Americans in Paris may face waiters who are 'les snobs'

[Guest guest]

Hare Krishna.

 

 

By DAVE BARRY

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What lies ahead for the European Union? This question is very much on the

minds of concerned journalists looking for a way to take a tax-deductible

vacation abroad. For this reason, I recently spent several weeks assessing

the mood in a broad cross-section of Europe, ranging all the way from Paris,

France, to several other parts of France.

I would say, based on this trip, that the biggest problem facing Europe

today is that everything over there is hard to pronounce. Even the word

``France'' is pronounced as a different word entirely (``Fwonce''). But

basically the mood of Europe is good, except when you order your food

incorrectly, in which case Europe can get snippy. My family and I

experienced this personally at a cafe in Paris called Le Mistral (French for

``The Snotty Attitude''), where we offended the waiter by committing the

unforgivable blunder of existing.

 

To make matters worse, when the waiter, after ignoring us for 15 minutes,

reluctantly came to our table, I made the horrific faux pas (literally,

``hors d'oeuvre'') of attempting to order my food before I ordered my drink,

if you can possibly imagine anything so gauche (French for ``American'').

 

The waiter was so offended that -- I am not making this up -- he tore up his

order slip, spun around, and walked away in what the French call ``une

huffe.'' So we went to another cafe, where the waiter was very nice, and

where we wrote, in what we hoped was French, a letter of complaint to the

management of Le Mistral.

 

After our meal, we marched back into Le Mistral, where I handed the letter

to the manager, who read it and handed it to the snotty waiter, who also

read it. The three of us then had an argument. Unfortunately, we conducted

it in French, which I have not studied since the 1960s, so I had no way of

knowing what points I was making. If you translated this argument into

English, it would probably go something like:

 

MANAGER: What is the problem?

 

ME (pointing at the waiter): There is a duck in your elevator.

 

WAITER: I do not know what you are talking about!

 

ME (forcefully): Give me the fish of my uncle!

 

After several minutes of this, we marched back out, proud of having made our

point. Meanwhile, back in Le Mistral, they probably laughed until tears fell

into the bouillabaisse, and vowed to be even ruder to American tourists, in

hopes of generating more linguistic comedy entertainment.

 

I found the European mood to be mellower in Provence (French for

``Province''), an extremely picturesque sector of southern France filled

with picturesque houses and fields and little picturesque towns connected by

winding roads upon which the French whiz around at speeds upwards of 17

million kilograms per hour in cute French cars the size of an Altoids tin.

 

Provence was once occupied by the Romans, who built picturesque ruins until

their empire collapsed as a result of eating too much cheese. The same thing

happened to us. We consumed cheese by the metric ton. We bought it at

open-air markets, which are held in certain towns on certain days. The rest

of the time, France is closed. (You think I'm joking.)

 

On market day, all the residents of Provence get into their Altoidsmobiles

and whiz to the same town, where they form a massive traffic jam and park in

every conceivable place, including on top of other cars. Then they walk

around the market and buy delicious, inexpensive cheeses, sausages, breads,

pastries, candies and other delicacies. Then they go home and throw all the

food away. At least that's what I assume they do, because, despite living in

Cholesterol World, they're all thin. The entire population of France weighs

less than a standard American softball team.

 

But we tourists, not knowing the local customs, actually ate the food. Our

schedule was: Eat, sleep, then go to the market again. Eventually we had to

tie our French rental car to a post so it couldn't flee when our bloated

bodies lumbered toward it.

 

In conclusion, the European Union is an important issue that everyone should

care about. I urge you to go over there and assess it for yourself. If you

happen to eat at Le Mistral, and you happen to see a waiter who looks like a

ferret with a mustache, and you happen to speak French, tell him, for me,

that he has a duck in his elevator.

 

Hare Krishna --

 

ys, Balarama Dasa