Don't Ask, Don't Offer

Some things should be left unasked (and unoffered). For example, rides to the airport. It may not be an unwritten rule for all Chicagoans, but it seemed to be with almost everyone I knew. The train was fast, cheap and easy and we used it.

From most small towns in northern Italy it seems equally fast, cheap and easy. There's the extra step of getting from your really small town to a little-bigger town with a train station, but after that it's quite simple. If asked to help with the extra step (sometimes I even offer) I accept, reminding my passengers that, like Ryan Air, my car doesn't have a lot of leg room and there's only enough space for one small, carry-on bag.

The other day a student told me she was driving her twin (another student) to the airport. I asked why her sister wasn't taking the train and explained in minute detail how easy it was; when to get off, where to buy tickets for the airport shuttle and the length of each leg of the trip.

Here's a story problem.  It takes one girl 5 minutes to drive to the train station, 56 minutes to ride the train, 3 minutes to catch the shuttle bus and 17 minutes to arrive at the airport. It takes her twin sister 75 minutes to drive to the airport and 75 minutes to drive back home. Who has the longer trip?

I'm not just good at English; I'm good at Math, too. But in my opinion something doesn't add up here. The one with the 81-minute trip will be rewarded with an exotic vacation where she'll willingly catch lots of trains and buses because her sister won't be there. The one with the 150-minute trip receives the consolation prize of another day in the office.

It took the whole English lesson to explain my theory on why you shouldn't take people to the airport. The end result was the perfect pronunciation of two words I teach most students on their first day, "You're right." She even said she'd think about catching the train for her upcoming trip to Peru. Afterall, she's not hiring a sherpa to schlep her to Machu Picchu, so why should she tire her twin to take her to Marco Polo (Venice's airport).

Years ago I was told I'd miss my flight out of Rio because high seas had blocked the boats from the small village I'd been visiting. Barefootedly braving the rainforest for 5 hours was the option that I took. But now that I live with a pampered population in Italy, I find myself feeling prouder of getting myself to the airport on an air-conditioned train than my Brazilian feat with barefeet.    

All this has got me thinking about designing a backpack patch for those adventurous looking travelers with zip-off pants shuffling through Europe's most beautiful cities. It could say something like, "I may look like a National Geographic explorer now, but my sister took me to the airport."