My French Mistake

Today marks the fourth day I've been in Portland, Oregon visiting my sister. She's taken me over into town to do a little food shopping and show me some cool shops, but until today I didn't have a chance to do any real exploring.

Erin and Drew both had to work today so I decided to walk into town and check out this giant thrift shop called House of Vintage. It is literally a warehouse full of old clothing, furniture, art, cameras, records, jewelry -- you name it. I got lost in there for probably an hour.

I didn't know how to use the French press in my sister's house so I figured I would go find a coffee shop to dwell in for awhile to pass time, and get some caffeine in my system while I was at it. When we were in town the other day, Erin pointed out Hawthorne Café and said it looked like a good place for me to go.

So I did.

But I walked in only to realize it was kind of a fancy sit-down restaurant and there was a bunch of old people sitting together having lunch. I started to get embarrassed because I just wanted a coffee and bagel to go, but the host was a French guy and I didn't understand what he said, but next thing I knew I was being lead to a table, for one, next to the window.

I was slightly mortified because I looked like an idiot sitting all alone and I probably had the biggest TOURIST tattoo stamped on my forehead. I looked around nervously trying to figure out how I was going to escape but the French guy was back with a cup of iceless water and saying, "To drink, Mademoiselle?" Did he just call me Mademoiselle?

"I'd love a cup of coffee with cream, please." Well, I was trapped. I had to sit in this fancy restaurant with white table cloths and iceless water all by myself.

I was starving though so I figured I'd take advantage of my time while I was there. I ordered the crêpe special which came with cream cheese and fruit filling, a side of a half an eggs benedict, as well as a fruit cup. Don't judge me, I was hungry.

I sipped my coffee and watched the old people in the restaurant, and I overheard the French guy say goodbye to them. I figured it was some people that he knew because he said, "I love you! Thank you so much for coming!"

When he set the food down in front of me, he reached to refill my coffee cup, and as I went to protest, it was already too late so I thanked him instead. I couldn't even finish saying, "Thank you," before he said, "I love you, you're welcome!" I blushed, and laughed because I usually laugh when I'm nervous. Then I dug into the delicious and beautiful meal that was set in front of me.

At first I thought the French guy was insane, but then I started to feel very at ease and happy to be sitting in this café. It was romantic, in a way. I was sitting next to the windows which over looked this beautiful garden, and the rush of the street below me. I felt calm in a crowded area, which usually makes me feel overwhelmed. I ate my French crêpe, laughed at my French host when he said, "I love you," again as he poured me a third cup of coffee that I didn't want, and soaked in the romanticism of the whole situation.

The meal was incredible, and exactly what I wanted. I sat there, sweating because the coffee was so hot and I was trying to finish it quickly so I could be on my way. The French guy came back over to my table and I figured he would be giving me my check but instead it was more coffee.

"Some more for the road, I love you." Again, I giggled and blushed, and considered if he was insane one last time, but he turned and said, "You're going to go home and tell your family how this guy at the restaurant kept telling you he loved you. But it's a nice thing to hear, isn't it?" I smiled, and thought about it for a moment. It was a nice thing to hear. "I think it's wonderful," I answered back to him, and sipped my fourth cup of coffee which was shaking in my now over-caffeinated hand.

He brought me my check a couple minutes later. "It's been a pleasure, Mademoiselle, I love you and have a lovely day."

What was at first a mistake turned into a magical experience. I left that café with a smile on my face, and if I have the chance, I'll probably go back again while I'm here in Oregon. I continually find myself underestimating the power of words, but certain times occur which make me stop, think, and realize that words are incredible. This was one of those times. Words have such effects on people, and we have to be careful how we use them.

But, there is never a time when you shouldn't express your love for someone, even a stranger.

I can't remember if it was my mom or my dad that always told me humiliation is good for the soul. I always thought that was stupid, because I hate being embarrassed. Today I had the all too familiar feeling of embarrassment when I first walked into the Hawthorne Café, but it turned out much better than I had initially thought.

It's good to feel a little embarrassed, and to accidentally step outside your comfort zone.

It's even better to be told you're loved.

But it's the best to tell someone you love them.

To whoever is reading this, and especially to the French guy, I love you.