I am staying a few days and helping a Chicago PR firm with corporate gifts.
This morning I picked up ten bottles of champagne and ten beautiful boxes of chocolat from my favorite gourmet purveyor.
I ordered a taxi to meet me on the street at precisely 9 am.
You can imagine how heavy and awkward ten bottles plus ten boxes are in sacs.
Well, I juggle my way to the street, and wait.
Awhile.
No taxi.
I had an ontime delivery to fulfull, and this wasn’t working out as planned.
I call.
They are sending one.
Never comes.
So, I began making my way, ever so clankety clankety CLANK CLANK down the street, looking for a taxi stand.
Did I mention it was 9 am when everyone is en route to work?
I find a stand down a few blocks.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
I wait.
I wait.
Each one is full as they pass by.
So, I begin walking the ten bottles and boxes to the first hotel en pied – on foot.
I cannot be late.
If you could have seen me, and HEARD me, waddling down Paris’ most fashionable streets you would have fallen over laughing.
I was laughing so hard – as every single person as I neared turned to see what on EARTH was making such clatter.
I was looking for the driver of Laduree’s darling delivery truck – surely the most coveted truck in all of Paris – to see if I could hop in the back with the mac bounty.
Didn’t find him either.
I was very proud of myself for having the strength to carry the champagne load ALL the way to two different hotels.
But when I woke up the next morning – ahhhhhh – the pain set in.
Traction or something similar surely needed.
