A French-fried Brain

Tom and I are traveling right now. We spent a day in Frankfurt and Valletta (Malta) and then three days in Tunisia. They speak French in Tunisia, you know, which posed a challenge for my poor jet-lagged brain.
Tom knows I speak French, but I just could not get it out at first. Not more than a bonjour or two. But finally we got in a cab and the radio was blaring with Arabic rock. I tried to cope. I could not think of the words to say in any case.
But then it came out, en francais: Monsieur, would you please turn down the volume of the music? And that was all it took. He turned down the radio, apologized profusely and drove us the rest of the way in peace. And I knew my brain was still functional, even in French.