I walk onto the train to Switzerland, eager to meet my international friend. We had corresponded for years, writing from across the globe as a means of meeting a person with a far unique perspective from our own. I am a German speaker and he speaks French, but since we both understand and write English well we decided from an early point in our correspondence to write exclusively in English. As we were both studying English, we found this a useful exercise.
We quickly came to find that many expressions and cultural compound words did not translate into English at all, leading to severe confusion on both of our ends. But we were stubborn with our rule, we would only speak English. I found this hard to do, as there were a multitude of words and expressions that I was disallowed from using due to the constraints of language.
We meet and exchange greetings. The French speaker was late with no explanation given as to why1. The French speaker tells me of how he saw some Americans sitting at a café for hours after only ordering a single glass of wine2 and laughs at his amusing anecdote. I attempt to muster a laugh, but I feel uncomfortable with his mannerisms. He expresses his happiness of meeting me after a very long time3 of correspondence. I think that it will take a lot of seat meat4 to get through this encounter with my chatty French friend.
I observe him. He is only three cheeses high5 and seems like the kind of man who urinates sitting down6. He begins describing the train system as entirely formless and chaotic7. He says that this place is nothing like his home country and that he feels disillusioned by it8. I begin to realise that my new friend is a cowardly soft egg9 who would be easy to overpower if put in the wrong situation.
He continues to complain, talking of how the Conductor of the train had said something rude to him to which he responded with the most clever and cunning of insults. I know that this man who showers with lukewarm water10 would never be capable of such a thing, so I tell him that what actually happened was that he got on a staircase and left before saying anything and thought up the insult now11 to make himself look better. He seems shocked at this and accuses me of being crazy due to head trauma12. I say that he is in dire need of a slap to the face13 and he tells me that I don’t inhale fully when trying14 to speak the English language.
I take this as a dire insult and tell him that he would have been the kind of man who forgot his sports gear on gym days at school15. He does not quite understand what this means but he is offended anyway. I think that I may have been too harsh on this guy, he obviously cannot express himself adequately in English like I can. He will be stuck trying to think up things too late. As he leaves I begin to think of the perfect insult for him, but I am already halfway down the stairs16 leading to a train back to Germany.
I think it is fair to say that he would make fun of me for that.
Lachlan Reardon is a screenwriter, fictionalist, and all around decent bloke. Through screenwriting he seeks to explore the humour of human interaction. In his fictionalism he tends to look at a range of topics, none of which are ever related to each other or make too much sense. You can email him with any enquiries at lachlanjohnreardon@gmail.com.
Empêchement
Seigneur-terraces
Retrouvailles
Sitzfleisch
Dreikäsehoch
Sitzpinkler
Tohu-Bohu
Dépaysement
Weichei
Warmduscher
Treppenwitz
Frappadingue
Backpfeifengesicht
Crapoter
Turnbeutelvergesser
L’esprit D’escalier