"Where to?"
Okay, maybe not my best bedside manner, but it was close to the end of the shift, and I was ready to get home. Not sure why, really; it's not like I had much of a home to go to. Anymore.
"Well, if it's all the same to you..." she looked to be in her seventies. Immaculate hair, expensive nails, clothes from "shoppes" that had an "e" on the end. In short, not anyone from my pay grade.
But she was smiling, and had just swiped her card through the reader.
I relaxed a little-you'd be surprised at how many of these old bats pull the "I forgot my money-let me run inside and get it, dearie" routine.
I was ready to drop her somewhere expensive and get home. Mike didn't come to work this morning (jerk), so I wasn't in a hurry to get the cab back to the shop.
We rotate, you see—"...when I come back in at 2 it had BETTER be full of gas, or I'll tear your ass off and play 'kick-ball' with it!!" he used to say. Charming fellow; I assume that he was potty trained at knife-point.
Oh well, a quick couple of bucks, and I could turn in. Money wasn't especially tight, even with Cinyl gone. It's amazing that-even though my apartment was small-how much smaller it became when she left. I also really missed Kronk-doofy drool-ball was a joy to come home to. But what can I say-I was "not the mama," and I knew he was going to disappear out of my life as well.
Not all of it was bad-she was involved in Animal Rescue, but it seemed that the stories that she brought home became a little more horrifying each day. It was really starting to affect her-I am surprised that I haven't had to bail her out on an "Assault and Battery/Intent to Inflict Grievous Bodily Harm" charge; the year was young.
That new group she was with seemed to be giving her an outlet for her rapidly building rage, but it wasn't enough. I woke up one morning to an empty apartment. Only a note "I didn't mean to drag you into this. I am sorry." Point for succinctness, I suppose.
Back to my fare-I helped her into the cab. She seemed pretty frail, but could move a little. At least I didn't have to load any bags. "Where to?" I asked again. I am a real charmer.
She looked out the window. "Do you mind if we drive around a bit? I have a couple of places that I haven't been to in quite a while-I would really like to see them again. My card should be able to take everything."
Shitshitshitshitshit. I've had old ladies do this once or twice-they eat up a bloody hour with a $400 cab fare, talk incessantly about the good ol' days, and tip me $20 for my trouble. Costing me around 10 times that amount. Don't any of these crones realize that I don't get the cab fare?
That belongs to the company that owns the car-at about $1,000,000 per car licensing fee.
I guess I can't blame them for that. But, without tips, I am on a street corner with a sign that reads "Please help-God Bless You." Printed in crayon on old cardboard.
I was ready to go home, dammit. And then it occurred to me (again) that I didn't really have much of a home to go to. What's the hurry?
"Sure!" I said. I was faking the enthusiasm, but what the hell. Might be nice to have some company for a bit.
Her name was Jo Turner ("Call me Trish!"). She had apparently been in New York most of her life. She spent her childhood in Brooklyn, but ended up moving to the Bronx when she got married. I forgave her for that lapse in judgment; she was young, didn't know any better. And I told her so.
She giggled.
We went down to the Battery-at first she was a little quiet, but then she started to talk. They always do. I heard about how she met the love of her life feeding ducks in Central Park "Wait-I thought you said you were from Brooklyn?"
