Nobody Likes the French

Humor by Ella Steinbeck

Nobody likes the French. When I was doing hair in the salon at The Bellagio Hotel in fabulous Las Vegas, we had one French stylist. He would refuse to do French people’s hair. The French don’t like the French!  Every French client I had would come in and say the same thing in their French accent “ewwww, how do you say in english ewwww ‘I don’t like anything?’” They would complain about ho nothing was as good as it was in France. Not the food, the entertainment, the prices, the president, the exchange rate, not the fluffiness of the pillows, the wetness of the water or the temperature indoors or outdoors. I just wanted to say “if everything is so great in France why did you leave? Stay there. We don’t need you!”

I went to the Cannes Film Festival a few years ago. While I was in Cannes I decided to take the ferry to St. Tropez. I went to the window at the ferry landing and the lady at one of the windows would not tell me which ferry I needed to get on or which window I needed to buy tickets from. So, I asked the next window at arms length away from the last window and of course it was the right window. Really French lady? Me saying “Saint Tropez” didn’t ring a bell? She just kept saying she didn’t speak English. It’s not like I was asking her what the square root of 500478 was and how I could apply it to my daily life. I am also pretty sure I didn’t make a big mistake and mispronounce “ St. Tropez” by saying something like “please tell me where I can get a ticket to Santini Poopy Pants.”

I did get on the ferry in the nick of time. I rode over to St. Tropez and it started pouring down rain. GREAT! I have no umbrella or anything and now I have to pee. I am not ready to eat so I can’t duck into a restaurant and go cause they will want me to buy something. I keep walking until I see a hotel. I walk around to the courtyard area and see a restroom. I am so happy! I get to pee and brush my hair. I step out and walk through the reception area and go to leave out the front door. To my surprise the door is locked.  THEY HAVE LOCKED ME IN! I stop and look at the reception desk. They say in perfect English no less “you did not ask to use the bathroom” I respond with “in America we let you use our restrooms in a hotel” and they say “ you should have asked” and I say “I didn’t know I needed to.” I was totally freaked out and shaken up from being temporarily held hostage. They finish scolding me, free me.

If you haven’t ever been to St. Tropez  it’s filled with rich people and yachts. You can skip it unless you are rich and have a boat then I say “GO!” I window shop and finally decide to have lunch overlooking the uber wealthy on the water. AND it’s time for me to pee again. I am happy that I am in a restaurant that will let me the American use theirs since I am now a customer. I go into the stall, pull my pants down and my passport, which was in the back of my pants falls into the toilet. Now I have to fish my passport out of the toilet? Maybe that lady at the window knew something I didn’t? I should have stayed in Cannes that day and I should have avoided all “cans.”