The taxi driver who drove me from Eys in the Netherlands to Aachen had a huge port-wine stain. But he enjoyed small talk immensely.
“Monday is a strange day,” he said. “One hour ago or so a grandfather without teeth asked me: ‘Do you know a private club?’ I said: ‘I know plenty of private clubs, but they are not for you.’ The grandfather wanted to know: ‘How much is it to the nearest private club?’ I said: ‘Forty euros.’ Then the grandfather whispered: ‘I don’t have any money.’ So I said: ‘You better go home now.’ This happens just on Mondays. Monday is a very strange day. Anything can happen on a Monday.”