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Drive a taxi. It's fun. Really.
December 17, 2003
My taxi suffered a grievous lasagna-and-cake attack on Monday night. Yes, Monday night. The night where everyone is supposedly stone-cold sober. Given the woo-hoo holiday season, though, I figured it was coming.
And yeah, I got it. But by the time it happened, I was already mellow and nice, for I had already 'confronted' a very-pissed off young lady who swore the whole way uptown to her friend that was she was going to slap the shit out of some other girl who had lifted 400 dollars from her purse. I didn't really mind the tirade, people get pissed off sometimes (this seemed to be a good reason). What made me exit the taxi and follow her to the entrance of the the China Club (don't bother investigating, just another dumb joint with an attitude) was The Drink.
Yeah. The Drink. In a plastic cup. At the end of the job, she got out, followed by her friend. When her friend had exited, she reached back into the cab, as if, um, putting something on the floor maybe? Right, then. I had never seen such incredible brazen foresight applied to FUCKING UP MY TAXI. So, of course, fearing the worst, I got out and checked. And there it was, standing up just waiting to tip over the next time I...well, let's see, say, started driving, perhaps. It was a quarter-full of some alcoholic beverage.
I rubbed my hands in a mixture of annoyance and glee. This was a low-risk proposition. In general, leaving your taxi for reasons other than luggage-loading and crap like that generally means you're about to create an uncontrolled situation. But I had nothing explosive to do. They were just standing there waiting to get into the club. So I moseyed on over with the drink in my hand.
Her back was turned to me. I went all the way around and put the cup in her face that she could see it. She looked a bit surprised. I said, 'You know, you could've just handed the drink to me. I don't mind.' And I turned around and left, with the cup. She then yelled, 'FUCK OFF!!!!' to me. Whoop-dee-doo. I didn't turn around. She got the message. The End.
Okay, so that leaves the dudes I picked up at 2nd and A at 3am. One was holding a flimsy paper plate that was COMPLETELY covered by the hugest slab of lasagna you've ever seen in your life. I mean, the cheese was dripping off the sides and everything. The other guy had this big-ass piece of cake, also on a paper plate. In addition, to deliciously complicate matters they had some wrapped Xmas presents and stuff. I was less than thilled to see all this, but hey, it was 3am. On a Monday night. I'll justify anything, I guess.
So they get in, slowly and drunkenly, and they're going a-wayyyyy uptown. Yeah. To 104th and Lexington. Plenty of time to subject the passenger area to any kind of vile insult a person could dream up. Except, in this case, these guys were merely happy (sloppy) drunks. Awwwwww. So we get up there and they give me a nice (not crazy nice) tip and announce to me, proudly, that they are Mexicans. From Mexico, you know, get it? I say, 'oh yeah? Cool.' or some such crap. Of course, they repeated their pride in their amazing tip (I have to assume that is why they bothered to repeat the 'We Are Mexican' parade of joy 5 times) and how it reflects upon all Mexicans in general. 'Remember, ok?' they said. I said, 'uh huhhhh....'
Since I already told you, I'll say it again. Grievous lasagna-and-cake frosting attack. Like, all over the place. It was on the partition, the doors, the seat, the floor...you get the picture. That was the effective end of my shift.
Yes, I love Mexicans. Especially when they are not carrying a platefuls of lasagna and cake.
And that's what happened. By Friday, my guess is that people will be Completely Out Of Their Minds. We have a solid base of lasagna and cake to build off of.
And yeah, I got it. But by the time it happened, I was already mellow and nice, for I had already 'confronted' a very-pissed off young lady who swore the whole way uptown to her friend that was she was going to slap the shit out of some other girl who had lifted 400 dollars from her purse. I didn't really mind the tirade, people get pissed off sometimes (this seemed to be a good reason). What made me exit the taxi and follow her to the entrance of the the China Club (don't bother investigating, just another dumb joint with an attitude) was The Drink.
Yeah. The Drink. In a plastic cup. At the end of the job, she got out, followed by her friend. When her friend had exited, she reached back into the cab, as if, um, putting something on the floor maybe? Right, then. I had never seen such incredible brazen foresight applied to FUCKING UP MY TAXI. So, of course, fearing the worst, I got out and checked. And there it was, standing up just waiting to tip over the next time I...well, let's see, say, started driving, perhaps. It was a quarter-full of some alcoholic beverage.
I rubbed my hands in a mixture of annoyance and glee. This was a low-risk proposition. In general, leaving your taxi for reasons other than luggage-loading and crap like that generally means you're about to create an uncontrolled situation. But I had nothing explosive to do. They were just standing there waiting to get into the club. So I moseyed on over with the drink in my hand.
Her back was turned to me. I went all the way around and put the cup in her face that she could see it. She looked a bit surprised. I said, 'You know, you could've just handed the drink to me. I don't mind.' And I turned around and left, with the cup. She then yelled, 'FUCK OFF!!!!' to me. Whoop-dee-doo. I didn't turn around. She got the message. The End.
Okay, so that leaves the dudes I picked up at 2nd and A at 3am. One was holding a flimsy paper plate that was COMPLETELY covered by the hugest slab of lasagna you've ever seen in your life. I mean, the cheese was dripping off the sides and everything. The other guy had this big-ass piece of cake, also on a paper plate. In addition, to deliciously complicate matters they had some wrapped Xmas presents and stuff. I was less than thilled to see all this, but hey, it was 3am. On a Monday night. I'll justify anything, I guess.
So they get in, slowly and drunkenly, and they're going a-wayyyyy uptown. Yeah. To 104th and Lexington. Plenty of time to subject the passenger area to any kind of vile insult a person could dream up. Except, in this case, these guys were merely happy (sloppy) drunks. Awwwwww. So we get up there and they give me a nice (not crazy nice) tip and announce to me, proudly, that they are Mexicans. From Mexico, you know, get it? I say, 'oh yeah? Cool.' or some such crap. Of course, they repeated their pride in their amazing tip (I have to assume that is why they bothered to repeat the 'We Are Mexican' parade of joy 5 times) and how it reflects upon all Mexicans in general. 'Remember, ok?' they said. I said, 'uh huhhhh....'
Since I already told you, I'll say it again. Grievous lasagna-and-cake frosting attack. Like, all over the place. It was on the partition, the doors, the seat, the floor...you get the picture. That was the effective end of my shift.
Yes, I love Mexicans. Especially when they are not carrying a platefuls of lasagna and cake.
And that's what happened. By Friday, my guess is that people will be Completely Out Of Their Minds. We have a solid base of lasagna and cake to build off of.
