Illustration by Garance Doré
Back when I was learning French in New York, I subscribed for the French cable channel TV 5 Monde for complete immersion into what would become the biggest challenge of my late twenties. I thought I'd study my ass off and after a year be fluent and never look back - how cute. I failed to realize that learning another language is applying layers upon layers where I'd constantly be learning, building vocabulary and mastering that sneaky subjective that seems to creep up during the least opportune moments. I can't tell you how many times during fights with MF that I stood corrected because I forgot to use this tense.
While the subjunctive continues to torture me, my vocabulary and math skills developed fairly quickly thanks to TV 5 Monde introducing me to my favorite television game show this side of the Atlantic; Des chiffres et des lettres. Coming home early today, I was able to catch the last 15 minutes of the show that represents the beginning of my French-speaking life. Every time I watch it, I can't help but chuckle, remembering my first month here in France.
Picture it; Paris. 2009.
It was a cool overcast autumn day and with the help of my pertinent roommate Charles, I had the opportunity to go to a taping of one of France's oldest or depending who you ask France's nerdiest game show that apparently "no one watches". Charles made a call to the phone number provided on the website and within a week, we had an e-mail confirming my place in the live studio audience. After months of watching this show on my couch in Brooklyn, I was going to see it live, before my eyes! It was the highlight of my arrival in Paris.
Per the website, the studio was in St. Cloud which was simple enough because I was living in the 15th at the time making it less than a 30 minute metro ride away - or so I thought. I arrived at St. Cloud where my instructions after the metro, was to take a bus for four stops and walk on the service road that ran along side the auto-route for 15 minutes. I remember thinking that something didn't seem right as my heels were digging into the dirt but maybe walking along freeways was how "it" was done in France, so I just went with it.
I finally arrived at the address written down on my piece of paper and didn't see a studio in sight, just an office building. I walked in to find a welcome desk - and I used the world "welcome" loosely - where I found a receptionist in a desolate lobby taking a bite into a sandwich. "Bonjourrrrrr!" I said gleefully in my thick American accent. The receptionist looked back at me and chewed. Ok. "I want to make to see the shooting of Des chiffres et des lettres, please." I desperately tried to communicate with my poor French. The receptionist looked at me, rolled her eyes and swiveled her chair with her back facing me. "Excusez-moi?" I insisted. "I am here inside of this establishment to watch shootings of Des chiffres et des lettres, please." No response. After my long trek where I took a metro and then a bus into what I believed was the suburbs and it was starting to rain, I wasn't going to give up that easily. I'm a New Yorker for pete's sake! After my third attempt, and this time less cheerful, she finally turned around, looked at me and said "It's not here." No further information - it's just not there.
I walked outside, hoping to get some answers somehow but just found myself standing clueless in the rain because there was not much else in sight. Discouraged, I called Charles and asked him to confirm the address on the website and told him about the little unhelpful witch who just told me that I was in the wrong place. "Ah, mince, ok go back to the receptionist and pass the phone to her so I can talk." Charles instructed me. "I don't want to, she was mean." I whined. "Do you want to see Laurent Romejko or what!?" he barked with a chuckle. He knew that I had a little crush on the nerdy host Laurent which was the driving factor of going to the taping, so I sheepishly walked back into the office where the receptionist was clearly not enthused to see me again.
I held my phone out, motioning for her to please take it where she nodded her head no and adamantly refused to take the damn phone. After practically forcing her to take it as my eyes were starting to water out of frustration, I heard her tell Charles that she already told me that the studio wasn't there and that I didn't understand her. She handed the phone back to me. So not only was she a bitch, but she was a liar too because I did understand.
"Stupid French girl!" Charles said after the phone was handed back to me. "Ok, go outside and look for a security booth. She said that perhaps the guard can help us," Charles directed me, "Just give him the phone and I will get more information." I went out and found the booth, said hello to the guard before shoving my phone in his face. Charles and the guard had what appeared to be a lovely conversation before the guard handed the phone back to me and exited his booth.
"He's leaving Charles! What did he say? What's going on?" I asked frantically. "Do you see a camion de pompiers in front of you?" Charles asked. Camion de pompiers? What was this word again? Ah, yes a firetruck. "Why yes Charles, I do. Why do you ask?" I asked while noticing three firemen waving at me. "Because the studio is not in St. Cloud anymore, it's in St. Ouen and they happen to be heading that way so you're going to get a ride with them! Ok? A tout!" Dial tone. Wait, what?! I'm going in a firetruck with firemen?! And then it hit me, I'm going in a firetruck with firemen! Well, Bonjour la France!
Holding my little purse with both hands in front of me, I shyly walked over to the firetruck and said hi where they motioned for me to climb in the back where they strapped me in for what turned out to be an hour long ride with the traffic. This had to have been illegal but I didn't care because I was in a firetruck on my way to see Des chiffres et des lettres!
My French was hellish at the time therefore communicating with these sweater clad heroes was close to impossible which created a lot of of awkward silences where they just looked at me like a science project. Who was this little American trying to go to a taping of Des Chiffres et des lettres?
We arrived at the real studio in St. Ouen where the firemen escorted me in and I took my seat among the show's target audience; senior citizens. After watching four tapings with the camera panning embarrassing close-ups of my face where I would try to look like I was seriously figuring out the puzzle but ended up just looking constipated, I heard one of the studio managers call my name. Why were they calling my name? I was certainly in no position to respond confidently over a crowd of people so I avoided eye contact and kept my eyes glued to my magazine. The calling of my name lasted for ten painful minutes where I heard the word participant followed by the spelling of my name. They were really looking for me.
To this day, I don't know exactly why they were calling my name but my theory is that Charles called the wrong phone number and put me on the list as a contestant. I would have been on Le Zapping forever as the laughing stock of France but my French friends seem to think that it would be impossible and that there has to be some sort of quiz that I'd have to take in order to be a contestant. This is coming from the same people who haven't seen the show in 20 years, so they are hardly authorities on the show's rules and operations. I sometimes regret staying mute because I wonder what they wanted and if I am right, if they would have put a foreigner with weak French language skills on the show for ratings.
While I love my life of normalcy that I worked hard to achieve here in Paris, I miss my early days where I was naive, curious and open-minded making everyday a new adventure.
