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 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
June 11th, 2008
The old man in the karaoke bar’s parking lot insists that he doesn’t need any help...0 comments
[July 23rd, 2008] [CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK]
When I step into the obese old woman's apartment in Milwaukie, the smell is overwhelming and the air stifling. She has me wheel her cart of groceries entirely into the apartment so she can let the cat out of her bedroom, and I guess the animal might account for the odor.
She tells me to put the groceries on the stove, and I squeeze through rotting cardboard boxes stacked ceiling-high in order to do so. The carpet is covered in mold. As my eyes adjust to the light I notice porcelain dolls in a glass case encrusted in dust, and what looks like a walker with a child's training potty built into the seat.
"It's so horrible!" she cries. "That's why everything's packed up, I keep asking them to move, but they never let me!" I can't think of a properly consoling thing to say, and murmur something about landlords as I unload her things.
I say goodbye, and as I start to slip out the door, she yells for me to come get money. I tell her that she doesn't need to pay me, but she insists that she raised six just like me, and always paid her bills. I try to insist, but it's obviously a point of pride, so I take the money.
"Will you give me a hug?" she asks in a tiny voice.
Of course.
She weeps into my shoulder as she clutches me.
"Don't you ever forget me," she whispers.
I smile, and leave.
—nightcabbie@wweek.com
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RECENT COMMENTS ON “When I step into the obese old woman's apartment”
Writing is easy. Just ... open a vein. -- Red Smith
Thanks, NC3.
...difficult to comment, NC. I saw this sort of situation as a meter reader. It can get to you, and you DON'T forget.
Where are her six kids?
Thank you for being "human". Your writing and subject matter have greatly improved. Keep it up!
