Failure to communicate, part 2

The sister of the owner of the boutique down the street from my house points to the battery-powered light on the top shelf.

“Not that,” says my postmate Dave, who is trying to buy candles for the first time without knowing the French word for “candle.”

“Below,” he instructs.

She moves her hand to the light to the left of the one at which she was just pointing.

That’s not what he wants either. He motions to the candles which are on the shelf below. She moves her hand to the left again.

Getting colder.

“The light that you don’t need batteries for,” Dave says. Her hand moves two shelves lower, skipping over the candles, to the batteries.

“The things that cost 300 francs,” he says.

“No, batteries cost 150 francs,” she says.

I’m standing behind him not being of much help (I’ve also forgotten the word for “battery” in French) and trying to contain my laughter. The double whammy of my accent and communication in a second language for both me and whomever is trying to sell me something means that I’ve been in this situation several times before. Even when I do know the word in French, the first time trying to buy something is always a wild game of charades. Once, trying to buy oil, I almost walked out empty handed until I ended up spelling the word out loud. 

One of the things that I’m going to be most surprised by when I’m back home is the ability to communicate with everyone with whom I want to communicate, probably on the first try.

Dave finally got his candles.

It took the interference of one of the other people who works in the shop and another customer, who was waiting for this ordeal to be resolved in order to buy milk powder. (Which he was able to communicate in one try in my local language). 

Dave repeated the word for candle back to the woman four times before we left.