En français, s'il vous plait!

I'm in way over my head here! I have the most French experience among the students in my program and so find myself asking for ten different sets of directions, ordering hot chocolates en masse, and translating for my pew-mates during church. And, while most customer service employees and many waiters, cab drivers, and other sales-oriented people in Paris speak at least a little English, I'm beginning to learn that English, to the French (like French, to Americans), is a bit of a loose term.

After braving the beggars of the commuter train and the moving sidewalks of the ever-terrifying Châtelet station, Emily and I found our way to the institute building and then stopped at the nearest café for lunch. It was our first experience in a sit-down restaurant here, so we were delighted when most of the menu items included an English description. One of the items, however, le pâté terrine, had as its English translation "pot of countryside." Puzzled, I asked the waiter to describe the dish. More puzzled, he pointed to the description as though it were self-explanatory and said, very slowly, "paaahhhht ov' countreee siiiide." Oh well.

Four of us went out to eat at a tiny little pub in Chatou, near the train station in Croissy. We took our time deciphering the menu, ordered with some difficulty, ate, talked, finished, and wanted to see about getting the check. I managed to flag down the waiter, and Bart tried his hand at asking for the check. Bart, Dan, and Emily in turn spat out the request, and then, realizing that they weren't being understood, began all at once to pronounce the word "check" in various accents and increasing volume. The waiter listened patiently for a while, then put his hands up to cut them off and gestured to me. Forgetting the word for check myself, I said "Je pense que nous sommes prêts à payer (I think we're ready to pay)." He said "Ah," and returned with the check, just like that.

Mme took great care (and like 20 minutes) in showing us how to use the house alarm. You press a button when leaving, a loud buzzing occurs, and then you have 30 seconds to exit the house. After those 30 seconds, any movement from within the house will trigger the alarm, which in turn triggers a call from a security company, to whom you have to provide a password. A couple of days ago, Emily and I were still in bed at 2 in the afternoon, suffering from jet lag, when I awoke to the loud buzzing sound signalling the beginning of the 30 second exit period. Still half-asleep, it took me the full 30 seconds to realize that Mme (or M.) hadn't realized that we were still in the house, and had left and activated the alarm. I stayed as still as humanly possible for a minute or so, and then, figuring I would have to pee some time, jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to the keypad. The alarm started blaring, and I reached the pad and entered the code just as the phone started ringing. The moment of truth--could I really pass for a French homeowner, or would my accent give me away?
"Allo, nous vous appelons de la societé de sécurité. Est-ce que vous avez déclenché l'alarme?"
"Oui (in my most casual French accent)."
"Et est-ce que vous avez entré le code?"
"Oui."
"Et est-ce que vous avez le mot de sécurité?"
"Oui: Skanes-Titus (skah-ness-tee-toose)."
"Merci, au revoir."
"Au revoir."

WHEW! Well, the man from the security agency doesn't know it, but he gave me the confidence I need to become a professional American cat burglar in French homes across the nation. Or at least the neighborhood.