Pardon my French

So today, after the little kid party for my daughter's second birthday, all the adults went out to eat. We had a large party of people and some of them were REALLY OLD so we went to the one restaurant that provides the true test of old age, Old Country Buffett. Just by being in there we lowered the mean age a few decades.

Anyway, there were a few tour buses that came through during that time which were full of French people. Now usually, I have no beef with French people. When I was in high school, my mom's job almost made us move to Quebec, where like it or not, we'd be knee deep in French stuff. However, these French people fit EVERY stereotype given to the French. They ignored lines, pushed people out of the way, cursed in nasty voices, pretended not to understand English (those lying rat bastards, they spoke and read english).

My patience was at an end when I was walking Mandolin through the salad line. My kid doesn't eat meat, cheese, or bread/starch, so the salad line is her mainstay at these places. The line clearly began twenty people BEHIND us, but one specific woman was not into queing up, and pushed my baby out of the way to get to the cucumbers. As a side note, in front of me and the baby was my best friend, who actually spent 4 years getting a degree in French and then went off to France to sow some oats. She was excited that the French were among us, because for years she's been telling all of us that the stereotypes are all false. Well, about the time Mandolin hit the floor, I decided to disagree with her assumption.

I lost my religion and my ability to hold my tongue. I love to cuss and have been so good at not doing it until that woman lost what mind she had. I loudly said "How do you say 'Bitch, Please?' in French?" and then pointed at the woman. I'm sure a few other choice words parted my lips, but I can't fully recall, I just know I loudly lost it. About that time, my other best friend pushed herself through the small crowd and we formed a mini wall blocking the salad bar from the heathen French and just glared until the bitch sashayed away. She's lucky she didn't end up wearing her cucumbers, my little sister looked like she was ready to be on an episode of cops today.

For my entire life it was literally beat into me that when you bump into someone in public, you say "sorry" or quickly say something like "oh, that's alright" if the other person said sorry. These people didn't say sorry for a thing, they groaned and then said something along the lines of "you should be sorry" in French, if they said anything at all. I'm not going to return the favor by being the nasty American tourist in their country, but I'd like to point out that they're not the best tourists either.