Driver and the Hair

Bob O’Sullivan’s amusing account “Flights of Fancy That Get More Fantastic With the Telling” (Aug. 28) of his fantasy revenge to the rude French taxi driver evoked memories. In Paris, spring 1981, our hotel concierge arranged for a taxi to pick us up early in the morning to get us to a train on time. The cab was late, and my husband and I nervously lit cigarettes as we settled into its beat-up seats.

The driver snarled in French: “Don’t smoke.” We obeyed, then started to roll down the windows to get rid of the smoke odor. “Shut the windows, I have just washed my hair,” the driver screamed.

We shut the windows, ready to strangle him with his clean, long hair. On paying our fare, we over-tipped him! Perhaps he later purchased a hair dryer with our generous gratuity. Incidentally, we stopped smoking long ago.

BEA FORBES

Palos Verdes Estates