So we do an 11:15 pm show tonight - great house, almost full and it's only the second day of the festival. Standing O from the drunk young man in the front row. A gaggle of youngins meets us outside after the show, congratulating us like, "oh guys! that was soooo awful! I loved it! Thank you!"Feeling pretty good about ourselves we head down the crowded streets of St. Laurent at one in the morning. We head to the late night after fringe nightly talk show, The 13th Hour, but it's packed tight as a package of French cigarettes, so we decide to catch a cab home and get some sleep before the big Pancake Breakfast down at the beer tent tomorrow morning.
Reason #491 why Montreal rocks: You can always catch a cab. We grab the first one stopped at the light. Crabbie the Cabbie doesn't look too happy that we hopped in but he isn't kicking us out. Yet.
We tell him to head for Verdun Ave. He's like, "it's closed." We say, yes, there is one part that is under construction, but the road is generally still open.
He says, "I was just down there three times already. I go there, I come back, someone else wants to go back down."
As if it's our fault. I say, "we should have caught a ride with the last guys." He says, deadpanning, "You wouldn't have all fit."
So he blows through six red lights, speeding the whole way, and slows down briefly to point out the house where Pierre Eliot Trudeau lived. "Montreal - this is the greatest city in the world." I agree.
We burn down Atwater headed for Verdun. "The road is closed," he mentions again. Gina whispers that yes, a part of it is, but you can easily go around one block and - "
He cuts her off. "No. I go one more block and then you get out and walk. It's good for you."
He does exactly that. We pay him, thank him, ask him for a receipt. He yells at Trev, "You're sitting on my pen!" We get the receipt, thank him again, he's already slammed the door behind us and sped away into the night.
We love that guy.
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