous avez pincé les feuilles!" Not understanding a word she was saying to me, I looked in confusion. She repeated herself again, even louder, now all eyes on me. “Vous avez pincé les feuilles!" Thanks to her visual cues, I understood I wasn’t allowed to tear off the leaves and there was no way she was going to let me buy just half of the lettuce. As I stood in embarrassment, thinking please shut up, I just wanted to tell her I would pay full price for half the head, but I couldn’t find the words. She finally let me go, scolding me to never do such a thing again. I scooted off sans salade. Claire came to the rescue, grabbing from the produce section what we had left behind and in the end, the lady gave her the other half, but not without giving her another firm word. Leaving the grocery store after being told off by the cashier: cry.

The largest garbage cans in Commercy.

The next day, I was given the telephone number of the insurance company by Nathalie, being told I needed to call them ASAP to get things in order. I took the number, dreading the thought of having to make a phone call in French, but knew it had to be done. After giving it a day, I made my way to a bench outdoors and dialed the ten numbers in front of me. The other end rang numerous times and with each buzz I rehearsed what I would say. Finally, a woman picked up, announcing she was with MAIF, confirming I had called the right place. At the end of my carefully prepared introduction, there was no response. “Pouvez-vous m’aider?” With my plea for help, the woman told me I needed to come to her office in Verdun. I told her that I couldn’t because I lived in Commercy (as I had already stated). She repeated again that I needed to come to the office. I denied this request encore. I said I was told I just needed to call and give her my address and the agency could send me the proper paperwork. With a loud, unforgiving exhale, she agreed to take down my information. We started with my name.

« Fiala, BreAnna. F-I-… »
« Attendez! Votre nom de famille.  (Wait ! Your family name.)
« Oui, c’est Fiala. F-I-… » (Yes. It’s Fiala. F-I-…)
« Non, non, non ! Votre nom de famille. » (No, no, no ! Your family name.)
« OUI. MON NOM DE FAMILLE EST FIALA. F-I… » (YES. MY FAMILY NAME IS FIALA. F-I-…)
« Attendez ! S comme Sophie ? » (Wait! S as in Sophie?)
« Non. F comme….uh…. Fume. » (No. F like in… uh… smoke.)
« S comme Sophie ? » (S like Sophie?)
« NON. F comme fume. Fumer ! » (NO. F like smoke. To smoke!)

Another annoyed exhale comes from the woman. She carries on telling me just to fax in my information. I need my address, my birthdate, and blah blah blah. The number is 03 39… By the time I’ve figured out the first four numbers, the other six have already flown by and I’m shutting down. For the rest of the conversation, I just fill in ouis and d’accords as appropriate. Au revoir. Merci. But really I’m thinking thanks, but no thanks. I literally sat on that bench, phone in hand, letting the tears roll. All I wanted to do was call my mom, but had no way of doing so. As I slowly got up, shoulders slumped, my phone rings. It’s my mom. How did she know I needed her?! While relaying the story of what just happened, all my mom can do is laugh. All I can do is cry. But in my time of defeat, it was nice to know that someone could find the humor.

And this is where I’m at. Every day I’m interacting with new people and I seem to find one of two things: either they’re a fan or they’re not. Meaning, they are either willing to help a foreigner with slaughtered French or they don’t want to give me the time of day.

FAN:
The men at the phone store.
The woman at the bank.
The girl at the post office.
The man at the café.

NOT A FAN:
The cashier at the grocery store.
The woman from the insurance company.
The man at the train station.

And the lists go on. Each of these interactions has a story and from each I learn something. I just keep reminding myself that for every person that doesn’t want to help, there’s another that does. I can’t let it get me down. And I truly have to believe that sometimes, it’s just lost in translation.


Thoughts:

American WWI Monument

• I've met eight or so classes of students. I was supposed to be observing for the first couple of weeks, but my school decided to skip that part. It's okay. I don't mind being up there in front of all the kids. It's mostly the same things. "What iz yourrr name? Do you like-uh Frrrahnce? Do you have a boyfrrrehnd?" For the most part, they are great. You can just see how some of them are in shock when I talk to them. They turn bright red and get giggly. Then there are those that I just want to scoop up and take home. Most of the students sit in their desks and won't ask me any questions even when I call on them by name. (Which, by the way, has been the favorite activity thus far. I will take the name chart and try to say each student's name. They laugh at me uncrontrollably. How would you pronounce names such as Anaïs or Gaetan? Even Kevin and Jessica aren't so easy. They are Keh-veen and Sheh-zee-kah".) One boy in particular had his hand raised the whole time and I could just see how excited he was every time I understood his question. At the end of class, he came up to me and told me "I half uh corrrr-eh-spone-dahnt een Phee-nix Arrr-ee-zone-ah. Whe whrrrite e-mailz." SO CUTE. And another girl was so excited because we have similar music choices. Another common question: do you like David Guetta? He is the pride and joy of these kids.
  
• Still no internet. I have already been twice to the store and they want me to come yet a third time. Things aren't always as efficient here... It's just not all that convenient for me to get there. It's a fifteen minute walk, but by the end of it I'm sweating and it's no joy to stand in the tiny room that has its heat on full blast while I wait ten minutes before anyone even acknowledges me. And then they can't help. GR. Really, people, I just want to Skype my family.
  
• There's just one church here and its of course Catholic, but on Sunday morning I ventured my way there. Now, not only do I get a bit lost during mass when I'm back home, but imagine me trying to follow along in French. The only plus was there wasn't a lot of kneeling, just mostly standing and sitting. I also chose a special Sunday which included a baptism and first communion. Well I happened to see one of the English teachers at the service. She was surprised, saying I was the first assistant she had ever seen at church. She proceeded to have me over for lunch. She has two kids with whom I was able to speak French! They were great. The whole family afterwards took me to see the American World War I monument about twenty minutes away. A wonderful Sunday afternoon.
  
• Did you know that French milk just sits on the shelves? It's always scared me that it doesn't have to be refrigerated, but I finally faced my fears and tried it. I'm not dead yet and it actually quenched my thirst. I still don't quite understand how that little bottle I bought isn't going to expire until December...
  

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