Letters from Paris - #2 November 15th, 2004

Written by Carolyn Heinze

Bastille, 4 th arrondissement, Paris, FRANCE

"Sans les culottes? Oh là là!"

In the spirit of giving back, I have taught my French acquaintances - who have demonstrated the utmost patience and charm when teaching me to understand French phrases, expressions, colloquialisms, and plain old swear words ("les gros mots," en français) - the slang term for the popular beverage gin and tonic.

"J'ai bu trop de gin/tonic," a pretty brunette with bedroom eyes shouted over the insistent salsa beat that provided the auditory backdrop for a merry soirée in Paris 's ninth arrondissement. She was referring to her excessive intake of alcohol.

"En anglais, on dit que le gin/tonic est 'panty remover,'" I offered in my drunken French, searching for every word and hoping she understood that I was trying to share an important part of North American bar culture with her. Apparently, however, gin and tonic doesn't just provide one with the desire to remove all undergarments; it also robs one of their (already limited) foreign vocabulary.

The dancing girl giggled, gulped down the rest of her drink and headed to the kitchen for a refill.

The "panty remover" comment has a slightly different effect on French men. Upon hearing it, they generally don't hasten to refill their own drinks; instead, they efficiently top up those belonging to their female company.

What these men neglect to consider - presumably a result of the French obsession with nice lingerie - is that not all women wear panties to begin with.

Panties do, however, come in handy in certain situations. Like when one has forgotten to zip one's fly.

Such was the case for a certain Canadian writer who recently set out about Paris in search of a printer cartridge (that's "une cartouche" in these parts). She decided to try FNAC, a department store specializing in the sale of photo equipment, CDs, DVDs, computers, computer accessories, and pretty much any gadget and gizmo that techno-geeks and early adopters find necessary to fulfill their desire to constantly push buttons. In Paris, not every FNAC outlet carries absolutely everything: some are dedicated to photo finishing, while others stock only music.

Said writer opted to check in at FNAC Musique, which is located just thirty seconds away from her flat in Place de la Bastille. Perhaps someone there could tell her which FNAC store sold printer cartridges. She fell into step with the stream of people that was flowing into the store entrance, and headed to the information desk.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur. Est-ce que vous savez à quelle location je peux acheter une cartouche pour mon imprimeur?" she inquired, proud of herself for getting through a phrase without stumbling nervously. She held open her plan de Paris - a detailed map of the city carried by tourists and locals alike. She motioned for him to show her where to find the desired outlet on the map.

He spoke very quickly; the only word said writer understood was "ouvert." Open? Was he telling her the store hours?

"Comment?" she asked, a little confused. "Je ne comprends pas."

He repeated what he said, only this time the writer heard him say, "vos pantalons." My pants? she thought. He likes my pants? Well, they are pretty funky, if I do say so myself.

"Oh, merci. Merci beaucoup!" she smiled. "Mais, est-ce que vous pouvez me dire où je peux acheter les cartouches?" She was in a bit of a hurry; she had a lunch date in an hour.

"Non, non!" he exclaimed, pointing nervously at said writer's self-described funky pants. "Vos pantalons sont ouverts!!"

Her mind slowly processed the direct translation. "Vos pantalons sont ouverts!" means "Your pants are open!" "Your fly is down!" "You look like an idiot!" Thanks to a recent lesson on French swear words, said writer thought what any born-and-bred French girl probably would have thought, "Oh, merde."

But instead of laughing at the now profusely blushing Canadian writer in a funky pair of undone pants, or even laughing with the now profusely blushing Canadian writer in a funky pair of undone pants, the FNAC information clerk seized upon an opportunity. "Est-ce que vous avez un numéro de telephone?" (Do you have a phone number?)

You've got to hand it to French men. They are an enterprising bunch. This man would probably have no trouble figuring out what to do with panty remover.

Carolyn Heinze is a freelance writer/editor currently working from Paris. Visit her Web site at http://www.carolynheinze.com