“It’s OK, let me out here, I’ll find it,” the drunk young woman slurs at me.
“Given how drunk you are, the neighborhood, that it’s 3 in the morning, and that you just tipped me 27 dollars, I’d be a lot more comfortable dropping you off at your door.”
“OK, those are good ideas you’re having there.” She solemnly nods up and down, and I do the same.
We’ve been driving around her neighborhood in Northeast, and even though she insists that we’re near her home, she doesn’t seem to have any idea of where that is. Her directions have literally been taking us around in circles.
I ask her if she knows her address, and she can’t remember it. I ask her if she has a driver’s license or something else that might have her address on it. Yes, but it’s her old one, she’s moved since then.
So I drive her around the same block for a fifth time. She begins to apologize profusely, but I ask her to just keep an eye out for her house. The next time around, I ignore her insistence that we take a left off of MLK, and take a right.
She claps when she sees her house, hands me two more twenties, and jumps out of the car. I ask if she’s sure she wants to give me that much, and she tells me that I’m wonderful, blows me a kiss, and bounds up her front steps. I shrug, and drive off smiling.