I arrive five minutes early at the Hotel lobby, armed only with a last name. The receptionist greets me with the question “cab?”, and I nod. She points to the man reading on the sofa. He speaks with me a bit, and I think he sounds Australian, but what do I know? When I drop him off in an office building parking lot, two women flag me down. After giving me directions, one of the ladies begins talking cheerfully, as if she and I are old friends. She explains that they’d called another company for a taxi, but as I was there it was my lucky day. I feel bad for about three seconds, and then chalk it up to chance. The cheerful lady frequently whispers to the other that “it’ll be all right”. I wonder what happens in those offices.
At the transit mall, parked and waiting for a flag, I see a tall woman with a shaved head come around the corner. The way she moves her hands is familiar. Eventually, she gets close enough that I recognize her from my youth in Petaluma. She was the first person I ever knew to actually blow her mind with drugs. She hasn’t aged a day.
Parked downtown, I look up from my book to see a group of other-abled persons jaywalking under the care of two more or less averagely-abled facilitators. They hang traffic up for a minute or so, and there is much shuffling of feet. Later, but nearby, I stop at an intersection to allow a group of gaudily dressed tourists to wander across the road in much the same fashion. Other than the clothing, the only real difference is that they lack a guide, and are therefore less orderly. People are people.
I get a call to pick up a man on the south end of town. His car broke down, and he’s in a hurry. I burn a hole in my wallet getting there, but the fare is missing (“10-22”, in the lingo). I chalk this up to chance, too, and call it a day.
2 Responses to “Cab Date 280909”
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driver x, just started reading some of your stuff. like it. you have a great eye for the detail and people in what most of us would easily pass over.
Thanks. It’s the little things…