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.
