Faking it French: the pharmacy

On my walk to the pharmacy, my good ear listened to this man playing from his balcony while the woman danced.

The minute I woke up, I knew I was in for trouble.

I scratched my ear. Nothing. I yawned forcibly. Nothing. I scratched my ear even harder. Nope. I couldn’t hear a thing. My ear was useless to me, totally stopped up. Which meant I’d have to take a trip to a French pharmacy.

Generally speaking, when it comes to all things France, I do pretty well. My accent is good enough to fool most people into thinking I’m French…which leads to awkward situations.

Taking a cab last week, I chatted with the driver, who was ridiculously upset to learn that I didn’t know what terminal I was going to. “I’d guess Terminal 2, because that’s where most of my flights leave from,” I ventured. I didn’t really care. I’d get to the airport and figure things out; the plane wouldn’t leave for another three hours. “But! What! Look at your ticket!” I don’t have a ticket, it’s an e-ticket. “Look at your confirmation!” That’s on the computer. …After all this, he asked where I was going. (To the U.S.)

“Oh, so you speak Roast Beef?” Yes, I do. “Well, it’s a must,” he said, “because no American ever bothers to learn French, no no! You must speak English to travel over there!”

And so the debate kicks off in my head. I’m flattered and proud that this guy thinks I’m French. So I could either a) let the lie continue and pretend to be French, or b) be a diplomat, tell him I’m American, thereby breaking every stereotype he’s ever had about the United States, give him new insight that would trickle down through his social network, defusing general hatred toward Americans, and finally thwart plans for what would become WWIII.

Faced with this kind of choice, I almost always keep the lie alive. I am French! (“Shame!” says Nicolas, when I asked him what to do.) ...The point of all this is to let you know that my French is pretty good.

Except when I'm confronted with brand new situations, like leaky plumbing, needing to get stitches removed, and, well, anything sickly.

As I brushed my teeth and prepared for departure, I debated how to go about my pharmacy visit. French pharmacies are not like CVS – you can’t just waltz in and browse the gamut of home healing products in peace. (Unless, of course, you’re looking for miracle cellulite cream, sunscreen or tampons.)

If you have a problem, even a common cold, you must describe your symptoms to the pharmacist, who will then disappear to the cabinets and come back with ten products, two of which you actually need. (No, I am really sure I do not want nose spray, thank you.)

My problem today was mostly likely a build-up of ear wax. I knew how to say wax, no problem. ...But wait, was that just candle wax? I certainly didn’t want her to think that I’d gotten candle wax in my ear. So I would just say, my ear is stopped up. But... stopped up? I knew how to say that my nose was stopped up, but maybe the same vocabulary didn’t apply to ears.

My ear is blocked. Ahem. I can’t hear. ...I can’t hear because my ear is blocked. So I need a little…?

That’s my secret language skill at work. When vocabulary goes missing, just describe the situation, and then trail off. The interlocutor always fills in the blank with the necessary vocabulary. Here, it’s ear drops.

(As I’m writing this, it occurs to me that perhaps I would save myself time and fretting if I just bought a dictionary.)

I arrived at the pharmacy, walked up to the counter, and confidently said, “Hello. When I woke up this morning, I couldn’t hear. My ear is blocked. So I’m looking for a little…?”

She just blinked at me and waited. Crap!

“My ear is blocked so I need a little…something to unblock!”

She nodded and came back with a product called ODI Soft. It sounded like deodorant, but she told me that it was made from marine products, and would dissolve human wax.

Missing vocabulary: cérumen. Sounds like "human wax." How beautiful.

Once back home, I read the box and was immediately frightened. ODI Soft. Solution for auricular pulverization.

I would like to direct your attention at this time to the word PULVERIZATION.

Put the bottle’s arm in a horizontal position and introduce it gently into the ear, holding the aerosol straight. Press down for 1 or 2 seconds. That’s right. I was supposed to gently introduce that thing into my ear, and then blast it with an aerosol spray.

All sorts of cautions from every doctor I’ve ever visited started ringing in my one good ear. Don’t ever use q-tips! Don’t stick your fingers in your ear! Get the water out after you swim! Nothing goes in the ear smaller than an elbow! (That was actually my 6th grade science teacher.)

Though none of this advice applies directly to aerosol sprays, I couldn’t possibly imagine that a full, two-second blast could be good for the ear.

But I couldn’t hear anything.

I finally rationalized that the French must use this thing, and that it would have been discontinued if they all sprayed away their eardrums. So I pulled my hair back, stuck the horizontal arm in my ear, and sprayed, just a little.

Nothing happened. I still couldn’t hear, but it didn’t hurt or anything. So I put the thing back up to my ear and blasted away.

The power of the aerosol was great. It exploded all over my ear, my head, the bathroom mirror and sink. And my ear was full of foamy stuff. So while hanging my head sideways, I mopped up the mess and hoped that the marine products would be good for my skin, too.

Two minutes later I could hear again. So I’m stashing away the rest of ODI Soft and hope they won’t confiscate it at customs.

--
Fifi and Mme Baustinette update:
While I wrote this today, Mme Baustinette watched, at extreme volume only tolerated by the nearly deaf, what seemed like a hilarious comedy show that revolved around a man who stuttered. A lot. She later left for 20 minutes without Fifi, who cried and cried and whined and cried for the duration. Upon returning, she cried for having left her dog. "Did you miss maman? Did you miss your maman? You maman missed you. Your maman will never leave you again, Fifififififi."

On a sad note, I think it was the earplugs that caused the wax build-up.