Stint No. 2

It is always an adventure in Paris….

Beginning with my taxi ride from the airport to my new crib.  Leaving the taxi queue to enter into my nice Mercedes taxi, I am thinking this will be a nice break from the usual taxi services.  So everything is going fine - no meaningless conversation with the driver, just me looking out the window admiring the outskirts of the city.  I had even entertained the idea of asking for his number so when I needed a taxi, I would have a direct, reliable contact. Ha.

Then about halfway through the ride my focuses shifts to the driver after I peripherally notice a sharp jerk of his arm.  A little startled, I was determined to figure out what had just happened and start noticing that he is a little squeamish.  He keeps shifting in his seat, changing hands on the wheel, touching his face, etc.  I try to ignore this behavior and resume my contentment, but the psych major gets the best of me. and I just flat out intriguing stare at him the rest of the trip. 

I never quite figured out what his deal was except that he was either a super nervous dude in which case he might want to rethink his career choice OR he was just really hyper active and could not control his movements.  BUT the tip of the gross out scale came when he started plucking his ear hair.  Yes, the little fuzz that grows in and around your human wings, usually announcing the beginning of your ‘over the hill’ era when visible without a magnifying glass.

Overall, the guy wasn’t too hard on the eyes, late 40s early 50s…probably one of the more normal looking taxi drivers.  But the sight of his fat, stubby fingers with dirt underneath the fingernails reaching for those few hairs sticking out and then suddenly ripping them off just gives me the skeevies.

Gotta love the French.