All France, All the Time

It's kind of amazing how this France obsession follows me everywhere I go. If this was you and your family, take it as the musings of a crabby old lady, but really. I had an up-close-and-personal experience with why the French hate Americans in restaurants.

We were in Pizza Hut in Goshen, Indiana. I can just hear you saying already, "Well, what did you expect when you went to Pizza Hut?" And I answer, I expected what was there when we first walked in, a lovely Mennonite family eating and talking quietly in the corner, two televisions in the corners with very low volume, and some background music. It was not romantic, but it was bearable. We were making our decision about where to best spend our fat calories when the atmosphere changed.

It all began with the entrance of a FAMILY. I put that in capital letters because it seemed as if it was very important to them that everyone know THEY HAD ARRIVED. It appeared to be a mother, father, four children, and a grandchild. And can I just mention that the youngest child had a hair tail! When was the last time rat tails were in vogue? 1985? I don't think this little kid was mimicking the manga characters, either.

To make a long and unimportant story short, they shouted at each other throughout the meal, various members of the family crossed the restaurant to go to the toilets while loudly discussing their toileting needs, and in general ruined the atmosphere of the restaurant.

If this is what some Americans do in France, then I can understand why they hate us. So often the behavior of one person or group of people spoils it for the rest of us. To paraphrase the immortal Jackson Five, "One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch, France. Oooh, give it one more try before you give up on Americans."

By the way, although I think International Delurking Week is over, please comment and let me know you are reading. I'm interested to know who's out there in cyberland.