Two Beers and Two Bottles
I flew into Milan on a business trip. At the time, I worked for a pharmaceutical and I had a client in a small town in northeast Italy called Vicenza. I spent a day in Milan to get over the jet lag and bought a train ticket to Vicenza. The next day in the afternoon I go to the train station for the two hour trip.
As soon as I get on the train, the railroad goes on strike. So I’m sitting on the train and I ask the conductor how long would the strike last - because I noticed a number of people getting off the train, and I wanted to know whether I should too.
As you may know, Italians typically never answer the question directly. The conductor says, “How long? About two beers. If it’s longer than that you’ll want to get off.” So I wait a couple of beers. Sure enough the strike is over, but it is getting a bit late. After a two-hour ride, the train rolls into the station at Vicenza. By now it’s dark, and I am not sure where exactly the hotel is. However, as I step out on the street, there is a taxi.
I ask the cab driver if he can take me to the hotel. The cab driver is impeccably dressed, with a cap on his head - everyone has a profession and they all dress well. He says “Yes Sir!” in his best American English. He opens the trunk, and loads my suitcase. He opens the door for me, and I get in the car. I am relieved, because I am here, I had my two beers, and it’s been a long day.
So he drives one block - about six hundred feet. Maybe less than six hundred feet. He opens the door, and he is right in front of my hotel. I am laughing to myself, and he is not laughing at all. He is straight-faced and very serious. He opens the trunk, carries my bags to the lobby. I can’t remember how many lira it was, but probably the equivalent of eight dollars…to go six hundred feet. So I am laughing, and I give him a nice tip. He knew where the hotel was, and he was completely professional about it all.
I spend a couple days working with my client. There is a restaurant not far from the train station. I was told it was a nice place, so I walk in. The waiter seats me at a table. I had not said a word to him, yet he says, “And what would you like for dinner tonight?” in English. I am wondering how he knows I am American, I had not said a single word. So I ask him how he knows I am an American? The waiter points to a table across the restaurant where three guys are in corner, sitting around a table, laughing. The waiter says, “Those taxi drivers are talking about you.”
I see my taxi driver over there with two other taxi driver friends, who are giving me the side eye, looking at me, undoubtedly the subject of their amusement. There is no one else in the restaurant besides me and the three taxi drivers. I tell the waiter, “Oh, now I understand!”
I am half Italian, so I ordered my food in half Italian. The waiter was very good about helping me with the other half of Italian that I had somehow missed. The waiter and I hit it off pretty well, however now I noticed the three guys are now laughing at my bad Italian. The waiter asked me where I was from, and we had some nice conversation. It was a slow Wednesday night and nothing else was going on in the restaurant other than the taxi drivers over in the corner.
The food is very good - fresh fish, pasta, a nice glass of wine. When the waiter comes to me I ask him to put two bottles of wine on my tab, and take them over to the taxi drivers’ table. And I ask the waiter to tell them it was from me.
When the bottles arrive the three guys are looking over at me, smiling and nodding their heads, probably thinking “He’s not so bad. Dumb, maybe, but not bad.” After I am done with my meal, I go over to their table, and they are laughing and enjoying the wine. I nod to the driver who charged me $8 for a six hundred foot ride.
So I say to his two friends, “This is the best driver in all of Vicenza!” I am dramatic, emphasizing all of Vicenza with broad arm movement. So you can see he is puffing up his chest among his buddies, also saying “Yes, I am the best driver in all of Vicenza!” So I thank him, turn around to leave. My friend - the best taxi driver in all of Vicenza - calls out, “Americano, wait - if you need a ride tomorrow to the train station….you’ll give me a call, won’t you?”
Now we are all laughing, and I turn around and say “Si si, mil gratia.!”
Actually, the next morning, I walked the six hundred feet myself.
When I told my story to my Italian clients, they laughed so hard they cried. But you just had to laugh.That was all you could do. That story, and the entertainment it brought were well worth he two bottles of wine, and the $8 taxi ride.
No comments:
Post a Comment