You know! Canada! The one in France.

I worked a helluva lot of hours this week. Thank goodness we are rewarded for our overtime handsomely in accordance with Employment Standards. And I'm not 100% sure if it's my fatigue, or if I really experienced it, but I'm pretty sure I met one of the most stereotypically ignorant Americans I've met in recent memory.

Sorry to all my American readers out there -- obviously an extremely attractive, tasteful and educated bunch -- but the following exchange is just so incredibly demeaning to other Americans out there that I had to write about it:

Her: "So you're from around here, right?"
Me: "No, don't you remember me telling you the other day that I'm Canadian?"
Her: "Oh, I didn't remember. Sorry."
Me: "No problem."
Her: "So that means you're French."
Me: "Uh.....no. I'm Canadian." (hesitating a few seconds) "Why would you think I'm French?"
Her: "Well, you just said you're Canadian."
Me: "Ya."
Her: "I'm sorry, I don't understand."
Me: "Well, I'm Canadian. Why would you think I'm French?"
Her: "Aren't all Canadians French?"
Me: "Oh, you mean French Canadian?"
Her: "No, I mean French."
Me: "Uh.....well, some Canadians are French Canadian, but that's only about 20% of Canadians."
Her: "You mean you're not French?"
Me (getting somewhat annoyed): "No, I'm neither French nor French Canadian."
Her: "But I thought all Canadians were French."
Me (getting a bit curt now): "Nope."
Her: "I don't understand."
Me: "What don't you understand."
Her: "You know what? It doesn't matter. I just need to get over there. I really need to get over there."
Me (wondering if I should even open this tantalizingly overflowing can of worms): "Over there? What do you mean you need to get over there? Over where?"
Her: "You know. Over to France."
Me: "But we're talking about Canada, right?"
Her: "Ya, that's what I mean."
Me (head spinning): "What's what you mean?"
Her: "You know.....I really should get over there. To Canada."
Me (seriously wondering if she's puttin' me on): "Over to Canada? You mean up to Canada."
Her: "What do you mean?"
Me: "Up to Canada. Canada's north of here."
Her (and incredibly, she's actually rolling her eyes at me): "No, I mean the other Canada."
Me (making all sorts of mental notes for this blog post): "The other Canada? Uh.....which one is that?"
Her: "The French one."
Me: "The French one."
Her: "Ya."
Me: "What do you mean?"
Her: "The one in France. I should go over and visit French Canada someday."
Me: "I'm sorry?"
Her (starting to dismissively walk away): "Oh, don't be sorry. That's OK."
Me (in shock): "OK then.....thanks..."

And if all that wasn't bad enough, imagine all of the "Her" statements spoken in an as-good-as-you-could-fake-for-a-really-bad-school-play Valley Girl accent.

Unfortunately, the accent wasn't put-on. And neither was her lack of intelligence. It was embarrassing for everybody except, apparently, her.

Is it Monday yet? Cuz I could really use that day off.