Pardon My French - I Need Some Gasoline

My friends who’ve seen me do stand up comedy generally ask a couple of questions.  The first one is always, “ Where did you come up with that?”  And it’s  followed by, “Why do you act that way?  I’ve given this a lot of thought over the years.   Although the comedic genes run in both sides of the family, I think my father should get much of the credit. In the words of Hank Williams Jr., “It’s a family tradition.”

I think you’ll understand when you hear this story. 

 My uncle worked in Spain for many years.  So we always looked forward to his box of Christmas gifts.  They were always so ... European.  One particular year my Dad received a beret my uncle bought on a trip to Paris.  A tam with a little knit ball on top. For whatever reason, it was perfect for him. He wore it everywhere - the golf course, around the house, even when he went to work.  When he put on the beret and got in his VW bug, he looked like he belonged on the Champs Elysees. 

It was good that he drove a VW since he commuted at least 40 miles a day from home to the steel mill where he worked.  In that bug, he barely used a tank of gas a week. So he was well prepared for the oil crisis of 1973.  Those of us who are old enough remember it well: spiraling gas prices and long lines everywhere.  There was even talk of rationing. 

This was a potentially a bad situation for my father.  He didn’t like waiting for anything.  To say Dad was impatient was like saying Atlanta has bad rush hour traffic.   My Mom told me he developed a disdain for waiting while he was in the army.  And it carried over for the rest of his life. She told me that once when he got  held up by a train on the way to work, he was so mad that he got out of the car and threw rocks at the box cars.  Wait was certainly a four letter word for my father.   So, I knew he would not tolerate gas lines well.  

Soon after, I found out how right I was.  Dad was coming home from work one Friday, taking backroads and short cuts as was his custom,  in order to save time.   Apparently he had put off buying fuel until his gauge hovered just above the “E”.   So, it was time to make the dreaded stop for gasoline.   That’s when he saw it - his favorite service station had at least 10 cars in line on both pumps. This could be a 45 minute wait for normal people - but my father was not normal.  He cut into the very front of the line, his VW bug facing all the other cars because the gas tank was in front. Wearing his beret, he got out of the car and nonchalantly began fueling.  

This understandably brought the ire of the car at the front of the line.  A large woman emerged from her gas guzzler and shouted, ”Hey! You can’t do that!”

Dad didn’t hesitate. Using some of the basic French he learned in World War Two, he immediately responded. 

“Comment allez-vous?”

The woman was stunned. 

“Whaaaat?”  Her eyes widened. Obviously, a man in a European beret, driving a Volkswagen, and speaking in French was  not something you saw in Tarrant City, Alabama every day. 

Dad continued to play it straight.  Looking at her he said,

“L’essence s’il vous plait.”

She leaned in her car window, saying to the other lady in the front seat, “Lawd, Lawd!  That man’s a far’ner!”  In her mind, this was  a poor soul in a foreign land who had no concept of waiting in line.  She was half right. 

By this time, my father had walked in, paid for the fuel, and returned to his car. With a tip of his beret to the two women, the Frenchman put his VW  in gear and drove off. 

The minute he hit the front door,  he gathered us all in the kitchen to tell us this story, relishing ever detail.  And when we heard it,  all  we could say to him is,”Where did you come up with that?”  “Why did you act that way?”

Long after his passing, this remains a holiday classic for our family.  It’s told and retold every year.  And there’s not even any embellishment - some stories are perfect just as they are.   All we have to say is “comment allez vous”, and everyone bursts out laughing.   

After all, it’s a family tradition. 

Like and share s’il vous plait.

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