“Greetings American.” The Parisian cab driver gave the Vulcan hand signal for “Live long and prosper”.
I reached for the door handle. Too late. The Moroccan expat hit the accelerator and merged into traffic.
With both hands flat against the bench seat, I braced for a wild ride.
How fast can I get out of here? I searched for a landmark I recognized.
The driver eyed me through the rearview mirror. “We listen to Michael Jackson.”
He hit the play button on the 80‘s style cassette player. The interlude to “We are the world” hummed through staticy speakers. All four windows motored open and my bonkers driver stared to sing. “We are the children, we are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving.”
He looked over his shoulder. “I love Michael Jackson. Do you love the King of Pop?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer.
Instead, he cranked the volume another five decibels and belted the next verse at the top of his lungs.
“Sing with me.” He said.
My eyes reconnected with his.
You’ve got to be kidding. Apparently facial expressions are universal.
He slowed the car. “More you sing the faster I drive.”
I looked around at the steady flow off traffic and considered my options. Sing or possibly find myself dumped off in a French ditch. Definitely a no brainier. Singing it is.
I cleared my throat and joined the chorus.
The karaoke taxi sped towards my destination.
*Note to self: Always keep you hand on the door handle. Most drivers will at least slow if the door pops open.
*Travel tip: Sacrifice the fashion, wear sneakers and walk.
E.L. Chappel author of Risk
Living in the vicinity of the edge
aka The Glamorous Wife
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