On Parle Francais

Last week when Bernard and I were headed downtown on the Second Avenue bus, five French-speaking people got on -- a man who appeared to be in his seventies, with four women of various ages, from about 60 to 30.
The man got a seat in front of us, while the women sat on both sides of the aisle nearer to the driver. As a subtle way of letting them know that help in their language was close at hand, if they wanted to ask for it, I began to speak French to Bernard. (If they didn't want to ask for it, I wouldn't have interrupted their conversation.) It worked. By 6th Street, the man turned around and asked me how to get to "Hooston" Street. In a sort of Franglais, I told him the bus would turn left, and "en face et a gauche," was "votre arret." He said, "If you speak French, why didn't you speak French to me?" "I did -- I said '...a gauche.'" He asked if it was far. "Moins et moins." When their stop came into view virtually immediately, I pointed and said, "Voila votre arret." All said "Merci" as they went toward the door. I wished them "Bonne journee," and the man shook my hand. How I wished I had been able to talk to them sooner! Wouldn't you have wondered about such a menage?
I don't always have with me someone to whom I can speak French (or anything else) when there's the possibility of helpfulness combined with language practice nearby; a sandwich board saying "Ici on parle Francais" isn't an option! The next best thing: the $1 buttons you can get at the reception desk at French Institute: Alliance Francaise (fi:af), so I bought two that I put on the handles of my bag: "Ca va?" and . . .
. . . "Tout va bien." Oui -- tout va bien.