Paris, France - American Tourists

Entering the H&M in Paris, a shiver ran through my spine as I heard one voice rise above the din and obnoxiously utter, in the familiar intonation of a mid-western American accent, "Oh my God! Would you look at these prices Marie?"

I looked over to see a heavyset middle-aged woman, holding up a pair of jeans. "Marie" was a teenager with a nose-ring and dyed bright red hair. She was holding a sweatshirt in front of her torso while she gazed into a full-length mirror.

Momma had managed to attract the attention of a tall black man standing nearby. He offered her a benign smile as she shook her head and said, "Can you believe the prices here?"

He shrugged his shoulders, which she took to mean, "Yes, I'm fascinated by what you're saying. Please continue."

"Do you like it here," she asked while pointing down to the ground, enunciating every word as if she were speaking with a child.

The man seemed unsure of what to make at this loud, round, gesticulating creature in front of him.

Not getting an immediate response, Momma decided that perhaps her hand signal had not been descriptive enough, so she rephrased her question: "Do you like it here? In Paris?"

A bemused look crossed his face as he answered, "Mmm…sure, but it is, you know, the same."

"Yes, yes," she responded while rubbing her chin. "It must be expensive living here, huh?"

Again, the man did not respond immediately, prompting Momma to repeat the word "expensive," as she once again pointed to the ground.

It was at this point that Momma took notice of her daughter examining the sweatshirt. Her eyes darted to the price, listed above the sweatshirt rack.

"Oh for Pete's sake Marie, you're looking at a sweatshirt?" Momma said in a tone of voice that would make you believe Marie had just peed herself. "Can't you just wait until we go home and get one from Target?"

Later in the day, Mary and I visited the Louvre.

The Louvre in Paris has a free coat check service for all its patrons. As closing time draws near, the line for the pick-ups, as one would expect, become disproportionately larger than the line for the drop-offs.

The woman working behind the counter was doing her best to alternate between the two lines, to the obvious irritation of a black woman waiting in line.

With only one hour to go before closing time, the drop-off line had essentially become one person waiting for her coat. The woman working behind the counter handed the coat over the counter and then turned to the pick-up line, where she retrieved the coat for the woman standing in front of the American woman.

At that point in time, a young couple dashed to the drop-off line, prompting the woman working behind the counter to go and collect their jackets for them.

This obviously enraged the American woman who was now waiting at the head of the pick-up line. The woman working behind the counter returned and collected her ticket.

She proceeded to retrieve the American woman's jacked, and then returned to stand in front of her, at which point the American woman asked, "Why did you help them before me? I've been waiting here for twenty-five minutes."

The woman behind the counter, obviously confused, answered, "They were waiting at the front."

This answer only seemed to anger the American woman further. She ducked her head forward slightly, raising her eyes to glare at the woman behind the counter, and uttered, "No manners."

"What?" the woman working behind the counter asked.

"No manners," the American woman repeated, louder this time. "Come to America if you want to learn how to treat people with manners."

Seeing that the woman behind the counter was absolutely at a loss for words, the American woman shook her head, and walked away.