lizzmobile
10-02-2007, 20:43
Yup. Yet another one. That's two for me in a week! But this time it was in Paris.
Already woke late due to not changing to Central European Time on mobile phone, snowing in Paris so all drivers totally befuddled, taxis thin on the ground due to rush hour; found a taxi and a ray of hope.
Traffic grinds to a halt after about 15 minutes, emergency vehicles go blaring by, complete with Agatha Christie-style comedy sirens, perspiration starts to simmer under the skin then traffic moves again.
Taxee driveur , obviously moonlighting from his job as a night-time shelf-stacker at Le Netteau, wants to move into the left lane. He indicates for what seems like ever, then seeing as nobody lets him in, decides to just change lanes anyway. The massive European-sized pantechnicon didn't put him off in the slightest. Lots of crunching sounds, bits of bodywork dropping off and being driven over, lorry drives over some too but doesn't seem to have noticed anything has happened.
Taxee driveur , bless him, wants to 'pull over to have a look at the damage' so I advise him that he'd be better off doing that at the airport, as he had been hired to arrive at the airport in time for the 10.15 £0.49pence flight back to Doncaster, and given that the damage wouldn't change much between now and then, he was wasting time. Of course, 'bien sur', so we drive on.
Monsieur Lorry is now beeping at the taxee driveur . Taxee driveur doesn't notice and is not given any hints. Monsieur Lorry pulls off the ring road. Taxee driveur doesn't. Phew.
Suddenly, a new problem is evident. Monsieur Lorry is now parked at 25 degress in front of taxee driveur , and rampages out of his lorry to give taxee driveur a right republican gobfull. An argument ensues and Monsieur Lorry demands that taxee driveur sign a statement saying that he was in the wrong.
Alarm bells going off elsewhere now as flight time fast approaching. I negotiate, by which I mean, nigh-on hysterically shriek, at Monsieur Lorry telling him that my 4 children have no one to look after then beyond noon, and that he can't do this! He pledges to find another taxi. It doesn't sound very probable.
Much more arm flapping and spouting of venom ensued and an alternative taxi was eventually found, sharing with a lovely Indian guy who had originally wanted to taxi-share in the first place.
Bloody original dodgy taxee driveur demanded his fare be paid, so it was as there was no time to dispute, but that seemed like a rather tall order seeing as it was his fault that arrival at check-in was going to be somewaht delayed!
Nobody was hurt, thank goodness but check-in closed three minutes after luggage was torpedoed onto the conveyor belt so it was a very close shave.
Nearly missed the flight again by being overly relaxed in the departure lounge and not paying attention; I felt the cold chain of the departure gate on my butt through the split in the seat of my jeans as they closed it behind me.
Ah the rich tapestry of life ...
Already woke late due to not changing to Central European Time on mobile phone, snowing in Paris so all drivers totally befuddled, taxis thin on the ground due to rush hour; found a taxi and a ray of hope.
Traffic grinds to a halt after about 15 minutes, emergency vehicles go blaring by, complete with Agatha Christie-style comedy sirens, perspiration starts to simmer under the skin then traffic moves again.
Taxee driveur , obviously moonlighting from his job as a night-time shelf-stacker at Le Netteau, wants to move into the left lane. He indicates for what seems like ever, then seeing as nobody lets him in, decides to just change lanes anyway. The massive European-sized pantechnicon didn't put him off in the slightest. Lots of crunching sounds, bits of bodywork dropping off and being driven over, lorry drives over some too but doesn't seem to have noticed anything has happened.
Taxee driveur , bless him, wants to 'pull over to have a look at the damage' so I advise him that he'd be better off doing that at the airport, as he had been hired to arrive at the airport in time for the 10.15 £0.49pence flight back to Doncaster, and given that the damage wouldn't change much between now and then, he was wasting time. Of course, 'bien sur', so we drive on.
Monsieur Lorry is now beeping at the taxee driveur . Taxee driveur doesn't notice and is not given any hints. Monsieur Lorry pulls off the ring road. Taxee driveur doesn't. Phew.
Suddenly, a new problem is evident. Monsieur Lorry is now parked at 25 degress in front of taxee driveur , and rampages out of his lorry to give taxee driveur a right republican gobfull. An argument ensues and Monsieur Lorry demands that taxee driveur sign a statement saying that he was in the wrong.
Alarm bells going off elsewhere now as flight time fast approaching. I negotiate, by which I mean, nigh-on hysterically shriek, at Monsieur Lorry telling him that my 4 children have no one to look after then beyond noon, and that he can't do this! He pledges to find another taxi. It doesn't sound very probable.
Much more arm flapping and spouting of venom ensued and an alternative taxi was eventually found, sharing with a lovely Indian guy who had originally wanted to taxi-share in the first place.
Bloody original dodgy taxee driveur demanded his fare be paid, so it was as there was no time to dispute, but that seemed like a rather tall order seeing as it was his fault that arrival at check-in was going to be somewaht delayed!
Nobody was hurt, thank goodness but check-in closed three minutes after luggage was torpedoed onto the conveyor belt so it was a very close shave.
Nearly missed the flight again by being overly relaxed in the departure lounge and not paying attention; I felt the cold chain of the departure gate on my butt through the split in the seat of my jeans as they closed it behind me.
Ah the rich tapestry of life ...