Leave French to the French
L.A. coffee queue dude, you’re only bringing shame upon toi-même.
There’s this guy, an assistant professor of sociology at UCLA. Jeffrey Guhin is his name, and he just published Agents of God: Boundaries & Authority in Muslim & Christian Schools. I don’t know him, and I’m probably going to take a pass on his book. (It sounds compelling, but you should see my nightstand. The Tower of Amazon, I call it.) Nonetheless, I have recently read me some Jeffrey Guhin, and the man touched a nerve:
Hahahaha! Sir, I feel your pain. It’s always annoying AF to witness public pretentiousness. For many years I smoked a pipe, but never, ever in the view of strangers, because, come on, nothing says “dickwad” quite like a pipe — unless it is krwaaSOWN in a Starbucks. Nobody wants to hear that. When it comes to Frenching off, it’s like some Fourth Dimension of ostentation, triggering not just irritation and scorn but the impulse toward (minor) physical violence. Or major, depending.
I am, myself, not a violent person. I would not punch a Nazi. But