Wednesday, 6 October 2004
Aller-retour
I took taxis to and from an on-site meeting with a potential client. Which, by the by, went very well - much better than I ever had the right to expect.
The driver on the way out was funny. "I hate my job," he said - first in French and then English, as if to ensure that his point was absolutely clear. "It makes me really mad. The traffic makes me mad. And now your destination takes me way out into the middle of nowhere. Which makes me mad." (Some comments he repeated in English, all are my rather liberal translation.)
The half-smile on his lips belied his good humor, though. And in case there was any doubt, he later added (out loud) that he had been joking. I'd never had a doubt: I can definitely tell by now when a Parisian is truly mad. Because if I can't tell, how am I supposed to express the same?
My driver for the return trip tuned in to a comedy-and-music format station (named, oh-so-creatively, Rire et chansons). A short skit played, followed by a song. And, wouldn't you know it, the song was Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit."
Now, this is the point that I'd have expected my driver - on the near side of his 60's, probably (it's hard to tell, some French don't age gracefully) - to have changed the station. But no, he left it on. Not only that, he started humming along. My crusty old taxi driver hummed along to "Smells Like Teen Spirit."
Needless to say, I tipped him extra.