driver opened the door for me. When I got in, he closed the door, and grunted in a staccato of four sharp sounds. Somewhat disconcerted, I startled, and leaned back against the creaking seat. He sat down in the driver seat and I considered bolting.
“Please wait just a moment,” he said. He hopped out of his cab, and clutched his phone to his ear. I sat watching him, as he waved his hands wildly, and then jerked his head to the side in short quick spasms.
Why I remained in that cab is proof that the neurons that connect to the frontal lobe of the brain where the center control of judgment resides, had not yet matured. I had learned that it was not until the late twenties that those nerves are fully functional, therefore the notorious lack of wisdom in young adults has a neurological basis. In fact, that would be on the test I would be taking the next day. With a groan, I thought of all the cramming I would need to do that evening, and then how I would have to find a way to sit through the three hour exam without ripping the wildly itching skin from my poor bottom.
As the cab driver continued to talk on his phone, I wriggled in discomfort. Poison Ivy is never fun, but this was particularly inconvenient timing and place to be so afflicted. I was a runner with a bladder the size of a small pea (pun intended). I always mapped out my running routes to include densely forested areas where I could duck into nature’s latrine as needed. That very week, I had bragged to a friend that I had never gotten poison ivy when she reacted with some horror to this practice of mine. I was being punished now for my arrogance, perhaps by the God I did not believe in, I thought wryly.
Finally the cab driver slipped back in his seat.
“I’m sorry for the delay. Where are you headed?”
I handed him the slip of paper with the hotel address.
“Do you know where this is?”
He smiled, and nodded, closing his door, which creaked like a dungeon gate.
“I appreciate you waiting while I made the call. See, I just broke up with my girlfriend. Well she broke up with me. AAAIIIIEEEEE!!”
This sudden outburst was even stranger than typed letters could begin to convey. He had been talking in a perfectly normal tone and then suddenly the sound exploded out of him, making me forget the tortuous itching for a second. What the heck was that!?!
But he continued talking as though nothing unusual had happened. I clutched the door handle and looked around. There was no oncoming Mack truck or meteor streaking into his windshield. He seemed completely unaware that he had uttered the inexplicable, heart stopping shriek
“She dumped me after two years, no reason, no explanation, no AAIEEEAWKKKKK!!!!!, but I am trying to get through it.”
I cowered in my seat. How did one respond to a madman? I had never taken a taxi before. Is this what all taxi drivers were like?
“I am so sorry,” I said, “I am sure that is very hard for you.”
He glanced in his mirror at me. “Aaaiwwwwawwww!” he cried, jerking his head. This ejaculation was a little quieter than the preceding ones, but no less strange. I looked around me. We seemed to have left the interstate and were in a residential area, a decrepit neighborhood with overgrown lawns and boarded windows. I knew I was booked in a nice hotel, where the national certification exam would be held. This did not seem like the quickest route there. With growing unease, I realized I was being kidnapped.
I clutched my Bible and breathed a silent prayer.
“If you are real God, then now might be a good time to do something.”
I tried to formulate a plan. Talk to him. Keep him calm. Show compassion.
“I was so kind and good to her, aaaaieeeeeawk!, and look where it got me,” he continued.
“There are many wonderful people in the world,” I said, “I am sure she was not worth it if she would treat your kindness that way.”
He glanced again in the mirror and slowed at a ramshackle house, then pulled into
“Please wait just a moment,” he said. He hopped out of his cab, and clutched his phone to his ear. I sat watching him, as he waved his hands wildly, and then jerked his head to the side in short quick spasms.
Why I remained in that cab is proof that the neurons that connect to the frontal lobe of the brain where the center control of judgment resides, had not yet matured. I had learned that it was not until the late twenties that those nerves are fully functional, therefore the notorious lack of wisdom in young adults has a neurological basis. In fact, that would be on the test I would be taking the next day. With a groan, I thought of all the cramming I would need to do that evening, and then how I would have to find a way to sit through the three hour exam without ripping the wildly itching skin from my poor bottom.
As the cab driver continued to talk on his phone, I wriggled in discomfort. Poison Ivy is never fun, but this was particularly inconvenient timing and place to be so afflicted. I was a runner with a bladder the size of a small pea (pun intended). I always mapped out my running routes to include densely forested areas where I could duck into nature’s latrine as needed. That very week, I had bragged to a friend that I had never gotten poison ivy when she reacted with some horror to this practice of mine. I was being punished now for my arrogance, perhaps by the God I did not believe in, I thought wryly.
Finally the cab driver slipped back in his seat.
“I’m sorry for the delay. Where are you headed?”
I handed him the slip of paper with the hotel address.
“Do you know where this is?”
He smiled, and nodded, closing his door, which creaked like a dungeon gate.
“I appreciate you waiting while I made the call. See, I just broke up with my girlfriend. Well she broke up with me. AAAIIIIEEEEE!!”
This sudden outburst was even stranger than typed letters could begin to convey. He had been talking in a perfectly normal tone and then suddenly the sound exploded out of him, making me forget the tortuous itching for a second. What the heck was that!?!
But he continued talking as though nothing unusual had happened. I clutched the door handle and looked around. There was no oncoming Mack truck or meteor streaking into his windshield. He seemed completely unaware that he had uttered the inexplicable, heart stopping shriek
“She dumped me after two years, no reason, no explanation, no AAIEEEAWKKKKK!!!!!, but I am trying to get through it.”
I cowered in my seat. How did one respond to a madman? I had never taken a taxi before. Is this what all taxi drivers were like?
“I am so sorry,” I said, “I am sure that is very hard for you.”
He glanced in his mirror at me. “Aaaiwwwwawwww!” he cried, jerking his head. This ejaculation was a little quieter than the preceding ones, but no less strange. I looked around me. We seemed to have left the interstate and were in a residential area, a decrepit neighborhood with overgrown lawns and boarded windows. I knew I was booked in a nice hotel, where the national certification exam would be held. This did not seem like the quickest route there. With growing unease, I realized I was being kidnapped.
I clutched my Bible and breathed a silent prayer.
“If you are real God, then now might be a good time to do something.”
I tried to formulate a plan. Talk to him. Keep him calm. Show compassion.
“I was so kind and good to her, aaaaieeeeeawk!, and look where it got me,” he continued.
“There are many wonderful people in the world,” I said, “I am sure she was not worth it if she would treat your kindness that way.”
He glanced again in the mirror and slowed at a ramshackle house, then pulled into
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