Ha! A Rooster Would Never Say That...Or, Sometimes in France I Want to Crawl Under a Rock and Die

My phonetics teacher's favorite activity is asking Americans how to say something in English, and then pronouncing them with a fairly awful accent for someone who teaches people how to speak correctly. I'm just saying, I wouldn't be harping on people for saying imperfect U's if I couldn't say an H. But that's just me.

Today, dressed as normal in something blue with blue eyeshadow I thought went out of style sometime circa 1989, she asked how to say "mairie" in English. "City hall," we said. "Ha," she laughed, "You have a whole city in a hall?!" The Mexican girl, the Japanese girl, and the Saudi Arabian girl laughed along with her. The rest of us hung our heads in shame. Who were we to build cities in halls!?

This was similar to an experience in phonetics a few weeks ago where we were learning to but rrrrs with oooos. In French a rooster says "Cookiroocoo." Or something like that. Then she went to the Mexican, and it was similar, with more rolling of the rrs. In Japanese it says something like "Kookeekoo". In Arabic it's "Kocooko". Then, with a superior smirk on her face, she turned to the rest of us. "En anglais?" "Cockadoodledoo," we said, knowing this would be wrong. "Ha! What rooster says cockadoodledoo?!" I offered that, perhaps, and American one did.

Sometimes I hate the French people. Other times, though, I remember that I am dependent upon their kindness for every aspect of my current life.

Tomorrow I am doing a presentation in French class about the great state of Michigan. I had Roomie and her boyfriend correct all my notes so that grammatically it will be correct. In an effort to upstage my fellow students and make my French teacher forgive me for missing two days last week while I tracked down my eurail pass, I decided to make a traditional Michigan dish -fudge! Translated, loosely, in my French book as "chocolate and sugar" and my Roomie's boyfriend who lived in Canada for awhile as "bonbons americain" said with a dismissive air as he tried to explain it to Roomie.

In order to make said delicious treat, I had to go to the grocery store. I found a new grocery store called Champion which is big and beautiful like Meijer and felt, for a moment, like my day was going to be successful. Then I walked in the store. I managed to find evaporated milk on my own, and marshmallows, and asked someone for chocolate chips, which they do not carry, and instead bought chocolate bars to smash into little pieces, pretending they were my phonetics teacher.

Then I began the hunt for corn syrup. Not in the baking section, not in the weird condiment section, not in the foreign section, not in the candy section. I asked somebody for "Syrope de mais? De may? De mye?" (trying out different phonetic pronunciations of a language that is not spoken in the slightest way phonetically). Syrope?" He looked at me strangely, then sent me downstairs. To maple syrup. I tried my luck on someone else. He too, looked at me strangely, and then said in French, "Come with me" and led me to a cashier, who was checking out a long line of unhappy looking customers. He spoke to her in French very quickly and I did not understand, but the entire line looked at me.

"What do you want?" She asked in English. "Um...corn syrup?" She looked at me. "For cooking?" She kept looking at me. "For making cake?" She shook her head.

A woman in the line said "Quoi? For cooking? Are you making corn?" She turned to the man beside her and spoke in French too fast for me to understand. "You need to find some corn?" He asked. "To make a syrup"

I wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Finally, the guy whose groceries were actually being checked out spoke. "We don't have that in France," he answered in an only slightly flawed pronunciation of English. "What are you trying to make?"

"Fudge," I said. "It's like, a candy." He looked at me confused. "A cake sort of..." He shook his head, "I can maybe just use oil?"

"Oui," the line chorused. "Use oil," he said.

I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

"Merci beaucoup, merci, merci," I said, and joined the end of the line, letting them get back to their buying of French foods in peace.

Then I made the fudge. Sans corn syrup. And it is now in the fridge, and I am hoping it will harden properly so I can woo my teacher tomorrow.