The French Are Not Rude

Contrary to popular belief, the French are not rude. They are helpful, in fact. If they seemed rude, this is probably why.

A Parisian guide once told me that bonjour is the most important word in the French language. Before asking for anything, when entering a store, when you get on the bus, one must say “Bonjour.” Not doing so will be deemed rude by the French. When exiting a bus or leaving a store, the French also expect Au revoir or goodbye. 

During our pilgrimage in France, Rose and I witnessed this interaction between a French train station employee and an American at the Gare de Lyon in Paris. The American hurriedly approached the employee.

”How do I find . . . ” he asked.

The female employee looked at him and said, “Bonjour, Monsieur.”

The poor man kept going, “Where can I find . . .”

She repeated herself, sternly this time, “Bonjour, Monsieur!”

He didn’t get it. He had no idea about French etiquette. He needed to greet her first.

Sometimes, the French just want to help. At the ticket window the following day, I informed the lady, in my rusty French, that I wanted to buy a weekly train pass. She looked perplexed.

“Madame, a day pass, 12 euros,” she said. A weekly pass (Monday to Sunday) costing 30.75 euros would have expired in three days since it was already Thursday afternoon. And we were not going to be there that weekend. She didn’t want us to waste our money. 

Parisians do like to help. On our last afternoon in Paris, I wanted to see Petit Palais, one of the free places, to visit. I was looking forward to visiting the museum with its courtyard and gardens. Rose and I jumped on the metro and got off at Franklin de Roosevelt station. But the Petit Palais was nowhere to be found. 

I asked a gentleman at the bus stop for assistance. After I said “Bonjour, Monsieur,” I said “Excusez-moi de vous deranger.” 

In addition to bonjour this is a magic phrase that the French appreciate. This means “Excuse me for bothering you.” With this phrase, the Frenchman was willing to help us, show us where it was on the map and in the process, almost missed his bus.

We continued walking. Still, my sense of direction was off. Siri and Google maps were unhelpful. The time to our destination increased; we were getting nowhere. I gave up. Rose seemed relieved.

Just then we spotted a souvenir stand. We bought some postcards. I wanted to mail them. And we had about 30 minutes to do so. The vendor said there was a post office nearby. 

“Allez tout droit ici puis prenez la deuxieme gauche.” Go straight here then take the second left.

Halfway there, I wanted to be sure. I greeted a woman walking then asked, using the magic phrase. 

“J’y vais,” she said she was going there herself. Like most Parisians, she walked fast.

Rose reminded me, “Nida, when you walk fast, I have to run. I have short legs.” 

“Quelle rue, Madame?” I asked for the street name so I would know where to turn left. Then Rose would not have to run to keep up.

‘Rue de Colliso,” she said. I thanked her.

Knowing the street name made all the difference. I knew where to turn and found the post office. Postcards were on their way to our families in the United States. Many thanks to the helpful Parisians.

~ Nida Spalding