“There are at least three moments a month when you are ready to leap across a conter or a front seat to strangle someone: the woman at France Télecom who won't give you the fax ribbons that are there on the counter in front of her because she can't find them on the computer inventory ... the bus driver who won't let an exhausted pregnant woman out the front door of the bus (you're suppose to exit from the rear) from sheer bloody-mindedness. ... My trouble is that I think like a Frenchman: I transform every encounter into a competition in satus and get enraged when I lose it. –100”
Book:Paris to the Moon
