My 2 Second Shelf Life

Taxi Story #1

A long time ago when I was single and traveled with a group of girls on weekends to clubs, before I could drive, I used to often depend on someone in the group for a ride home.
One Saturday night I was talked into going to a club way out in the East End with a promise that if I came, I would get a ride back home.
Well, when I was ready to go home, the girl who had promised me the ride home backed out, and tried to pawn me off on two guys she knew who were driving west.
I refused, for obvious reasons.
I’m not getting in a car with two guys I’ve never met before.
I don’t care if they’re wearing Boy Scout uniforms.
I was pissed.
I had $17 on me, and I was at least $24 away from home.
I hailed a cab, and told the Cab Driver that I only had $17 and to take me as far as he could. I figured I’d walk the rest of the way and freeze my ass off in my skimpy outfit and high heels.
The Cab Driver asked me about my situation, and it didn’t take much for me to spill how I was dumped by a “friend” who promised me a ride home and then left me on the other side of the city with no way home.
When I saw the meter go past $17, I said so to the driver.
He waved his hand and said to me in a heavy Chinese accent, “I drive you. I have daughter. I don’t want nothing happen to my daughter. I don’t want nothing happen to you”.

I was so grateful. I paid him the $17 and told him if he came back tomorrow, I would have the remaining owed money for him. He refused. Dismissing me with a wave of his hand as he shook his head.

Believe it or not, a few years later, I got into his cab again.
It took me a moment to recognize him. But, when I did, I asked him if he remembered me, and what he did for me that cold January night.
He said that he did.
When I got out of the cab, I tried to tip him $20, but again…he dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and was stern in telling me “no” he wouldn’t accept.
There are good people out there.
Doing good things for others.

Taxi Story #2

During the bombings of Serbia, during one ride, the driver asked me what my nationality was.
I told him.
He told me that he was Iranian.
Then he said with a tsk, and a head shake: “It’s your country’s turn to be persecuted”.