Awright, cheese eating surrender monkeys

Snotty. Entitled. Can’t-be-bothered. Overbearing.

Failing business. Refusing to modernize.

Librairie de France, you have managed to distill every unpleasant stereotype of the French (other than odoriferousness, but then I chose to visit today because it’s unseasonably cool) into a single 20-minute shopping experience. And I didn’t even have to leave New York! Now, of course, I wonder if I even want to…

I only wanted two things: a guidebook to Paris, and a language-instruction book called “Insider’s French: Beyond the Dictionary,” which tries to update people like me on how French has changed in the last 15 years.

I try to look at guidebooks, located by the entrance. Cheese Eating Surrender Monkey (henceforth, CESM) #1, could you please try to be even more creepy and annoying? Or make it more obvious that you think I’m about to make a break for the door with all $16.95 worth of Guide Vert? Maybe you could rest your pointy, not-well-shaven chin on my deltoid. After all, you’re hovering right above my head, as I’m bent over looking at the guides. D’you think your shitty assumptions might be making more people leave your store than actually buy books? No, this isn’t worth it. Maybe downstairs I can find something.

I’m one of possibly two customers in the entire basement, this in Rockefeller Center during lunch. There are, however, at least five staff people milling about. After searching fruitlessly, I find CESM #2, stocking shelves.

Me: Hi, could you please help me find a title? I’m looking for “Insider’s French-“
CESM (brusquely): We don’t carry English books.
Me: But this is a book for learning French (turns to face entire wall of books written in English for learning French*), I mean -
CESM (sighing): We don’t carry English books. Try Barnes & Noble.

*Many of which were the same books I used in high school 15 years ago. Maybe CESM2 had forgotten they were there. In any case, it wasn’t exactly reassuring.

No offer to help. No offer to place an order. No offer to find out if anyone knows if the book is any good or not. No offer to sell me something else instead.

In short, no effort in the slightest to provide me with a single reason ever to return.

Oh, wait, that would require acknowledging that you have competition, or that the competition might do it better - neither of which is exactly a national characteristic in CESM-land. No, instead you’ll keep doing this as always, until finally you go under, after which you can rail against the cruelty of Anglo-Saxon capitalism, demand an EU subsidy, scream about cultural imperialism, then claim your pension and drink yourself to oblivion.

Actually, maybe I’ll give you one more chance.

Next time I’ll tell you I’m German.

Those aren’t real Frenchmen!

They’re New York City Eurotrash.

Totally different animal.

How can you tell?

They’ve the same French accent as the guy from Hogan’s Heroes.

I feel your pain.

But if I had been treated poorly at the local Spanish-language bookstore, I think I would be ill-advised to come in here and start ranting about “wetback s@#!s”.

Thank you for introducing yourself. :rolleyes:

Speaking of abusing the rolleyes…

BTW, did you notice that I’m the customer? (or at least, that I wanted to be the customer?)

And that I asked nicely for assistance?

But snippy political correctness just feels so much better. Sigh. Fine, you’re wonderfully evolved. Now go away.

(Matt’s at least slightly entitled to offense. But Quebecois have a genuine history of discrimination; the French do not. It’s an important distinction.)

For an interesting contrast - not 100 feet away from LDF is the New York branch of Kinokuniya, Japan’s leading bookstore. It’s something of an old friend when I’m feeling natsukashii (homesick). Abuzz with customers, the feeling is completely different - perhaps because they know something about customer service?

And the French certainly like their cheese!

If it’s any consolation to you, I’ve been told that the French don’t hate Americans–they hate everyone. And, from what I’ve gathered, it’s mutual.

I have a friend who’ll be working at the US Embassy in Paris for 2 years. He’s Mexican-American, which ought to weird them out a little (and his French teacher says he speaks French with a thick Spanish accent–funny, as his English is completely unaccented). He’s also having two shirts printed up in French that basically poke at their anti-American sentiments…heh heh. We do intend on visiting him there, of course.

Well, Tom Lehrer would differ:

Hey their French. What do you expect. The French were only put here so street people would have someone to hate.

Going someplace with your luggages filled with negative expectations is the surest way to experience the vacations from hell…

Same with planning to have confrontationnal atitude with the locals…

anybody else want to nuke france? save the germans some time, the next time they start to roll?

Kiss my ass, you obnoxious little shit. I’ve had to listen to halfdicks like you my entire fucking life who think these ‘cheese-eater’ comments are the wittiest thing they’ve ever heard.

Go fuck yourself.

Eh, someone’s always going to take offence at everything. I figure that if anyone brought hatred upon themselves it’s the French. Or at least the Parisians.

Ok, Silentgoldfish, I’d be very interested in hearing exactly how I’ve brought it upon myself.

and he/she wonders why people don’t like him/her…

what is this world coming to?

!

“surrender monkeys” – snapping Z – Don’t go there, honey. Funny, though overly insulting. In fairness, the blitzkreig was a new thing. It took the Soviets until 1943 to really figure the thing out.

Being a U.S. citizen, I hope everyone develops a little thicker skin about stuff like this. We have had to.

[sub]I’ve got a used flame suit, half price.[/sub]

You’re right Happyheathen, life would be so much easier if I just let people talk shit about me and my family without putting up a fight. That would be the Christian thing to do, wouldn’t it? :wink:

Guys, you are aware that “cheese eating surrender monkeys” is a Simpsons quote, right? It was spoken by Groundskeeper Willy, a Scot who’s not too fond of the French. But I repeat myself.