Viva la France!

You know those people at the airport who are lucky enough to snag those comfy chairs? Well, that's me right now. Sipping a Starbucks latte.

We woke up at the crack of dawn to drive to Charles de Gaulle (CDG) and get the car turned in, knowing we had an ordeal ahead of us. The last time we turned in a car at CDG we were also on a sabbatical trip, that time with the boys. It was crazy, and not crazy fun. We simply couldn't find the turn-in location. It was about 5 am with few people to ask, but we did ask two police officers and a taxi driver. We finally arrived after over an hour of searching, and as Hunt tussled with luggage and boys, my conversation with the agent went something like this:

Me: We need to turn in our car.

He: (yelling in English) Speak French!

Me: I'm sorry. I do not speak French. We need to turn in our car.

He: (yelling in English) Speak French!

Me: There is no need to be angry. We just want to turn in the car.

He: (yelling in English) I am not angry!

Me: Well, there is no need to yell.

He: (really yelling now) I am not yelling!

And so it went.

Today, we drove right to the rental location which, now, is located in the terminal. A novel idea! We parked the car, and as I began taking pictures of the dings we've received in the past 6 weeks (evidence, Watson!) Hunt spoke to the attendant.

Hunt: Good morning. We need to turn in the car.

He: OK. May I have the key?
Hunt: (handing over key) Yes. We also didn't fill the car up completely.

He: No problem.

Hunt: Well, thanks. It that it?

He: That's it.

Hunt: There's a dead body in the trunk.

He: I'll handle it, sir.

And so it went. (Well, I might have embellished the last bit a little.)

When we enter the terminal we met happy employees everywhere. The US Airways employees were friendly and one actually made a joke (and not even at our expense!) The Starbucks people were friendly. Then there was the car rental man. This is Paris, France. What is going on?

We were promised a strike, two in fact. We were promised long lines, maybe picketers. And here we sit, blithely typing away in our comfy chairs at Starbucks. Viva la France!