A trip to Vancouver

A trip to Vancouver is, needless to say, a welcome fare. It's a perfect sunny weekend, the sort when people grill things, and my passenger is on his way to schmooze people at a co-worker's party. I learn this from the loud conversation he's having on his cell phone. People do this all the time; they think you're so invisible that they'll even start talking about you-"Hey, I've got a chick cab driver, she's kinda hot"-forgetting you're right there listening. Or trying not to listen, I usually turn up the music in the front while killing the rear speakers.

So far, so good, except.... "Do you know where the Olive Garden up here is?" I can't believe it. "Surely you jest." Nope. I put forth the radical notion that knowing this before we hit the freeway might have been a good idea. He starts dialing. Now I'm talking to the Olive Garden.

Once we finally arrive, he goes in to get a huge takeout order, and then we're off to his co-worker's house. Which is a bitch to find, even with his Mapquest printout. By "bitch" I mean "worst address to find, ever, in several years of doing this."

But after all that, I'm handed $100 on a $65 fare, and he wants my number for when he wants to go home: "Since it was so hard to find, I should probably just call you, since you've been here." Hours later, I'm dropping off another fare in Vancouver when he calls. I have no idea of the math to calculate the odds of this, but they're close to nil.