Truthfully, I know nothing of the French. I’ve visited Paris four times in my life, but I’ve never been further from that city’s center than Disneland Parc, which is only about 45 minutes outside of the city by train. (Plus, Disneyland Parc basically feels like I’m back inside the United States.) But, there was at least one French dude on this past visit that had me boiling and feeling in tune with mulleted, Skoal-dipping Americans who ‘hate the French’ but have likely never visited France, met a French person or even left the country (or may be county) in their life.
My wife and I recently celebrated our first anniversary on a European vacation. We started in Paris, the city of lights and love. Paris is – even after the awful experience I’m about to unfold for you – one of my favorite cities on the planet. Joining them in that league, by the way, are Barcelona (new to the list), DC, Indy and New York – not in any particular order. I’m fortunate in that I’ve learned enough words in French that I’m able to begin conversations in French that end in English out of a kindness shown to me from my dialoguing partner. I think that helps and has kept me from having the cliché experience of dealing with the snobby, French jerk caricatured by so many Americans. Not so the case on Saturday morning, though.
It began when Delta changed our Friday afternoon flight into Europe on Wednesday. Katie and I were flying on awards tickets. We were scheduled to connect in Montreal where we would switch to an Air France flight to Paris. Scheduled landing was 5:55am. Yuck! I never wanted to land that early, but it was an awards ticket during the height of travel season. I had few options with the miles we had. However, as mentioned earlier, our flight was changed to land approximately 7:35am instead of 5:55am. I learned of the flight change from Delta while at Disney World on a vacation immediately proceeding this one. Actually, I was in the airport when I got the E-mail. So, I went to a Delta customer care desk and asked if I could possibly change my flight since a change had been made to our flight. I let the not-so-happy woman behind the counter know that with the flight change it was unlikely my wife and I were going to make our reservations for the lift at the Eiffel Tower. Since it was unlikely I was curious if she could route me from IND instead of flying out of Cincy (which was the only city where we could originate to Europe with the miles I had accumulated). She obliged and we landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport a little before 8:00am – definitely missing our reservations for the lift at the Eiffel Tower.
When my wife and I finally did make it to the Eiffel Tower, we tried using our pre-paid tickets to get to the top. A woman told us in fairly well put together English, “It is too late.” I kindly informed her of the flight change and that I had no power over the occurrence of the day. She turned to someone else, a dude, who went into full snobby, French douche-mode. His hands went up and he said, “There’s nothing we can do. You missed it.” I shared, what I thought was a smart argument, that the Eiffel Tower had my money, and me, just at a different time than expected. Were they to really keep my money right there in front of me?
Le Douche. They would.
That dude was the prototypical French dick. The kind of guy we Americans stereotype as ‘French’ incorrectly. But his attitude lived up to every bit of the characterization. I instantly hated all people and things French.
We tried at the Eiffel Tower office to explain our claim, but a woman basically explained that there was nothing they could do. I could maybe write for a refund, but no promises. I did write for the refund and a prompt, froggy reply came the next day telling me that refunds would not be permitted.
My wife and I had just spent four days in Disney World, were home for about 12 hours, and then left for ten days in Europe. We were exhausted. There was no way we were waiting in a several-hours-long line to pay to go to the top after we had already paid to go to the top.
I get it, I honestly do. If everyone missed their reserved time and tried to use the lift whenever they desired, it would defeat the purpose of paying to skip the line. That said, the message could be delivered in a nicer manner. Something I’m confident that jerk at the reservations line will never learn.
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