When I chose languages at University I assumed I'd end up at an Embassy somewhere, or working as a translator in Brussels. However, once I had graduated I found that such opportunities were few and far between. Consequently for the last few years I've been working as a tour guide in London. Although it isn't what I hoped to be doing , and one of the negative things is that as most of my clients are middle-aged Americans, so I don't get much opportunity to use my languages, but at least it pays the bills. And I'll admit I do enjoy it, the work is very varied, and every day seems to bring new surprises and challenges. Some more surprising than others.
A few weeks ago I was on a coach at Heathrow waiting to meet a flight from the U.S. I find people tend to have a misguided idea about Americans thinking them brash and arrogant, but my experience has been quite the opposite. Many of my clients are from the rural U.S. states, and are kind, courteous and polite. They seem genuinely interested in Britain, and often talk of the 'special relationship' between our two countries. For many it's their first trip outside the U.S. and they can find some of the differences in our cultures puzzling. So, I often have to be on hand to sort out any problems. In fact part of my job involves not only taking them on the prearranged excursions, but also answering their questions, and making sure they get the most out of their vacation. Which may involve me arranging special trips to other places of interest. As I said I don't mind this as in general they're good company and very appreciative of anything extra I manage to arrange for them, plus they find the idea of tipping natural. So by the end of the season I always have a jar in my kitchen full of loose dollar bills, which I use for travelling abroad.
The flight had been delayed and after spending an hour trying to hold a conversation with the middle-aged and apparently racist driver, I made my excuses and went to wait in the arrival lounge. The fight finally arrived, and I was standing by the barrier with my sign for the tour company when I saw her. She was pulling a trolley, and holding a large sun hat on her head with her other hand. I remember thinking she wasn't going to get much use out of that, well not during a British summer anyway. She was unmistakably American, in that fresh faced, wholesome way that only they can do well, tall and red haired with freckles. She was wearing jeans, which appeared to have been sprayed on, as they were so tight, and accentuated her fabulous legs. the rest of her body I could only fantasise about as it was covered in a large tribal scarf. However, my erotic fantasy was suddenly disturbed when a gaggle of 'American matrons' surrounded me.
I rounded up my party, ticking off their names on my list, and was suddenly startled when she approached and looking over my shoulder pointed with a long finger, and said.
"That's me...Chomsky... Stephanie...Miss." I was slightly flustered but ticked her off, and then counted up the numbers. We were one short.
"Hello..hello.." I tried to get their attention, "Is Mr, er..Daniel ..Watkins, here?"
"He's not coming." she said.
"No, he isn't coming, he had to cancel,...last minute," added one of the Matrons.
Eventually I'd rounded everyone up, and got their luggage and them loaded on the coach. When I boarded myself I found the front four seats filled by the 'matron', and her husband, Marjorie and Bud Chomsky on one side , and on the other their daughter Stephanie, her hat, scarf and bag. Usually I'd sit on a fold down 'jump seat' next to the driver, However I didn't fancy a couple of hours discussing his views on immigration, and the seat next to the girl looked much more inviting. I asked if I could sit next to her, she smiled and moved her things.
The next hours passed quickly as we found that we had lots in common, she'd 'majored' in French, one of my languages, and loved literature. She was training to be a teacher and was keen to experience as much of British culture as she could on her vacation. She was also fun, and when she found out that I'd taught in Paris for a year during my university course, decided to practice her French on me.
To be honest it was lovely to use my languages again. Her French was actually very good, and she had a cute accent with a slight American twang. However when I mentioned it to her, she seemed a bit put out. I reassured her, and said it was really cute. Probably like a French-Canadian I said, but added that I'd never met a French Canadian girl so couldn't judge.
"You'd like them."
"Would I?"
"Oh yes, they're all nymphomaniacs."
"Really?, remind me to book a flight tomorrow.."I laughed. She smiled and said,
"I don't think you'd need to go that far," then flashed me a cheeky smile.
I felt a bit embarrassed, so took the opportunity to take the 'welcome packs' and distribution them to the others in the party.
When I returned she looked a bit upset, and a little tearful. I tried to apologize, but she said it wasn't that, and when I pressed her further, she started talking quietly under her breath in French.
It turned out Mr Daniel Watkins, had been her fiance. They'd been teenage sweethearts, started going out at fourteen and after eight years together had planned to get married next year. They'd arranged this holiday with her parents over a year ago, and two weeks before departure, and after the last cancellation date she'd caught him in bed with an old friend of theirs. I tried to sympathize, saying it often happened, and perhaps they could make up again. She started to weep a little, and said that wouldn't happen as the friend had been a man. I'll admit I was a bit shocked, and as she was crying, gave her a hug, and started talking English in a outrageous French accent to made her laugh.
From then on we adopted the persona of French tourist whenever we were together, and used French as a way to talk in secret without anyone else understanding us.
'Steph' wanted a complete make over to try to forget Danny, and intended to have some fun away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of her friends and neighbours at home.
So, as she wanted to buy some new clothes, asked me where to go. I couldn't really help, but had a younger sister obsessed with fashion, who provided me with a list of the best up and coming designers in the hip and trendy bits of East London.
When I came back to her hotel that evening to arrange things for the following mornings trip, she was waiting in the lobby, and grabbing me by the arm, said she wanted a male opinion on the clothes she'd bought, and would I come up to her room.
Fifteen minutes later I was sitting on a chair in her room, while she did a fashion show for me. She'd go into the bathroom get changed then come out, I had to promise to keep my eyes shut until she had adopted a pose like a model in Vogue. All the time she kept talking in her fake French-Canadian accent, as she said she knew I found it sexy. I played along as I was having a really good time, she had such a fun infectious personality and she could always keep me amused.
One minute she was wearing a huge furry coat, the next a sixties style mini dress. Then, "Does my bum look big in this?"she said. And when I opened my eyes she was wearing an incredible tight pair of shorts, and bending over so her bottom was about five centimetres from my nose. I jumped in shock and she laughed.
