My son and I went to Chicago in ' 05 and stayed at a hotel, more of a dive, an hour and a half from the city center, in spite of the Greek travel agency's

assurances we'd be a short drive from downtown.

The hotel provided us with a shuttle bus to the train station. The driver looked like someone out of The Blues Brothers, with long curly hair past his shoulders,

clothes that had seen better days and shoes I didn't think would make the drive.

We get in and the driver, after skillfully executing an illegal U-turn smack in the middle of a main thoroughfare, comments, " Ain't NOBODY gonna tell ME what to do! "

The only other passenger in the bus is a new arrival from somewhere in Asia, who timidly asks the driver, in halting English, to please explain how to get a ticket at the

train station.

It was tragic. Neither of them could understand the other, and the tension in the air built up until steam was coming out of the driver's ears, my son and I helplessly

giggling quietly in the back.

Finally we arrive at the station. The poor foreigner, having realised he wasn't getting anywhere with the driver, exits the bus in a huff, slamming the door, whereupon

the driver lets loose a string of colourful expletives, suddenly becomes aware of our presence in the back, turns around and says:

" YA ALL AIN'T GONNA SAY NUTIN TO THE BOSS, ARE YA ? "

We shake our heads solemnly in a reassuring way, becoming bosom buddies with the driver for life.