I am ruder than the French: it’s official.

British people always bang on about the French being rude. Especially the English contingent.

As far as I can tell this is due to the following reasons:

• These people haven’t been to Germany yet
• British folk are rightly jealous of the fact that the French have Paris as their capital city, so have to find flaws elsewhere.
• British folk think they French should have tried a wee bit harder in the war, but they can’t say that out loud, so they condemn them as being rude and unwashed instead.
• British folk hear French being spoken, don’t understand it, and assume they are being talked about.
• That whole British Beef thing is still upsetting some folk. If the French had been more polite they would have shoved that BSE contaminated meat down their throats with nary a complaint and to hell with the health consequences!
• And that whole winning-the-World Cup-thing-on-home-ground-more- recently-than-100-years-ago thing? Well, that really stings. How rude of them to be better than us* and then rub it our face at every opportunity. We’d NEVER do that!

To be honest, I thought the French people I came into contact with couldn’t have been nicer. I went the whole weekend with nothing but a feeling that me and the Frenchies I came across were reinforcing that historic Auld Alliance that exists between Scotland and France with great aplomb.

Until five minutes before departure from their country, that is….

A verbatim account follows in which you are allowed to make up your own mind.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury…

Scene: Misssy, feverishly late from a three minute mile dash, manages to check in as the last passenger from Paris C.D.G to Aberdeen. She has 15 minutes to make it through passport control and security. She is bathed in sweat and very aware that her Apex ticket will be meaningless dust should she miss this flight. As she joins the queue in Passport Control, she realises there are about sixty people before her. They all seem to be British. She turns to two girls (who she assumes are British)

Misssy: Scuse me, have you got the time?

The girls just stare at her. Misssy thinks they haven’t understood her and that they must be French. Misssy doesn’t speak French. So she points to her wrist indicating the international sign language for, “Have you got the time?”

Misssy: Time?

1st French girl: Yes, I understood you.

After staring at Misssy for a further couple of seconds, the girl reluctantly shows her watch to Misssy.

Misssy: Oh 3 o’clock. Oh dear (sigh) …thanks.

Misssy’s plane leaves in under 10 minutes.

The French girls stare daggers at Misssy and make noises to one another that suggest they are unhappy. And that Misssy has caused this unhappiness.

Misssy: I’m sorry. Is there a problem?

1st French girl: Yes, there is. You could have at least said “please” and “thank you”.

Misssy: Oh! I did. I said thanks.

1st FG: Well, I didn’t hear you.

Misssy: No, I really did. I appreciate you telling me the time. I did say thanks. I thank you again.

Both girls snort like they don’t believe what they are being told.

Misssy (embarrassed and trying to make a joke): A blow for international relations then?

The French girls are further put out by this remark. Everybody in the queue stares.

The French girls decide to try another queue and leave.

One can only hope that these girls are headed for London where their sensitivity towards the finer points of etiquette will get a good old straining. May they take the wrong tube and end up in deepest Hackney by mistake. There’s some real rude boys around there…

* I exclude the Scots in this. We’re just happy to be still invited to try out for the World Cup.

February 5, 2008. airports, bitches, etiquette, france, language, Paris. Leave a comment.