I forgot to mention maybe the most “memorable” part of my trip to Boston. Our flight out, back home, left at 7AM (well, really, closer to 8AM, but I read the itinerary wrong and we got up early to get there for a 7AM flight). So, I got up at 4:30AM to meet Chris at his hotel and catch a taxi to the airport. At the same time, a guy was delivering the morning paper and had his truck parked in the roadway in front of the hotel. The taxi guy pulled up next to the truck and I got in on the side next to the truck. As I was getting in, and the door was open, the truck pulled away. The door of the taxi caught on the truck and was damn near ripped off its hinges. I pulled it shut with a slam, and it seemed to close. So, off we went.
But, when we got to the airport, the taxi driver looked over the door and, clearly, there was some damage. The door didn’t open or close very cleanly.
I felt pretty guilty. But, at the same time, I didn’t feel it was all my fault. I felt both the taxi driver and the truck driver were at fault, at least partially.
The taxi driver wanted us to just give him some money to pay for the damages. Feeling as guilty as I was, I wasn’t at all sure what to do and, compounded with the early hour, I was not being very coherent or helpful. Fortunately, Chris told him we wouldn’t just give him cash, but if he gave us a phone number, we’d do what we could when we got home. The guy didn’t want to give us a number, it was cash or nothing. So, we left without doing anything.
I felt bad, but didn’t know what else to do.