As I've mentioned in previous posts, an American in France occasionally comes up against what I can only call linguistic snobbery. The idea that British English is superior to the American variety, in both its written and spoken forms. Whatever. It's not the kind of thing that really bothers me unless it's directed at my kids. At which point I turn into a raving bitch. But that's just the mom in me.
I did, however, lose my calm once when it was directed at me. No, not really my calm, just my civility.
An English friend looking to move here from London asked if I could take calls from a local real estate agent. No problem, I said.
Said agent called. And spoke French with a very heavy British accent. Out of kindness or laziness or both, I suggested we speak in English. I believe my exact words were, "Why don't we stop speaking French since we share the same native language."
Mr. Agent Man replied, "Oh, you think we speak the same language?"
And then out it popped. "Well, I don't know. If I say you're an arrogant a**hole, do you need a translator?"
Given his reaction, I'd say he didn't.
(Please note: Above conversation took place before St. Anthony and I started working together.)