Customer: “When you were talking just now to that other customer…”

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “What accent was that?”

Me: “Accent? I suppose you could call it Québécois French.”

Customer: “Funny, I couldn’t understand a word you were saying. It almost didn’t sound English.”

Me: “It’s not English, it’s French.”

Customer: “Why would you be speaking French in Canada?”

Me: “Because this is French Canada. French is spoken here. You’re currently in the French-Canadian capital.

Customer: “‘French Canadian’ is a thing?”

Me: “Very much so.”

Customer: “Oh. I thought it was like ‘French fries’, like, you know, French in the name but really American?”

Me: “No, when we say French, we mean the language.”

Customer: “I’ve never heard of a language being spoken outside the original country. Weird.”

Me: “So you’ve never heard of Mexico?”

Customer: “Of course I have! I go there every winter!”

Me: “What language do they speak there?”

Customer: “Mexican!”

I left well enough alone and simply poured him more coffee.

I live in a suburban neighbourhood where several back yards can all be easily seen, and the neighbours can easily all see each other and talk over the fences.

Neighbour: “Your tree keeps dropping leaves into my yard!”

Other Neighbour: “That’s outrageous. I’ll tell Autumn to knock it off.”

The first neighbour did not appreciate my loud snort laugh.

I live in Montreal, but my French is very basic. 

A while ago, I was chatting to a coworker about shaving. I’d recently learnt the word for shave in my language lessons, so I wanted to impress her by saying I shave my face in French. I’d forgotten the French word for face, though, so I just used the English word:

Me: “Je me raser mon face.”

She gave me a bemused look and asked what I just said.

I repeated.

Me: “Je me raser mon face!”

I then made the action of shaving my face.

It turns out that in French, there is a word fesses (pronounced similarly to the English face) which means buttocks. 

I told my coworker I shave my a**.

A guest arrives to check in to a standard, no-frills hotel chain in the downtown core of a large city, at a quarter past midnight.

Guest: “I’ve left my luggage outside for the concierge to collect.”

Yes, they have left their luggage, entirely unattended, on the sidewalk out front of the hotel.

Me: “Sir? This is a Holiday Inn… the luggage trolleys are located behind you.”

My brother and his fiancée were getting ready for their wedding and were checking out wedding photographers. They were interviewing one of the candidates.

Photographer: “…and quality photography is such a crucial part of your wedding. Because really, when your big day is over, what else do you have left of it?”

[Brother] and [Fiancée] paused and looked at each other for a moment.

Brother: “…the marriage.“

They picked a different photographer.