Taxi Stories

Either I could tell you about the Iraqi cab driver who asked me to help him define words he'd heard that day on NPR and then told me he wanted to go back to Bosnia so he could be helpful to people like he had been just after their war.

Or, I could tell you about the time a friend got a little sick in a cab, I got into a yelling match with the irate and belligerent driver who refused my money to pay for a cleaning and insisted on pressing police charges against my friends and I. We ran off evading him, cleaned up my sick friend and were walking back to get another cab when police pulled us over to see if we were the elusive cab patrons. I lied and said we'd just left our friend's house. He asked where she lived, I told him. He said he might want to talk to her. I said she had left to spend the night at her cheap-ass boyfriend's house who took her to mass on Sunday mornings just so they could eat the free bagels. The two cops laughed, muttered the name of a church, and then said, "Have a great night, ladies." and took off.


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