The Taking of Grecian 1,2,3

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"And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her."
-- Gen. 29:20

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—“I love being a turtle.”

No, actually it is this:

EVERYTHING is RELATIVE.

Let me tell you a little story about subway fines and near-death experiences.

When my wife and I landed in Athens last week, we had four suitcases with us, we’d been traveling for a week, and we couldn’t remotely speak the language. At least Italian uses English letters. And Hebrew does not. But Greek is the most frustrating, because it does BOTH!
It has three normal letters, then a Tetris piece, followed by two more normal letters.
In the words of Charlie Brown—Arrrgggghhh!

So, my wife and I buy a couple subway tickets, hop on a train, and prepare for the 35 minute ride to central Athens.
Then who should come moseying down the aisle of the subway car, but three official looking subway employees, all clad in navy blue blazers and nametags.
I see the youngest of the three (the only female, about 30) checking the tickets of passengers and immediately I think, “Oh merde!” (I often confuse French and Greek curses… also those uttered by Mork from Ork… Shazbut!)
See, I remember reading in our guidebook that it’s imperative for travelers to get their tickets validated by the machines in the subway terminals, otherwise they might incur a fine. I recalled seeing some validation machines, but we were running to catch the train, so I figured (in true American fashion) “To hell with it.”
Sure enough, the lady in blue got to us, looked at our tickets and started, in the words of my ancestors, hassling us.
She said that we could’ve bought the tickets at any time and there we were subject to a fine of “up to 60 times the price of the ticket.” The tickets were 5 euros each… in other words 300 euros a person (the equivalent of about $450!!).
Hortophagus!!!!
(Greek for “vegetarian”)

We explained that we were not told about this, that we clearly just came from the airport, etc. She was as stubborn as a Grecian mule. One of the gentlemen with her, a superior, spoke to us with more civility, encouraged us to dispute the fine at the main terminal (to which we were headed anyway), and the charges would probably be dropped.
The wife and were pissed to say the least.
Once we arrived at our destination we filled out some paperwork and hoped for the best (we’d have to be updated via e-mail). We dropped off our bags at our hotel and went to see the sights.
The Acropolis was closed (after 3 PM… I guess if geezers who are over the hill go to sleep at 7 PM, then a hill that’s over 7000 years old can close at 3), so we decided to clear our minds with a healthy walk around Athens.
That’s when we were almost run over by a trolley.

Let me elaborate, because that sounds a lot stupider than I intended.
It sounds about as serious as a box of Rice-a-roni smacking me in the face, or like Mr. Roger’s puppets were ringing their little bells at me.

No.

See, it was a four lane street—two lanes in each direction. From the side we were on, all the automobile traffic was coming from the left—including a few trolleys once in a while. We looked to the left—no cars. My wife and I began to cross the intersection, the whole time looking left.
“Aaron!” my wife screamed at me (same tone she uses when I get pee on the toilet seat).
I looked to our right, there is a trolley—ahem, I mean “an above-ground metro”— barreling towards us!!! It was going FAST. Like 30 mph. That’s not SO fast… unless something is 8 feet away from you. Then it’s damn terrifying.
The wife and I flung ourselves backwards, thereby narrowly avoiding, if not certain death, than certain partial damage to our beautiful visages and behinds.
Apparently Grecian trolleys can come from either direction… and don’t honk their damn horns until they’re 6 feet from murdering pedestrians (remember, the horn didn’t stop me, my wife’s scream did).
We collected ourselves on the sidewalk, just holding each other and choking back tears. Thankfully, Greece is SWARMING with homeless dogs. Seriously. Like Jerusalem, with its cats. But the dogs aren’t mangey-looking or starving… they just wander around the streets of Athens, most of them looking downright dead, barely moving. But just as we were in shock, one friendly pooch strolled by and allowed us to pet him for several minutes, thereby teaching us an important lesson: Greek dogs are much better than Greek public transportation.

It’s all relative.
My wife and I thought potentially receiving a 300-euro subway fine was bad… then we almost got killed.
It’s all relative.


… Still, 300 euros?!
That’s bullshit.


“Ya know, Ricky, breaking up with a girlfriend can be a very painful thing. But it don't have to keep ya down for long. I've never had a regular girlfriend like you, but I did get kicked in the balls once by a mule. Now, I thought I would be hurting for the rest of my life. But you know what happened the very next week?... My momma died! … Hell, after that, I didn't care no more about my balls hurtin'. You see what I'm gettin' at?”

-- Rube Baker, “Major League II” (1994, screenplay by R.J. Stewart)
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