“Thanks for the help with luggage, pal,” a soggy Gus said as he slid in the seat next to Maria.
“It’s raining, I’m old” the driver grumbled. “You want help, maybe wait for a younger driver next time. Where are ya headed?”
“JFK Airport,” Gus told him. Catching a 10:30 flight, I hope the traffic is not bad.”
“We’ll see, not up to me, ya know?” the driver said. “Next time, maybe leave earlier so you don’t have to speed.”
Maria whispered to Gus. “So rude. New York cabbies, so damn rude. No tip for this one, that’s for sure.”
When they landed in Paris 10 hours later, Gus and Maria found themselves curbside again, hailing a ride to their hotel. When the next taxi in line pulled up in front of them, the driver popped the trunk and waved at Gus, pointing at the trunk. Once again, Gus loaded their bags before sliding in next to Maria.
The driver tilted his rearview mirror and glanced back at them.
“Où allez-vous tous les deux?” he asked.
“So sorry, we don’t speak French,” Maria told him. “Do you speak English?
The driver smirked and set the mirror back in place.
“Ah – of course you do not speak French,” he said. “You are Americans. You expect everyone to speak English, no? And yes, I do speak English, or else I would lose all my business with Americans. Where are you two going?”
“The Hôtel Plaza Athénée,” Gus answered.
“Very nice,” the driver said. “Big rooms. All the TV channels. Big portions in the restaurant. You will love it. Here we go, buckle up.”
“Isn’t this exciting?” Maria whispered to Gus. “Don’t you just love his accent? And so down to earth! That little touch of grumpiness, so authentically French, don’t you think? Make sure you to give him a nice tip when we get to the hotel.”