A Four-Act Comedy of Conjugation, Crisis, and Croissants

Characters
Steve: A retired power plant operator and procedure writer, recently enthralled by French grammar.
Janice: New to France, learning French from zero, and trying not to lose her mind every time Steve opens his mouth.

ACT I

“Je Peux, You Don’t”
Scene: Late morning. Janice is seated with tea. Steve enters, waving a flashcard.
Steve: Guess what verb I conquered before breakfast?
Janice (without looking up): A wild guess—one of the thousand ways to say “to be”?
Steve: “Pouvoir!” “To be able to.” A mighty irregular. French’s answer to a jazz solo.
Janice: Before you unravel into interpretive dance, can you tell me something?
Steve (beaming): Anything.
Janice: What does “je peux” mean?
(Pause. Steve sits like a priest called to sermon.)
Steve: Ah, “je peux.” Such economy. Such elegance. Now, prepare yourself—
Janice: No, Steve, I just wanted—
Steve: “Je” is the first-person singular pronoun, meaning “I.” Now “peux” is the present tense, first-person singular conjugation of “pouvoir,” indicative mood. Not subjunctive, mind you. That would be . . .
Janice: I just wanted to know if I could use it to ask the waiter for the bill.
Steve: You could, but do you know what mood you’re in? Subjunctive? Conditional? Passive-aggressive imperative?
Janice: I’m in the mood to leave you at the café.
Steve: Let me diagram that on the board.
(He wheels out a whiteboard. Janice groans. Lights fade.)

ACT II

The Past Imperfect Partner
Scene: Evening. Same room. Grammar energy simmers. Janice is reading. Steve is pacing.
Steve: Janice. You sighed. Was that a subjunctive sigh?
Janice: If I were nostalgic, it would be for the days you only corrected people’s English.
Steve: Would you like to ask me what “nous avons voulu” means?
Janice: No.
Steve: But I’m ready.
Janice: Steve, I am not a grammatical exercise. I live with you, not inside a textbook. And if you do not stop parsing my life into clauses, I will become emotionally irregular.
Steve: You’re right. Forgive me. It’s just—French grammar is so . . . structured. Like procedure manuals.
Janice: Try giving me one day without a chart. No verbs. No moods. Just nouns. Coffee. Bread. Door. Out.
Steve: That’s not very subjunctive.
Janice: It’s definitively imperative.
(They sit in peace. Somewhere, a whiteboard collapses offstage.)

ACT III

Conditional Hazards
Scene: Morning. Corkboard, verb charts, and Bescherelle. Janice is mid-toast.
Janice: “Je voudrais un café”. . . present conditional. Seems safe enough.
Steve (entering with coffee): Did I hear conditional mood?
Janice: Steve.
Steve: “Je voudrais”— the conditional of “vouloir.” Courteous! Like saying “please” with grammar.
Janice: Is this coffee laced with prepositions?
Steve: Only a touch. Look, in English we say “I would like.” In French, it’s the mood itself. That’s elegance.
Janice: You want verbs to behave like nuclear rods. Predictable. Contained.
Steve: And safe.
Janice: Steve, not everything needs to be safe. I just want to order a pastry without being conjugated.
Steve: Okay. Fair.
Janice: I’m going out. If I see a waiter, I’ll nod and point. And if that fails, I’ll mime hunger. No verbs involved.
Steve: Don’t forget—“dehors” takes no article!
Janice: Neither does “help.”
(She exits. Steve begins diagramming the conversation.)

ACT IV

The Infinitive Crisis
Scene: Afternoon. Janice returns from the market with groceries.
Janice: I bought eggs. And a sense of calm.
Steve (surrounded by index cards): “Les oeufs.” Masculine plural. Irregular pronunciation. Spelled like a vowel accident.
Janice: Steve. When do I use “à” before an infinitive and when do I use “de”?
Steve (stunned): You’re ready for the prepositional divide?
Janice: If that’s what it’s called. No charts. Just the idea.
Steve: Some verbs take “à.” Like “commencer à faire.” Others take “de,”like “essayer de faire.” There are lists.
Janice: Can I just feel it out?
Steve: You want to intuit grammar?
Janice: Yes. The way I intuited how to buy cheese from a woman who spoke rapidly and judged my accent.
Steve: Did you use a full sentence?
Janice: I said “Je voudrais ceci” and pointed. She smiled. Called me “ma chère.”
Steve: “Ceci.” You brave soul.
Janice: I’m not mastering French. I’m surviving it.
Steve: More intuitive. Less procedural.
Janice: Exactly.
Steve (pause): Just one last thing.
Janice: Steve . . .
Steve: The verb “se débrouiller” means “to manage.” Reflexive. Takes “de.”
Janice (grins): Then: “Je me débrouille… avec toi.”
Steve (genuinely proud): Perfect use.
(Lights dim. An index card flutters to the floor: “Don’t over-explain.”)

CURTAIN.

By Janice Exter Konstantinidis

Janice Exter Konstantinidis is a retired gerontologist whose life has unfolded across Australia, the United States, and, most recently, Paris—where she has spent the past 17 months delighting in the city and its architecture, peculiarities, and the ongoing adventure of learning French. She has made writing her primary focus, particularly in poetry and reflective prose. Her recently published memoir traces the unexpected and often unspoken turns of a life shaped by endurance, curiosity, and reinvention. Writing is a daily ritual—a way to notice, to revisit, and to honor what might otherwise be lost. She continues to write with regularity, often starting the day with a limerick and ending it with something more still.