Où est le Macdo?

Years ago, I vividly remember striding along the cobblestone streets of Paris, my brother at my side, ardently in search of whatever adventure this breathtaking ville were to throw at us. Given the excitement of being on our own in a a foreign country for the first time, we meandered through the many jardins of this enchanting city, dazzling our sights with its artistic landscape and listening to the ubiquitous chirping of saluts and au revoirs echoing down the winding rues that decorated the capital.

Given the sprawling layout, we naturally decided it was time to take a break and get a bite to eat, something uniquely French of course. We set out across the Pont d'lena, through the Palais de Chaillot, and finally down the Rue Gustave Courbet before both of us knew what the other was thinking. Having both taken French with the same teacher in high school, we learned that the French, along with many other Europeans, adore McDonalds. These aren't just the regular McDonalds we're used to, folks, but the whole of the continent seems to boast several of these higher-end chains that look almost like formal restaurants at first glance. Given that we had no idea where we were in relation to la Tour Eiffel, it seemed logical to break out our French and ask for directions from a local. We unanimously agreed on what sounded polite and correct to say, and began asking pedestrians in our best French accent, "Excusez-moi monsieur, pouvez vous me dire ou est le Mcdo?" Aside from feeling like we were extremely cool for being able to complete a sentence in French, it was hard to deny that these people were reacting quite strangely to what we were asking. Picking up on this after the third person in a row shot us a quizzical look and muttered, "Je suis désolé mademoiselle, je ne sais pas...." we figured that we may have overestimated how often "ou est le Mcdo" was used, despite spending several days in class studying this alleged "template." In all fairness, we were directed back to a conventionally larger Avenue Victor Hugo, wherein we finally caught sight of the golden arches.

Still determined to utilize our language abilities, we attempted to order in French and break the stereotype of the ignorant American in Paris. After waiting our turn, we nervously stepped up to the counter to order, bright smiles and a Bonjour! to break the ice. I muttered something simple I learned in French 1, Je voudrais un hamburger, s'il vous plait, but for some reason I was given that same quizzical look by the cashier that was rampant among the pedestrians we had asked for directions from. Staring at the menu seemed to be the only logical way to avoid the utter embarrassment of admitting linguistic defeat and asking ummmm, parlez-vous anglais? Our futile attempt of trying to buy time to think in French was causing a bit of an upheaval from the locals standing in line behind us, and we quickly gave in to the fact that our order would probably be butchered, but it was worth the price of saving face in front of the entire store. After picking up our meal, and in the comfort of our own corner table, we both came to the conclusion that our sentences were grammatically sound, so it must be our étranger accents that were inspiring these confused reactions. Fair enough.

This somewhat awkward episode at a McDonalds in Paris solidified my belief that it is always better to try and fail than it is to opt for the easy way out. So what if you are only partially understood? It's worth the adrenaline rush, and who knows, you might end up surprising yourself!