Story for my Sister #5

Click here for the first bit of the story!

Being a taxi driver wasn’t so bad at all. It gave me an opportunity to really see the city, and just as I had hoped, introduced me to a lot of people I would have never met. And while my aggressive driving style and innovative routes afforded me little money in tips, I was still making minimum wage, which was enough to keep Larry happy.

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The following Tuesday was my big day. I woke up at 6 am sharp, went back to bed, and slept through my first interview.

When 9 am rolled around I finally got out of bed, showered, shaved, and put on my finest suit, a little wrinkled from laying balled-up behind Larry’s recliner. I put on a little Old Spice, winked at myself in the mirror, and left.

My aptitude for overlooking potential patrons made my job pretty easy, and this day was no different. After a largely uneventful morning I dropped off one last fare with a “fuck you, too, pal,” grabbed some fast food, and camped out in my cab at the city’s main park where I could check out the women while I nourished myself. I figured I’d relax a bit before heading over to my job interview, wherever it was.

I was just finishing up when a stunningly beautiful lady dressed in business attire came half-running toward my car, waving her arm back and forth.

As I licked the last drops of sweet teriyaki sauce from my fingertips, she tap-tap-tapped on the passengers’ window. With my unsoiled pinky finger I pushed a switch to crack the window open. “Hey there. How are you doing?” I smiled.

The woman bent down to look at me through the window, brushed some of her blond, dislodged hair from her face, and let words pour through her mouth. My attention, however, had been fully taken by the view she had provided me with her bent over posture. I tried squinting my eyes to see if I could make out more detail in the darkness.

“Ah hem!” she put her arm over her chest. “I said fast.”

“Uh…” I brought my eyes back up to hers, “I’m off duty.”

“Your light’s on.”

“Oh!” I tried to sound surprised, “Thank you.” I turned off the light on top of my car, rolled up the window, and pretended she wasn’t there.

I half-expected her to bang on the window obnoxiously, as other would-be customers had done, but instead she did a 180 and leaned up against the car. My first notion was to hit the windshield washer button, but then it occurred to me that maybe this was some clever way of coming on to me.

A nagging woman’s voice—the kind that sounds just as rough and noisy in person—came over the radio and ended the mystery. “Car 695, you have a fare waiting at Montgomery Park.”

“I’m on break,” I whispered into the receiver.

I watched in disgust as the woman outside spoke into her cell phone, bent over, with her face up to the window.

“Car 695, she says you are finished.”

I couldn’t help but sigh. Then I decided I had to make my stand. “Well, she’s a god damn liar.”

“Car 695, I highly suggest you pick that woman up… now.” Normally I’m not one to give into bullying, but there was something in her voice, possibly hidden in its raspy undertones as a subliminal message, that seemed to say, If you do not do as I say, I will hunt you down, tie you to a rock, and every morning, with my foot, I will make you wish you did not have testicles.

“Copy that,” I said without enthusiasm. I unlocked the doors and the woman outside plopped down with the grin of a child who’s just gotten her way.

“17 West Park,” she said. “Quickly, please.”