How many times is it possible to look like a complete moron in a single day? I haven’t kept close count, but I can say it’s more than one might have hoped.

For many years I’ve lived on my own and not only have I supported and taken care of myself just fine but I’ve also undertaken more ambitious projects than most people dream of, and been successful or anyways gotten quite far without any help whatsoever. (It’s true, there is usually a great calamity at the end of these various undertakings but that is just further testament to how far out on a limb I have been able to get myself under my own initiative.)

Thus, as I have reached the mid-point of life I have acquired an image of myself as competent, confident and capable.

That view has now been called into serious question.

Moving to a foreign country is like becoming a two year old with ALS. I know how to walk and I usually don’t need diapers, but I can’t really speak and everything else no matter how elementary I have to learn all over again. Usually by failing miserably multiple times in a row. In public.

In my prior capacity as an accomplished American I could restore rusted cars, fly off mountaintops, rotate levitated 3D objects in my mind and attract the attention of females everywhere. But can I do so much as open a door in France? No.

In America when you encounter a door to some establishment, and you see a handle on that door, you know that you are meant to pull the door towards you. That is why some genius put the handle there. This is not the case in France, they put a handle on both sides of the door.

My very fist experience in Amiens took place at the car rental agency. When I approached the office I could see two doors at apposite sides of the building. The first door had a sign that said “Fermé” with an arrow pointing to the second door. Fermé is a word I know. Quite intelligently then I lugged my forty-nine suitcases to the second door, and pulled on the handle. Locked!

Now I begin to doubt myself. Maybe I don’t recognize French words as well as I thought I did. Since I hadn’t tried the other door, and since this one was locked, and as I could see the place was clearly open since the attendants inside were looking at me with annoyance, I concluded what Sherlock Holmes himself would, “that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Therefore, the first door it must be, nevermind what some piece of paper taped to it says.

I schlep to the first door but to no one’s surprise, it too is locked. Now through the windows I can see the attendants waving their arms at me in bewilderment and pointing to the second door. Back I go and yank on the handle with all my might, but still no movement. What is happening to me?! Am I become a weakling as well as a dimwit?

With a look of utter disgust one of the attendants slowly gets up from behind the counter, shaking his head, and trudges over and easily pulls the door open from his side.

“What kind of clueless American ignoramus has appeared in our midst?” they must have wondered. Possibly they even said it out loud, I wouldn’t have known.

Even having seen the guy open the door with my own eyes, in the midst of everything going on in the moment I still didn’t quite catch on that a handle could be meant for pushing. Therefore, this exact same humiliation repeated itself many times over the course of the next few days, including in front of my apartment manager just minutes after I had seen (but not really paid attention to) her do it the correct way.

Would you pull this handle? WRONG! You’re an idiot.

I am starting to catch on but it is hard to overcome a lifetime of conditioning that associates a handle with pulling.

In fact it’s even worse than that. These experiences have gaslit me to the point that I now wonder if maybe even in America they used pull-y handles for pushing and I’ve forgotten. Maybe I’ve got Alzheimer’s or maybe I really am just profoundly stupid all of a sudden. It is a little frightening when you no longer know your own capabilities other than apparently you no longer have any.

In a different example, I ordered something from Amazon and today had my first delivery. Now, only just yesterday I happened to arrive home at the same moment some mail-lady was standing outside our building looking confused and apparently unable to get inside. I used my key to let her in and she said merci.

This led me to believe that deliveries might not be very easy. This afternoon I heard a buzzer in my room and I thought, “that’s the delivery guy downstairs! He must be paging me with the convenient intercom system outside, which I have no clue how to use.”

I picked up the intercom phone in my room and heard nothing. I kept saying Allô! Allô! in a loud voice while I randomly pressed various buttons on the dark screen. Nothing.

“I better get myself down there quick before he leaves!” So I grab my keys and fling open my door. But who should be standing right there? The delivery guy.

Here I am screaming “Hello!” two inches away from a guy who has already made it all the way to the third floor and is waiting for me to open my own door.

Later I discovered that what looks like the hallway light switch outside my door is actually a buzzer. But don’t even get me started on the light switches around here.

These and other similar degradations have had several consequences. The first as already mentioned is that some portion of my self-conception has taken a serious blow. The second and worse is that I am unable to make a good first impression to anybody, which I obviously would prefer to do. It remains my hope to meet new people and make new acquaintances, but this might be more challenging than originally conceived if the locals clasp their heads in agony and take off in the other direction when they see me coming.

But we have not despaired yet. Another thing I have learned is that I have a greater endurance of embarrassment than I thought. It may even be a happy side-effect of my increasing stupidity.