home from the holidays
I picked up a weird headache somewhere near final approach into Logan. I was thinking that maybe it was something to do with the descent and air pressure changes, but the headache didn't go away after we landed. I resolved to treat myself to a cab ride home, rather than take the T and bus back. Besides, migraine induced crankiness, train crowds and a bag of golf clubs seemed like a bad combination, at the time.
My taxi driver was from the Ivory Coast1, or Senegalese, or from one of the other former colonies where African men are given a French name like Marcel. He's a polite sort, asking me if it's ok if he takes the highway to get to my place and apologizing in advance for having to take the Sumner Tunnel, explaining that the Callahan is still under construction from the Big Dig. Like many other taxi drivers, he tries to earn his tip by making conversation, and normally I'd find that annoying, but there's a practiced grace to his soliloquys that makes him charming enough to warrant some slack.
"How was your flight, my friend? Comfortable? I hope, for your sake, that you flew in business or first class, because the last time I flew to visit my cousin in Texas, I went economy and, as you might see, I am not a fat man but the seats in economy made me feel like I had the biggest ass in the world. You perhaps look like the sort of person who could fly business, not because you are rich, though maybe you are, but you look smart, like one of those people who know how to find those hidden deals where you can upgrade when you only pay for economy. Did you fly business, my friend?"
"No. I did not find any hidden deals."
"Ah well, then, I am sorry. You still look like a smart person."
He asked me how my holidays went.
Well ... they went. I suppose. How do you categorize holidays that are free from trauma and filial stress? When days where your entire family can be gathered together seem so precious and rare, how do you descibe the quiet joy in having your mother stroke your hair or listening to sisters giggle over whispered news? The family's been through so much this year it seemed like all we wanted for Christmas was a little peace, and that's what we gave each other. Still doesn't make for a good story, though.
My cabbie quieted down as we entered the Sumner, and I closed my eyes as the cab slid past the tiled white walls glowing in flourescent white. I was glad to have gone to see my family, but also glad to be home all the same.
1 so, out of curiosity, what is the standard adjectival descriptor for someone from the Ivory Coast? Ivory Coaster? (which makes one wish for a nation called the Bar Coast) Cote d'Ivoirienne?
My taxi driver was from the Ivory Coast1, or Senegalese, or from one of the other former colonies where African men are given a French name like Marcel. He's a polite sort, asking me if it's ok if he takes the highway to get to my place and apologizing in advance for having to take the Sumner Tunnel, explaining that the Callahan is still under construction from the Big Dig. Like many other taxi drivers, he tries to earn his tip by making conversation, and normally I'd find that annoying, but there's a practiced grace to his soliloquys that makes him charming enough to warrant some slack.
"How was your flight, my friend? Comfortable? I hope, for your sake, that you flew in business or first class, because the last time I flew to visit my cousin in Texas, I went economy and, as you might see, I am not a fat man but the seats in economy made me feel like I had the biggest ass in the world. You perhaps look like the sort of person who could fly business, not because you are rich, though maybe you are, but you look smart, like one of those people who know how to find those hidden deals where you can upgrade when you only pay for economy. Did you fly business, my friend?"
"No. I did not find any hidden deals."
"Ah well, then, I am sorry. You still look like a smart person."
He asked me how my holidays went.
Well ... they went. I suppose. How do you categorize holidays that are free from trauma and filial stress? When days where your entire family can be gathered together seem so precious and rare, how do you descibe the quiet joy in having your mother stroke your hair or listening to sisters giggle over whispered news? The family's been through so much this year it seemed like all we wanted for Christmas was a little peace, and that's what we gave each other. Still doesn't make for a good story, though.
My cabbie quieted down as we entered the Sumner, and I closed my eyes as the cab slid past the tiled white walls glowing in flourescent white. I was glad to have gone to see my family, but also glad to be home all the same.
1 so, out of curiosity, what is the standard adjectival descriptor for someone from the Ivory Coast? Ivory Coaster? (which makes one wish for a nation called the Bar Coast) Cote d'Ivoirienne?