Watching Americans meet for the first time can be hilarious and endearing: every new bit of information trotted out into conversation is greeted with boundless enthusiasm, regardless of whether said information concerns being handpicked for the latest Mars expedition or a pet hamster finally giving its wheel a full spin. “That’s awesome!” The French, as a more subdued people by nature, often find these sorts of reactions insincere. Maybe avoid telling the French about your hamster: they won’t care, and they might tell you as much.
That’s like wearing tights and nothing else. What are we, harlots?
Here’s a probable scene: a French person informs you his dog was run over, and you, proper American, respond by saying you’re deeply sorry. Your interlocutor looks at you incredulously, and after a few seconds’ worth of silence, asks you why on Earth you’d be sorry — did you run his dog over? In the US, we express sympathy by apologizing. “I’m sorry” is a logical rejoinder when someone tells you of a death or closes a door on his or her finger. An apology in France, however, is an admittance of wrongdoing, and thus only used when you actually barrel into someone’s dog. As a friend told me, a better way to express condolence or sympathy is by simply saying, “Merde” — basically, “Oh shit, that sucks.”
I was convinced every waiter and shop attendant in the hexagon hated my guts until I realized that excessive sighing and passive aggressive swipes were the norm in French customer service.
We have a tendency in the US to view coffee much like a diabetic would view insulin or a hyper-allergic person an EpiPen: a survival tool to be shot into our system in order to make it through the day. We’re apt to groan about the fact that we’ve only had one cup of coffee before 9 am and guzzle another on our way to the office. If we could, we’d probably all walk around with caffeine drips hooked into our forearms. In France, coffee may come in a Polly Pocket-sized espresso cup, but by god, that miniscule amount of liquid is meant to be enjoyed and appreciated while sitting down, preferably at a street-side café, over a period of minutes.
A time-honored tradition in many parts of the US, dumping various food items into large amounts of smoldering oil and then eating said items is not a practice the French have ever taken to. This isn’t to say that the French are 100 percent healthier than Americans — between drowning their food in sumptuous but highly caloric cream sauces and accompanying all meals with bread, the French certainly have their own ways of packing on pounds (for those who don’t smoke four packs a day, which is, like, all of three French people). But fried food is regarded as so distasteful that you’re just not likely to find much in that department. Anyway, your arteries will thank you later.
Unless your waiter forgot to charge you for your second croissant, there’s no reason you should be smiling. Bored skepticism is the expression du jour.
First off, if you were to ask your waiter for a doggie bag, I expect he’d look puzzled for a minute, then, depending on your restaurant’s level of service, possibly hand you a Chihuahua fashioned into a purse. Doggie bags are not a thing in France. In fact, asking for a puppy with handles might be better than actually requesting your waiter wrap up your leftover food — a preposterous and downright barbaric suggestion. 