Whenever I travel, there are a few basic things this Big Bad Wolf needs to be happy.
One is a cabbie who drives just right.
The other two alternatives…yuck.
Like Goldilocks, who thought the first bowl of porridge she tasted was too cold, the guy who grabs you from the airport and has no idea where he’s going…taking what seems like an eternity, first talking to his crabby dispatcher, who cuts him off, then calls by cell phone to some other comrade, in languages only God could understand…that’s the first painful type.
The guy too hot, is he who knows exactly where he’s going, and to prove it, drives 90 mph hour through rush hour to get there.
Yes, I saw my life flash before me as two cars in front of us were merging left at 75, while we had nowhere to go but fairy tale land.
It was so surreal I felt like a racing video master.
Given a choice, the third kind is the patient immigrant who politely inputs your destination into a GPS, just to be sure he doesn’t mess up, then asks you how you like his city, bragging about the many nice attractions.
Now that’s what I call just right.