Take me to the Aladdin

"Take me to the Aladdin," she says. She's very drunk.

"The Aladdin closed hours ago—it's 3 am."

"Oh, I know. It's just my car is there."

I get this all the time: people who cab back to their car, sobering up a bit on the way. But this woman is absolutely, unequivocally, irredeemably unable to drive. I try to tell her this, but she refuses to listen.

Finally, I put my foot down. "Look, I am not going to take you to your car. Just tell me where you live, and I'll take you there."

"Fuck you," she says. "I'm not paying $30 in cab fare all the way to Gresham."

I plead with her, saying this is a small price to pay compared with the potential cost of a DUI, not to mention her safety and the safety of others. "Fucking cunt" was the nicest thing she calls me.

"Look, lady, just tell me where you live and I'll take you there. I won't run the meter. I take you home or I take you to Hooper Detox. It's your choice."

It's a long, long drive to take for free, and on a busy Saturday night to boot, bad for me. But it's long enough for her to sober up enough on the way and to realize what she had almost done. She apologizes to me and hands me a $20, which is all she has on her.

Doing the right thing so often leaves you getting screwed. But not tonight.

WWeek 2015