What could possibly go wrong #2 ?

[Glad you stuck around]
So. There I am. Sweating like a racehorse at Gate 84. Curse all Gods know to Hinduism and make my way to Customer services. Last in line, preceeded by lots of irate Spaniards and 2 bemused Americans, who need to make it back to Knoxville. Tempers flare but the girls behind the counter remain mega-cucumber. Strikes me as as one of the worst jobs on the planet (right behind sewerage worker in New Delhi) as you can never please anybody. At best you can defuse them, at worst you get 6 screaming Spaniards, telling you that they have to be in Miami in 12 hours time. Ha Ha.
Anyway, i'm cool, what the hell. I only have a flight booked to Kathmandu tomorrow morning. The girl shares her condolences, makes some light conversation about current meteorological conditions in Paris and tells me the best she can do is put me up in Paris for the night and stick me on the same flight tomorrow. She'll even throw in breakfast for free. Bargain. I thank her, put on puppy dog face and ask if she can upgrade me to business the next day, which she replies with a curt "Non".
I say my goodbyes and try to make my way out of the terminal, which involves multiple lifts, escalators, busses, travelators and other forms of transport. About an hour later I make it out of the gates of CDG and hop on the hotel bus.
Hotel Millenium was billed as a 350 dollar a night palace, but as expected turned out to be a dingy, communist-era-east-Berlin-bunker... Mail Oli (Master of the wonderful Pariser Buero(which translated from German means "Condom Office", oops.)), head to my room, turn on CNN, get depressed. Change to Fox get more depressed. Check rugby fixtures - none on tonight. Decide that Mona Lisa can save her enigmatic smile for another day and decide to have a nap after my hectic day. Wake up around 7pm and head down to the inhouse Irish bar for some liquid refreshment. Its happy hour so I have to drink two beers to get my money's worth. Oli has replied saying to give him a call when I am in Paris, so I make my way on to the complimentary hotel bus and get driven around shagging CDG again. Somehow the bloody thing manages to work its way around Terminal 2, A,B,D,C,F,E then to Terminal 1 and before I know it we are back in the hotel zone and we are sitting outside the frigging Millenium, 1 hour later. Realise I missed the stop for the train station and not willing to admit defeat I hop on the next bus. This time I find the stop for the train station, manage to purchase ticket after 3 attempts with my credit card and head bravely towards Chatelet.
I have Oli's telephone number gripped in my sweaty paws, but no mobile phone with me, but hey, no problem - that's what public telephones are for. Find one quite quickly only to discover that it doesn't accept anything so profane as "money". Only cards. Whip out Mr. Mastercard only to be told "There is a problem, please contact your credit card company". Well of course i'd fucking contact them, but I can't use this fuckety fuck telephone to do so. Try another 3 telephones. Same story. So I go to the nearest store to buy a telephone card, he tells me he doesn't sell them and I'll have to find the nearest Tabac, which he tells me is quite a bit away.
It's 10pm and I have been defeated by a combination of French Fog, French busses and French bloody telephones. So I go to the nearest Chinese restaurant, grab a plate of Chow Mein and a massive Heineken and head back to my hotel. Sorry Oli :(

Feck.