Thursday, May 6, 2010

I don't miss driving taxi

I was telling my landlord Mr. Pollock some of the dysfunctional adventures driving cab at night on the Jersey Shore. Anyone who is out at three AM is up to no good. One night I had a drunk shoot through a stop sign and almost park his Tahoe in my lap. If I hadn't swerved three feet to the right, I would probably still be going for physical therapy. My next fare was one of our regulars who stumbled into my cab with the motor skills of a tranquilized water buffalo. "I probably could've driven home, but the cops are such ball busters around here...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ" Yea, I guess the three times the courts revoked your license for D.U.I., it was just to bust your chops.

Hardcore alchies are manipulators, I've heard it all. We had this one regular woman who I refused to talk to when she was wasted. In order to pull me in, out of the blue she starts balling.
"Waaaaaaaaa, my husband beats me."
"Yea? How long has that been going on?"
"For years!"
"Shut up then. The first time it happens you have my sympathy. Every time afterwards it's your own damn fault. The fact you have kids at home and don't do anything to change the situation makes you as big of a dirt bag as your old man."
Feminists would play her as a victim caught in a cycle of abuse. My father hit my mother ONCE. After he was taken away in a police car he never set foot in the house again.

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