My Encounter With a Young French Woman

I took French in high school more than forty years ago. It was my favorite subject. At first I was getting my usual grade of C in the class, until my teacher asked me if I wanted to have a French pen pal. I started writing to a French high school student in Lyon who was studying English. We wrote to each other, half in French and half in English. We would correct each other's mistakes. The fact that I was actually communicating with a real Frenchman in his own language really inspired me. I could see a practical reason for learning French, and my grade subsequently went to an A and remained there throughout high school.

But could I speak French today and be understood? Could I understand someone French in an everyday conversation? I would soon get to find out. My wife and I visited a drugstore (called a "Pharmacie" in French) as I had a cold sore on my lip and needed some ointment.

We went into the Pharmacie and the shelves were loaded with French products, nothing in English. I looked around but didn't see any lip ointments. I avoided the eyes of the French girl behind the counter so I wouldn't have to embarrass myself by talking to her. But finally I looked up and she was staring me straight in the eyes with a sweet smile. She said, "Bon Jour!"
I smiled back and replied "Bon Jour!" Then I thought, ah what the hell, and I let her have it with my 40 year old high school French.

"Avez-vous quelquechose pour les levres?" (Do you have something for lips?)

She replied, "Mais oui, pour les levres dessechees et fissurees?" (Yes, for dry or cracked lips?)

I said, "Oui, mais aussi j'ai une blessure sous ma levre." (Yes, but I also have a sore under my lip.)

She said, in French though I can't repeat it, "Follow me, I have something over here." I followed her to another counter where she produced a small box containing a dispenser of a French ointment. She showed me the tube inside and explained how the nozzle worked, all in French. I understood everything. However, I was afraid the stuff wouldn't be strong enough - I wanted something more than ointment for chapped lips. So I said, "Oui, mais j'ai une blessure et j'ai besoin de quelquechose tres fort." (Yes, but I have a sore and I need something strong.)

She replied, "Mais oui, il marche bien pour ca." (Of course, it works well for that).

I nodded affirmatively to indicate I would buy it and followed her to the cash register where she rang up the sale. I smiled and said, "Merci beaucoup." She smiled and replied that she hoped she would see me again soon. I felt shy. I think she thought I was cute, in a grandfatherly sort of way, with my incompetent French.

I felt very proud of myself for the rest of the day. I had carried on a conversation, all in French, with a French citizen (a beautiful young woman). Amazingly, she had understood me and I had understood her. However imperfectly, we had communicated. My old French teacher would have been proud.

I came to a great realization: if you are forced to use a language, you will learn it. I feel that if I spent two years in France I would become quite fluent in the language. I decided then that I would renew my study of French when I returned home.

Since this is an American computer, I couldn't put all the proper French accents into the text above, but you get the idea.