I turn up the stereo a little bit as his soliloquy continues.
August 27th, 2008
“Son of a bitch, you’re running up the meter!”27 comments
August 20th, 2008
"Hey bro, remember me? You wrote that story about me in the paper."3 comments
August 13th, 2008
“It’s the Californians, man, the Californians are the worst.”15 comments
August 6th, 2008
The middle-aged man I picked up at Vendetta is in a hyperactively verbose lather ...0 comments
July 23rd, 2008
When I step into the obese old woman's apartment5 comments
July 16th, 2008
The obese old woman at Fred Meyer has a bad hip and a wheelchair...8 comments
July 9th, 2008
“...I need to take a shower first and wash all of this blood off.”6 comments
July 2nd, 2008
“So I’ve got these two women in the back of my cab who just refuse to get out...”8 comments
June 25th, 2008
“My friend’s getting divorced, and he’s really drunk,” says the bartender...8 comments
June 18th, 2008
There’s nothing like a good Friday night, and I’m referring to the money.3 comments
[September 19th, 2007] I’m trying to tune out the guy in the backseat. I picked him up at a bar in far North Portland, and now we’re cruising south on Interstate in the hope that he’ll recognize the motel whose name he can’t remember.
I turn up the stereo a little bit as his soliloquy continues. It’s not any different from all the other alcoholics’—a litany of self-pity and perceived victimization. In his case it’s his brother’s fault that he has to take a cab home, I caught that much before I stopped paying attention. I know the routine all too well; it used to be my own.
I nod my head and mumble “uh-huh,” and ask him if any of the motels look familiar. We’re a block past one he’s said wasn’t his when he yells that we missed it. Instead of getting out and walking, he has me go up to the next light, make a U-Turn, and double back to make another U.
I pull up in front, and tell him that it’s nine dollars. He hands me a twenty and tells me to keep the buck for myself as he gets out. I thank him, and drive off. As I do so, I realize that I’m the asshole. Hell, the guy was even going to tip me a buck, and I couldn’t be nice enough to correct his mistake? I can’t go knocking on motel doors at this hour, and realize that instead I’ll just have to give the next depressing drunk a free ride.
TO BE CONTINUED.... —nightcabbie@wweek.com
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RECENT COMMENTS ON “I turn up the stereo a little bit as his soliloquy continues.”
Same thing happened to me, once. When money comes this way, the right thing to do, the wise path to follow, is: Pay it forward. Now you've got me hooked, Cabbie. Tell the rest of the story, next we...
dude you are so fucking poetic.
