After packing through what would be my night (around 11:30pm to 3:30am), I expected that I would be done with talking in Hungarian. I was wrong. At about 4:00am, my phone rings.
- [illegible Hungarian informing me that my shuttle has arrived]
- Umm, do you speak English?
- Nem értem.
- Umm, ok, öt perc.
- Nem tudok várni.
- Ok... megyek.
The driver, of course, spoke English and could well understand me. And when he told me that he was waiting for me 20 minutes with two passengers, I took it as nothing more than a throw of blame. It's the usual trick: if I'm going to yell at you, I will make it as bad as possible. I'm going to wait as long as I can, I'm going to talk to you in a language that you don't understand... oh, you do understand. Oh well. What he couldn't do was drive away: worrying, angering, and yelling are stimulating, and therefore more enjoyable than any protocol.
I could have yelled back at him, but I was tired. His viewpoint was apparently that I should wait outside for an indeterminate amount of time (since he never called to confirm the time) at 3am in -15 C.
You are probably thinking: of course it's my fault. Sorry. There was no reason why he would wait 20 minutes before picking up his cell phone, except to yell at me. There was no reason why he would expect me outside in the first place. He hasn't confirmed the call, and I was in fact waiting for him to announce that he was at the door, or better, on his way. No, it's just what we are cultured to do: stand witness and count every minute that the driver be late, and nail him in case he doesn't show up, or shows up at the wrong time. I was there and my friend was there; we saw everything and heard everything.
