Standard English, the Return to Neuchâtel, and French Numbers via Porn

We spent Sunday night in a terrible hostel.  It wasn't dirty or cluttered.  But it was unbelievably incompetent.  The staff didn't know what was going on.  They had to refund a bunch of our money for internet that didn't work, but was charged for at an exorbitant rate.  The bed I slept in was missing several cross bars at the end and had no box spring, so I slept at a nice 35 degree angle.   It was one of those industrial, commercial hostels you find now-a-days in Europe that you don't ever in the U.S.  You would think with 5 floors and a hotel feel that they would be a bit more capable.  I guess not.

The good part was that we sat up late talking and flirting with a cute Korean girl who shared our room.  Her English wasn't particularly good, though better than we had expected, and it was a good chance to demonstrate to Jason the virtues of speaking a Standard English.

There is no better way to learn a language than having a scantily clad woman dancing behind the translation

Standard English, as I describe it, is using the simplest possible sentence structure to complete a thought in such a way that poor-English speakers can understand and reply.  However, to Americans, simple often means using what they think is the base-phrases (including, gasp, phrasal verbs and slang). Actually, more often than not, it means using the latin-based word instead of anything that sounds Germanic or American.  In other words, don't say "There was a mix up."  Instead, say, "There was a confusion."  Confusion is a latin-based word that most people learn at some point (or can divine based on the latin roots of their own language-- particularly in Europe).  Using any American slang, or even any word that requires an overuse of the American accent, will draw a blank stare, as Jason found out.

Now, is this realistic? No. It's a terrible way to learn to understand Americans.  However, in a hostel, when you won't be seeing this person ever again, and need to get a point across, it is the difference between victory and failure.  And this was a great example.  The simpler the English we used, the more she understood.  And we didn't fall into that terrible American trap of repeating the exact same words slower and louder.  That never works.

But I digress.

I would've love to travel with this Korean girl.  She had left Korea for Europe for her entire summer, by herself.  That's courage there.

Plus, she was really cute.

***

We trudged to the Geneva train station the next morning and caught the next one for Neuchatel.  It's only about an hour and a half to Neuchatel, but we made sure to sleep through as much as possible, while still be able to be woken by the bright cheerful French voice on the train:

Prochain arret... Neuchâtel.

Followed by the harsher Nästa halt... Neuenberg

Luckily, I did wake up, or we would've found ourselves in Zurich and quite late for work.  We arrived at around 11:30 and found our way just across the street to our then residence at Hotel Alpes et Lac... which was decidedly convenient.

I took a small nap and then found Jason and we headed on to work.

***

This week, we are working with Lydie and Ludivin, who we did not meet until the moment we got there (as Lydie had been on vacation and Ludivin had worked in the morning).  They turned out to be an absolute riot, giggling and laughing to themselves in French all the time, and... ultimately, translating to us via rosy cheeks and aftershock giggles.  Suffice to say, I don't know that I've ever had as much fun at a job, ever.

It was Ludivin and Lydie who gave Jason his most outlandish, and spectacular nickname.  After Jason made a particularly blundersome move with a piece of machinery, nearly breaking it,  Lydie commented that

"Jason, ... you are a ... hmmm... destructeur."  Or I imagine she meant destructuer.  But what we heard was Destructor, which is much less French and much more dramatic.  And the name stuck.  Jag the Destructor.  Man, I'm jealous.

***

You may laugh, but I swear this worked:  Late at night, on our televisions at the Hotel, was a porn channel.  But not really porn, just suggestive of pay-per-view porn.  There was basically a million little advertisements suggesting that if you call or dial a certain number, all your fantasies will be revealed.  However, because they don't want to give anything away, the ads are rather well censored.  The rub (no pun intended) is that they repeat these numbers over... and over... and over, with the number written on the screen.

Call me a liar, but I swear I learned the French numbering system so fast because of this channel.  I could never watch it for more than fifteen minutes due to a strange paradox of mixed frustration and boredom (and heavens knows I was never going to order one, and then have to send that receipt to Baxter).  But please tell me that having the French numbers repeated to you while a scantly clad girl dances in the background is not the best way to learn any languages numbering system.

Later in the week, I was asked how I knew the French numbers so well.  I just smiled.