"Mommy, am I famous yet?"
6/06/2007
Con Artiste
This morning, my three co-workers and I sneaked out of the Rodgers & Hammerstein office to go watch the 21st Annual Stars in the Alley, a free outdoor concert in the Schubert Alley. We got there as early as we could, but even so the alley was so crowded by the time we got there that we couldn't see the stage.
With Sam, the spitfire, leading the way, we wriggled our way through the crowd until we couldn't go any further.
Seeing us standing there, a blonde woman -- middle-aged but attractive, in an autumn-colored pashmina shawl -- turned to Sam and said in a French accent, "Do you want to move past me?"
Sam turned on her Broadway-star charm. "Thanks," she said, with a big smile. "It's hard out here for short people like me."
"You may stand there," said the woman. "But I'm not going to move again."
Taken aback, Sam nodded politely. "Okay," she said. "That's cool, that's fine--"
"And don't talk back to me," said the woman.
Sam's jaw dropped, and we all stared. "Wh-- what?" she said.
"You did it before," said the woman. "Now you're doing it again. Don't talk back." The woman turned away from us.
We were all shaken. The girls tried to laugh it off, but I found myself twitchy with rage. "Don't talk back"? What was that shit? Weren't we voting, working, adult citizens in a public place? She'd hit a nerve -- suddenly I was a little kid again, feeling exactly how small and insignificant I was, sick with despair that I couldn't be taken seriously.
To Sam, but loud enough for the woman to hear me, I remarked, "Maybe it's a height thing. Maybe she said it to you because you're short. I mean, can you talk back to someone at your eye level? It's not the kind of thing you say to your equal, and in every other way we are all equals here..."
And the next thing I knew, the woman had turned around. Her expression was pure frost. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward and said in my face:
"Tu es stupide."
(What is the world coming to when complete strangers won't take the vous form with you?)
The girls gasped and watched to see what I would do. And for once, it came to me in an instant.
I leaned forward too, and in a low but sharp voice, I said right in her ear:
"Je ne suis pas stupide. TU es stupide." I paused, then spat, "Con."
"Con" was the first word that came to me. I wasn't sure if it was correct to use it on a woman, but it was the rudest French word I could think of. I could still remember the day I learned it...
It was my 9th-grade French class, taught by a strange, flighty Turkish woman. She was best known among the students for her inclination to wear shirts that blithely exposed both nipple and areola, and for the painful-looking hickeys that usually covered her neck. Both were far more disturbing than hot, and her funny accent, combined with a weird lispy speech impediment, made it almost impossible not to be cruel to her. She had just made us watch Le diner des cons (The Dinner Game in English) and wanted to know if we had any questions.
I raised my hand. "Professeur," I called out. "What does con mean?"
Like a shark tasting blood in the water, I noticed that she looked uncomfortable. "In the third person, it is used to mean 'idiot,'" she said. "But to thay it to thomeone's face is vewwy rude."
"I know that," I said, "but what does it really mean? What does it literally mean? Where does the word come from?"
She blushed, right down to her areolae. Squirming, she avoided everyone's eyes and mumbled to the ceiling, "Well...litewally...it meansth vagina."
I lit up. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "Like cunt! Linguistically, professeur, is it related to cunt?"
Even her hickeys were blushing now. The class, delighted, was out of control. When she answered me in the affirmative, I simply nodded, satisfied: my work here was done.
And today, I sent that teacher a silent prayer of gratitude as I restored honor and dignity to my country and my generation there in the Schubert Alley, returning a stranger's schoolyard taunt, murmuring to her ear in the most beautifully accented French I could muster:
"I'm not stupid. YOU'RE stupid. Cunt."
After that, she left us alone.
- posted by Frankie @ 2:11 PM
This morning, my three co-workers and I sneaked out of the Rodgers & Hammerstein office to go watch the 21st Annual Stars in the Alley, a free outdoor concert in the Schubert Alley. We got there as early as we could, but even so the alley was so crowded by the time we got there that we couldn't see the stage.
With Sam, the spitfire, leading the way, we wriggled our way through the crowd until we couldn't go any further.
Seeing us standing there, a blonde woman -- middle-aged but attractive, in an autumn-colored pashmina shawl -- turned to Sam and said in a French accent, "Do you want to move past me?"
Sam turned on her Broadway-star charm. "Thanks," she said, with a big smile. "It's hard out here for short people like me."
"You may stand there," said the woman. "But I'm not going to move again."
Taken aback, Sam nodded politely. "Okay," she said. "That's cool, that's fine--"
"And don't talk back to me," said the woman.
Sam's jaw dropped, and we all stared. "Wh-- what?" she said.
"You did it before," said the woman. "Now you're doing it again. Don't talk back." The woman turned away from us.
We were all shaken. The girls tried to laugh it off, but I found myself twitchy with rage. "Don't talk back"? What was that shit? Weren't we voting, working, adult citizens in a public place? She'd hit a nerve -- suddenly I was a little kid again, feeling exactly how small and insignificant I was, sick with despair that I couldn't be taken seriously.
To Sam, but loud enough for the woman to hear me, I remarked, "Maybe it's a height thing. Maybe she said it to you because you're short. I mean, can you talk back to someone at your eye level? It's not the kind of thing you say to your equal, and in every other way we are all equals here..."
And the next thing I knew, the woman had turned around. Her expression was pure frost. Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward and said in my face:
"Tu es stupide."
(What is the world coming to when complete strangers won't take the vous form with you?)
The girls gasped and watched to see what I would do. And for once, it came to me in an instant.
I leaned forward too, and in a low but sharp voice, I said right in her ear:
"Je ne suis pas stupide. TU es stupide." I paused, then spat, "Con."
"Con" was the first word that came to me. I wasn't sure if it was correct to use it on a woman, but it was the rudest French word I could think of. I could still remember the day I learned it...
It was my 9th-grade French class, taught by a strange, flighty Turkish woman. She was best known among the students for her inclination to wear shirts that blithely exposed both nipple and areola, and for the painful-looking hickeys that usually covered her neck. Both were far more disturbing than hot, and her funny accent, combined with a weird lispy speech impediment, made it almost impossible not to be cruel to her. She had just made us watch Le diner des cons (The Dinner Game in English) and wanted to know if we had any questions.
I raised my hand. "Professeur," I called out. "What does con mean?"
Like a shark tasting blood in the water, I noticed that she looked uncomfortable. "In the third person, it is used to mean 'idiot,'" she said. "But to thay it to thomeone's face is vewwy rude."
"I know that," I said, "but what does it really mean? What does it literally mean? Where does the word come from?"
She blushed, right down to her areolae. Squirming, she avoided everyone's eyes and mumbled to the ceiling, "Well...litewally...it meansth vagina."
I lit up. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "Like cunt! Linguistically, professeur, is it related to cunt?"
Even her hickeys were blushing now. The class, delighted, was out of control. When she answered me in the affirmative, I simply nodded, satisfied: my work here was done.
And today, I sent that teacher a silent prayer of gratitude as I restored honor and dignity to my country and my generation there in the Schubert Alley, returning a stranger's schoolyard taunt, murmuring to her ear in the most beautifully accented French I could muster:
"I'm not stupid. YOU'RE stupid. Cunt."
After that, she left us alone.
- posted by Frankie @ 2:11 PM
