France makes me lie

It isn’t my fault. Honestly. All my ‘bonjours’, ‘bon soirées’ and ‘grand plaisirs’ are filled with nothing but the most genuine of whatever it is that particular combination of letters is meant to intone.

But, sometimes, it’s just easier, and necessary, to lie. The other day a student teacher who is doing her teaching placement (stage) here asked me a question. She is training to be a Spanish teacher, and as such spent much of the last term hanging out with the two Spanish assistants, Juan Carlos and Lucilla.

I was cruising through the salle des profs last Friday and was intercepted by this stagiare.

Est-ce que tu sais si Lucille a retourné?

Well, in fact I had just seen Lucille at the IUFM (the teachers college across town where I work), she was leaving her class just ended, as I was mine, and was holding a train schedule. I assumed she was returning to the family she lives with in a neighbouring town and because of this explained to the stagiare that I hadn’t seen her Spanish friend, only having just returned a few days before myself. The lie seemed to make more sense than trying to explain the whole train-schedule-in-hand scene and my assumptions. (I should be writing my response as dialogue but it was very much deer in headlights French that wasn’t and wouldn’t be of much help to anyone.)

These language lies occur because I don’t know what to say, or don’t want to try (assuming I won’t know), and getting out of the conversation seems the better alternative.

The other type of lie I find myself engaging with revolves around silly French rules. In particular the salle de musculation (love that word) I use at the local fac (university) has a rule that requires a minimum of 2 people to be in the room at any time. Posted right on the door and everything.

One of the first times I went to fetch the key from the secretary (they tend to vary day-to-day) she asked if I was alone, and pretending not to understand her question I mumbled

Je suis un assistant de langue. Pierre Zoopas a parlé avec quelqu’un… (Pierre being the prof I work with). With a sigh and a look of rule-breaking-concern she told me to be very careful and gave me the key anyway. I don’t think she was that concerned.

Pourquoi? the rule, I asked.

Pour la securité, she said.

Well, we do live in dangerous times.

But that’s not much of a lie. This week, however, a new lady was at the desk looking a bit more officious and serious.

Êtes-vous seule?

Non. Il y a des autres, I said gesturing vaguely down the stairs. Key! Victory! Although I was pretty sure she was onto my ruse right from the start.

When I went in today her eyes told me all I needed to know before she even asked me if I was alone. “Les autres arriverai dans quelques minutes…”

Having none of it she spun off her chair and went to ask her supervisor. When it was established I was a language assistant and not a student, the key was handed over. I’m not sure if that means they trust me because I’m not French, pity me because I have no friends to life weights with, or don’t care if I get damaged.

So what have we learned? I’m awesome. But we always learn that. We have also learned that lies grease the wheels of life. We all lie a gajillion times a day (I think the actual number is lower than that but surprisingly high…read some science) to grease the wheels of human interaction, and I would suggest while there is nothing wrong with this, butter works just as well.