Frenglish: Second of a Three Part Series by Hoai Huong

Building on her reflections on Vietnamese American identity in France, Hoai Huong, in the second part of the series, talks about the difficulties of language. Speaking in a foreign tongue, this Frenglish, brings Hoai to understand the hardships that her parents had undergone as immigrants in a foreign land with a foreign tongue.

“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” Ludwig Wittgenstein

Do you enjoy reading diaCRITICS? Then please consider subscribing!

“Ca vous fait huit euros et trente-six centimes,” the French cashier quipped at the local grocery store where I was attempting to purchase a few items. My mind went blank as I stared at her. “Eight euros and…” She looked impatiently at me as I stared back with an obviously bewildered expression.   My mind went blank as I tried mentally to translate the last number. “Pardon, je ne comprends pas,” I responded.  Her vacuous look left me feeling frustrated and embarrassed. I quickly repeated in English, “Sorry, I don’t understand.”

With a heavy sigh, she turned to the display on her cash register to show me the total of  €8,36. I retrieved a ten Euro note from my wallet and handed it to her. She made no effort to take the money from me, but instead flatly asked in English, “Do you have change?” I looked in my wallet and retrieved a 5 Euro note. Then, I dug into my coin purse and found a couple of €1,00 coins. I was still looking for 36 cents when I heard an exasperated “Phfff” sound behind me. I turned towards the sound and caught one of the customers in the line rolling his eyes (Parisians openly express their frustrations or annoyances by making the “Phfff” sound while simultaneously rolling their eyes). I glanced at him briefly before returning to the task at hand, that of deciphering the various Euro coin denominations.

The cashier proceeded to the next customer in line as I attempted to find the correct change. By the time they had finished their transactions, I had finally found the exact amount of change needed. Without uttering a word, I gave her my money.  She in turn handed me my receipt and a small plastic bag for my groceries. Murmuring a muted “merci,” I immediately left the store.

Later, on my way home, I glanced at my receipt and realized that the cashier had overcharged on the olive oil. Instead of €2,69, she charged me €3,99. Perhaps I should have closer paid attention as she rang me up, but I was busy preparing myself mentally and psychologically for the onslaught of unfamiliar French. Yet, even if I had noticed, I probably would not have confronted her. Most cashiers at these grocery stores spoke little English and were often unfriendly and unhelpful. The language barrier would have made my conversation with her not only difficult, but frustrating and time-consuming. I was not sure the effort of correcting the error was worth €1,30.

Walking home, I felt a sense of injustice and the rise of anger, resentment, and frustration within me—most of it directed at myself for my inability to communicate effectively in French. Like my parents, I struggled to be heard and understood, only to be dismissed and perceived as stupid because of my inability to communicate and lack of proficiency with the French language. Unfortunately, this lack of proficiency left me vulnerable to unscrupulous vendors with whom I came in contact and interacted on a daily basis. From the cheese vendor at the Farmer’s Market, who tried to strong-arm me into buying a bigger wedge of cheese than I really wanted; to the cashier at the Lebanese deli, who deliberately spoke unintelligible, fast French and proceeded to overcharged me for the dolmas; to the cashier at Sephora, who took my coupon, but failed to apply the discount to my purchase; they seemed to recognize my vulnerability and preyed on my inability to understand and speak their language. While I tried to mitigate this as much as I could, I couldn’t protect myself under all circumstances. Perhaps it is just the dark side of human nature to prey on the weak and vulnerable. Certainly, the French do not have exclusivity on being rude, unfriendly, and predatory.

Back home in America, I encountered a somewhat similar situation in relation to language barriers, but with a much different outcome. This time I was on the other side of the situation and in much more control. While standing in line at the express checkout of Seattle’s famous Asian market, Uwajimaya, I noticed a tall Chinese girl in front of me, nervously looking around. Suddenly she turned and asked if I spoke Chinese. I said no, but asked if she needed help. She told me that she needed to get pre-paid International calling cards so her students could call home to China. The parents wanted to be in frequent contact with their children during their three-week stay in Kingston, Washington. While the cashier helped the Chinese girl, I overheard a woman complaining about the long wait in line: “They need another cashier,” she told her friend. “I don’t have all day to wait in line.” For a brief moment, I would have given anything to hear the familiar French “Phfff” sound and the rolling eyes instead of the grating, whiny voice from this annoying passive/aggressive woman.

Since she made no effort to seek a manager to call for another cashier or move to another checkout, I stepped in and said, “Hey, I just want to let you know that there is another express checkout at the other end of the store.” Somewhat sheepishly she informed me that the express lane was closer to her office. Annoyed at her response, I shared with the customer standing next to me that Americans could afford to be more accommodating to visitors to our country—especially ones who come here and spend their hard-earned money at our stores. When the Chinese girl finished paying $300 for the pre-paid phone cards, she thanked us for our help and apologized for holding up the line. A much different outcome than my experience in France!

During my stay in Paris I wasn’t fortunate enough to have encountered one person who was willing to help me. In reality, no one was willing to come to my aid; instead, many took advantage of my vulnerabilities. I realized that the responsibility lay directly with me, and I needed to learn to survive in this hostile environment. If I chose to live in France, I needed to learn French, not only out of respect for the French people, but for my own survival.

Hoai Huong was born in Vietnam, escaped in 1975, spent time at a refugee camp in Hong Kong, and finally settled in Victoria, Texas, with her family. Later, Hoai studied at University of Texas-Austin and finished her Ph.D. studies at Cornell in 1994.  Currently, she is a market research consultant in the Seattle area and is working on her first novel. For more of Hoai’s writings, read her blog.

Do you enjoy reading diaCRITICS? Then please consider subscribing!

And please take the time to rate this post (above) and share it (below). Ratings for top posts are listed on the sidebar. Sharing (on email, Facebook, etc.) helps spread the word about diaCRITICS. And join the conversation and leave a comment! Thoughts on language? What’s your experience with language, mother tongue or foreign-learned?

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here