Thursday, November 1, 2012

Paris transportation & Vom. Apparently I have 2 stories now. (+Bonus give away!)

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I wish I could say that this is my "vomit story", but yack and I have a long (long) history when it comes to transportation going all the way back to our family road trip across the US where I filled numerous bags full of stomach acid and half digested McNuggets. I've even blogged about some of the more awful ones in the past.

But this story. This takes the cake. Please share your sympathies, vom stories, or let me know if you tried the service I'm suggesting at the end of this post (FREE SHIT, CHECK IT OUT!) & feel free to share your thoughts about it in comments.

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I had a business trip to Brussels a couple of weeks ago, one of those there & back in a day trips for an important partner. I had on my favorite power outfit, an electric blue dress, which is quite a step up from my favorite jeans with a hole in the crotchanal region that I keep stitching up no matter how many times it rips open from my ever fattening-arse.

I got in the cab, for once I was early & feeling like this, blithely unawares of what had just happened. A few minutes into the voyage, I noticed it. Putrid can't really capture the rankitude that was the backseat of that cab.

This was not your average lungbutter. It was like...leathal stealthchuk. Invisispew of the alien genre. I searched that backseat like I was looking for a winning lottery ticket, but unfortunately my only clue to where the affected area lie, was on my clothes.

So I had a decision: get out and walk until I find another cab, and possibly miss my train, or just deal with it. Luckily, it was my trenchcoat that took the brunt of the stank, but still. NOT COOL.

The driver said he had no idea. There are only two possible explanations for this:

1) He's a lying SOB and I hope one day someone stomach fountains directly into his mouth.

2) That smell was so noxious that shoved a red-hot poker up his nose to obliterate his olfactory sense entirely, because spending all day in that rolling horkbox is a kind of torture no smelling human being should ever be subjected to.

Needless to say, the next time I needed a ride, I went with a different option. I've been touting the Snapcar service since they launched in August, and it's not only because they are ralph-free. The other day I was lucky enough to be driven around in an Aston Martin convertible!

So, the choice is apparently: Vomit-filled cars with clueless, rude drivers... or... Aston Martin-driving, awesome people who know where they're going and a kick-ass app system to support the whole deal. Tough call.

There is good news though -- I told Snapcar about this incident, and they are offering my readers a discount so that no one should ever have to suffer my fate again. 

10 euros off your first booking when you use the code "ASTONMARTIN"!  (Get the app on your iphone to book, my post from this summer explains more.)

Yerwelk.

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