Nikki and I were enjoying our continental breakfast this morning, courtesy of the hotel, down in reception. As I poured myself a coffee, another guest asked me to pour her one. I shrugged and smiled and poured. She asked for milk and sugar and I smiled and said “you know, I don’t work here”. She said “then why did you pour me coffee?” To which I just shrugged and smiled. We laughed.

She spoke the same amount of English as I did French. It was fun. Chalk up another memory for the archives.

This crap happens to me everywhere. Apparently it also happens in multiple languages. I have no idea why people think I work at the places they shop. It could be my natural air of authority. It could be that I just look miserable enough to be the hired help. Whatever the reason, I learned years ago to just roll with it and offer assistance to those that ask nicely, and send people that don’t across to another branch across town. Never piss off an Englishman. Or he’ll smile while he pees in your cornflakes.

Nikki finds it endearing.