I’m a 28-year-old woman living in a 50-floor high-rise in downtown Vancouver.
After a lovely sunset run, I was heading back into my building when I held the door for a family entering with me. They were speaking French, but I thanked them in English since that’s the main language here in British Columbia. We all made our way to the elevators and ended up in the same one.
The family consisted of a couple and their three young boys, probably around 8 to 10 years old. Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. They were chatting away in French, which happens to be my mother tongue. Naturally, I understood every word.
As we rode the elevator—going up more than 30 floors, so it wasn’t exactly a quick ride—the dad turned to his kids and asked:
- “Alors, elle est belle ou pas belle?” / “So, is she pretty or not pretty?”
I froze. Could he possibly be talking about me?
One of the kids quickly answered:
- “Pas belle.” / “Not pretty.”
I felt my stomach drop as the realization hit. They were openly judging me right in front of me, assuming I wouldn’t understand a word. My initial reaction was to freeze—it was such a surreal moment.
With only a few floors left until I could escape the awkwardness, I had a choice: let it go (no way) or take this once-in-a-lifetime chance for linguistic revenge. I’m not usually confrontational, but I couldn’t just stand there and let their rude behavior slide.
As I reached my floor and stepped out of the elevator, I turned back to face them, keeping my cool. In the sassiest French accent I could muster, I said:
- “Bonne soirée.” / “Have a good evening.”
Their faces? Absolutely priceless. It was as if their brains short-circuited from the realization. I wish I’d locked eyes with the dad until the elevator doors shut, but I was too focused on making my grand exit.
I’ve dealt with rude comments before, but this moment was a dream scenario. The kind of moment where knowing another language becomes a superpower. If you ever need motivation to learn multiple languages, let this be it—surprising someone who underestimated you is chef’s kiss.
The mom stayed silent the entire time, almost like she wasn’t really there. It made me wonder if she’s used to this kind of behavior from him too.
Since there are Airbnbs in my building, I’m guessing they were tourists. I haven’t seen them again, sadly—no chance for a second round of revenge. But the memory of their stunned faces? Worth it.
