A Regrettable Spanish Conversation in France

A friend of mine during our college years met, dated and, ultimately, married a woman who hailed from France. During their courtship years friends of each party became chummy. A second pal of mine, by the time the wedding had come around, was dating a friend of the bride. We’ll call this friend of mine McGettigan the Elder. She was living at the time in the U.S., but hailed originally from France and her parents lived there still.


July 1996

The wedding, for the first couple mentioned above, was in France, Toulouse, and a number of college chums were to be in attendance. This McGettigan the Elder was to meet the parents of his French girlfriend for the first time. He and I were actually to be overnight guests at their abode. There was a hitch, however. The parents spoke no English, the two of us spoke no French, and the daughter was not yet to be present as a go-between by the time we were meeting her parents. This first impression was to be formulated over a two hour period where verbal communication could not be achieved. Tough going.

The mom, as it turned out, spoke a minimal amount of Spanish and I had taken three years of Spanish in high school. But, sadly, I’d never really put much focus on learning the language. These meager bits of an auxiliary tongue was the only linguistic overlap until relief arrived. The awkwardness reigned.

McGettigan had comfortably, and smartly as it turned out, decided to make due with generous amounts of smiling, head nods, and polite behavior. To the contrary, at the height of awkwardness I tried making conversation with the mom implementing my poor Spanish skills. Regrettable. I recalled some family and clothing related Spanish vocabulary high school class and clumsily put it to use. In what probably equated to a first or second grade-level chit chat, I made an effort to communicate. I feebly asked the mom about her family to which she amusingly tried to respond. After a subsequent awkward silence I mentioned that my shoes were for playing basketball ‘but that I could not slam dunk.’ I was wearing high top basketball shoes.

We were at the airport in Nice, France awaiting the daughter’s arrival. It was delayed! With no relief in sight the father, seeming to have lost patience with the Gong Show proceedings, suggested we go for a walk.

The airport was in a nice coastal area. Walking we passed numerous souvenir shops along a boardwalk abutting the Mediterranean coast. I tried to indicate that I wanted to buy a Scuba diving sticker (i.e., ‘I dove in Nice’) but couldn’t find one. I tried to ask and somehow mimicked a Scuba diving motion. The horror I experience now just recounting the episode bothers me still.

Based on my reading of his gesticulating, the dad thought I wanted to Scuba dive, rather than simply buy a sticker. There wasn’t enough time for a scuba break as his daughter’s flight would be arriving within the hour, but he didn’t want to be a dud. The parents seemed to have begrudgingly given in to this perceived request as I tried to explain that there was a misunderstanding. Meanwhile, the dad became gung ho asking shop owners about scuba rentals. I tried explaining ‘sticker only’ in English.

Meanwhile, my friend was enjoying a very hearty laugh at the misunderstanding. Dad looking for a Scuba merchant, me explaining ‘no thank you’ and hoping he wouldn’t find one, and McGettigan laughing at my plight, “How are you gonna get out of this?”

Thankfully, daughter’s flight arrived with no further delay and my Spanish skills were solidly locked away from further usage. My time in Nice ended without the purchase of a Scuba sticker.
-klem