Parlez-vous anglais?

I find myself using this phrase really often. At the lab, most people speak English well. Off site, however, is another story. And since my French is limited to “hello,” “thank you” and the days of the week, communicating has been my biggest challenge associated with living here. After I’ve used up my signature greeting, “bonjour,” there’s not much else I can do. So if a person I’m passing on the street or stuck in an elevator with continues to talk, I just smile and nod, hoping they’re not telling me something important. Also, I fully embrace gestures when trying to ask a store clerk a question. A lot can be accomplished with a quick game of charades. I must look ridiculous, though.
I imagine I’ve come across as “the dumb American” quite a few times. For instance, during my first bus ride to the lab last week. I bought my ticket at the stop and walked up to the front of the bus as it pulled up. Expecting the driver to open the door and take my ticket, I waited. And waited. And the door stayed closed. I look inside to get the attention of the driver and find that he’s looking right back at me. I make a gesture to open the doors and then I see it -- a red button with opposite arrow symbols positioned next to the door. I look down the sidewalk to see that the other people waiting at the stop are already on board and realize that the button is to let yourself in. By this time, the driver has opened the door himself and I walk on, give him a quick smile and feel my face flush red all the way to my seat.
Another surprise came in the grocery store. I walked to a small shop down the street from my apartment and felt proud of myself for figuring out how to use the electronic scale next to the fruit. When you place the food on the machine and punch in a specialized code, out comes a price sticker to give to the cashier. But when checking out, the cashier picked the bananas I selected, pointing to the sticker and talking quickly in what I can only assume was French. I don’t know the code I entered, but it must have been for something expensive, because the price tag said 10 francs instead of the about 3 francs it was worth.
There are a lot of little differences like this. Things to get used to. Keys with rounded edges, blinds positioned on the outside of windows, elevators made to fit three people and basements with doors the width of a vault. But in the big picture, life goes on in pretty much the same way it does at home.